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He glances at me with a small smirk. “Nothing new for us,” he reminds me.
Great.
As usual, the walk from the valet of the restaurant to the front door consists of people snapping pictures either from a distance or coming up to us and asking for selfies, both mine and Reed’s names being shouted out as we sign autographs on skin or clothes or hats and quickly take photos before entering the restaurant. I take a breath as we walk in, at this point being unfazed by the stares everywhere we go, and like a ship drawn to a lighthouse, Reed immediately makes his way to where Willow is sitting at a table with another woman. . . who is apparently my blind date for the night.
Shit.
If I had known about the set up earlier than the car ride, I would have stayed home with my sister and kid. Andrea had been missing Lilah, so she’s hanging out at the house, effectively giving Alex an unexpected night off. I’m pretty sure she had left the house a little while before I did. Where she went, I don’t know. I wonder who she’s with—
No, you don’t. Don’t wonder about people who are none of your business.
Reed greets his wife with a kiss, and then Willow beams at me. “Hey, Leo,” she greets as I pull her in for a quick hug. When we pull back, she gestures to the pretty woman sitting beside her, looking a few years older than Willow, so probably around my age. “This is Jocelyn. She’s one of the assignment editors at the station.”
Jocelyn smiles at me, demure and sweet. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says as I settle down in the seat next to her.
“You too,” I return, smoothing down the front of my button down.
The restaurant we are at is a popular high-end Italian spot, as expensive as it is romantic—and an ideal date-night location. Sleek beige floors, blue suede seats and dark marble tabletops that reflect the waterfall lights along the walls. Despite it being the middle of the week, it is quite busy in the restaurant, servers expertly making their way around tables carrying trays of food and drinks.
“Have you guys been here before?” Willow asks. “Their chicken Florentine is delicious.”
“I was just eyeing that on the menu,” Jocelyn says from next to me. “I might get it.”
For the next little while, we debate on what to get to eat, while Reed orders a bottle of red wine for the table that the waiter comes by to pour into our glasses. I take a sip of the drink, knowing I can’t pretend, for long, that this isn’t some kind of double date Willow set up. So, I turn to Jocelyn and ask, “How long have you been working at the station for?”
She gives a friendly smile. She really is pretty—the kind of woman I’d pick up at a club if I was in the mood. But when was the last time I did that? I can’t even remember. “Coming up on my second year,” she answers. “I was with another station before this, so I’ve been an assignment editor for around seven years now.”
“I’m assuming you like it,” I say with a flash of a grin.
“Oh, yeah,” Jocelyn replies with a light laugh. “Can’t really imagine doing anything else.” She tilts her head. “And you? I take it that football is your great passion in life?” she jokes.
I chuckle a little. “Not as much as my daughter is,” I say. “Do you have kids?”
Jocelyn laughs into her next sip of wine. “Oh, God no.” My teeth press together a little as she sits up, looking mildly panicked. Across from us, Reed and Willow are lost in their own world. As usual. “I just mean, I don’t think I’m really ready to have kids any time soon, you know? My focus is on my career. I don’t have time for anything else.”
I nod, relaxing just a little because I understand that. Everyone’s got their own paths they choose to go down; it doesn’t make one right from another, or better than another. Still, though, if Willow was listening, she’d know that this supposed blind date most likely won’t see another one if Jocelyn isn’t interested in having kids. Which is perfectly fine—especially given that I wasn’t looking to go on a date tonight in the first place.
And I think Jocelyn seems to get that too, because the conversation doesn’t really go down a flirtatious route. It just reads as two people getting to know each other on basic, even friendly terms, which takes off a lot of pressure.
Following that, the rest of dinner goes smoothly with friendly conversations all around the table. “Are you guys interested in getting drinks somewhere after?” Willow asks as our meal comes to an end. “I think Daria and Caden were looking to get out of the house, so we can meet up with them.”
Part of me wants to go back home to Lilah, but I don’t want to take her time away with her Aunt Andy. My sister has been so busy with her new business venture that she has not been able to come around a lot, and I saw how it weighed her down when she showed up at the house earlier today. So, as a way to give them more time to hang out, I dip my chin in a nod. “I’m in.”
* * *
The four of us end up meeting up with Caden and Daria at a club downtown, able to get in without a hassle or waiting in line and taken right to the VIP section. Bright green, yellow, blue, and purple lights flash in beat with the music the DJ spins downstairs, a crowd of people in the middle dancing along. The four bartenders are busy serving drink after drink, opening and closing tabs, pouring shots. It’s deafeningly loud in here, but nothing I am not used to because of the roar of the stadiums every time we play.
We have table service, making it convenient for us so we don’t have to make a trip to the bar every time we want a drink. It’s significantly hotter in the club than it is outside, obviously, so I have long since gotten rid of my jacket as I sip my rum and Coke. The wine from dinner in addition to the round of shots JJ—who also showed up—ordered for us and my current drink have a pleasant buzz coursing lazily through my system. Not enough to get me drunk, by any means, but enough to relax my muscles and enjoy my time even though I can feel the bass of the music thrumming in my chest.
Here in the VIP section, where the lights don’t quite touch us, we are left alone by fans. Not that any of us have a problem with talking to them or taking a picture and signing autographs. But sometimes, during moments like these, it’s more desirable to be just a bunch of people hanging out instead of professional athletes with eyes constantly on them. At this point in my career, I’m blind to the cameras that follow me whenever I step outside. Paparazzi blend into the background. I think even Lilah doesn’t get fazed by them anymore, which is saying something given her age.
Arm resting on the armrest of the couch, I look to my left. Our spot is right next to the glass barrier that stands at my waist if I’m on my feet, providing us with an unobstructed view of the dance floor below. My gaze lazily slides around the crowd, their faces flashing in and out of view in time with the colored lights that flicker about. I half listen to the conversation among my friends, my head absently bobbing to the music as I sip my drink.
Lights continue to flash against faces, and when my gaze trails over those at the bar, I pause with my glass halfway to my mouth when a familiar face flickers into view. For a moment, I think it’s just a trick of the light, but my eyes narrow, and I realize that I am most definitely staring directly at Alex.
I sit up slightly, intrigue sparking in my veins as I watch her chat with another woman at the bar. The ease of her body language and smile tells me that the woman is someone Alex knows and not some stranger she befriended at the bar. They both stand with their backs to the bar, a cup in her friend’s hand and a hard seltzer can in Alex’s. Of all the places she went out to, she ends up at the same club that I’m in. I’m not someone who believes in signs, but I do recognize the urge to go down and talk to her that I am overcome with.
I also know I can’t blame that on the alcohol.
