“Who could blame them? I’m freakin’ gorgeous!”
“Hey, you’re beautiful, babe. But did you know that Detroit is my home city?”
Denver shook his head, and I jumped right back in, not wanting to lose the momentum. “It is. You know what that means, don’t you? That means I have a special kind of relationship with everyone who’s anyone with that team. Most importantly, the deal makers. They trust me, and so should you. I’ve already talked to them on your behalf, in fact—hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me—and I know they’re willing to pay big money to get you on their roster. And I’m going to make sure of it.”
I was stiff-legging it into the end zone, ready to do my own touchdown dance. It was going to be damn sexy, too: a lip bite, some body rolls, and a couple of air spanks to a make-believe ass. I was getting a boner, because I got off on this stuff. Maybe it was a little kinky, but at least it wasn’t as masochistic as the whole shower debacle this morning. The subject of said debacle chose that moment to throw a flag on my play and put an instant deflate on the celebratory chub in my slacks.
“That’s true, but then so would every other NFL team. We might even be able to get you back in Colorado. How’s that sound? You want your son back home, don’t you, Mrs. Rockford?” Cassidy was still playing the mama bear card. No way was she going to win with that, but it was a nice try.
Mrs. Rockford laid her hands over her heart. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
Boulder put a comforting arm around his wife, and a little piece of me died. “Of course it is, woman. Denver embodies all that is Colorado. That’s what we named him, and that’s where he belongs.”
Dammit, she was good. Whalen had stolen the lead with that ambush. The Rockfords harbored an intense love for their home state. It was a genetic sort of loyalty—hence the names of all the male children in their family. Each was named after a city, and they all had the same middle name: Colorado.
Right. So I was called back to the line of scrimmage. No big deal. I still had a lot of plays on my cuff.
“You could absolutely do that. I thought you’d want to go with a team that you could take to the championship, but if you want to try to build up your home team, we can do that, too. Like I said, the sky’s the limit.”
It got really quiet then, but the smirk on Cassidy’s face said a thousand words. “Aren’t you going to brag about all the deal makers you know with Colorado, Shaw?”
Sometimes I really hated her.
I shrugged; her attempt to make me look stupid was going to come up short. She and I both knew it. “I don’t have to. I know football.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “For the span of his career, he was in Europe. He knows soccer.”
“I know money.” No matter how often she slammed me for being a superficial jerk born with a silver spoon in my mouth, she couldn’t argue the point.
“So do I. I also know that money might build a house, but it won’t build a home.”
I glared at her. Mostly because she was a megabitch, but then I realized she’d just given me an opening. Turning to Denver, I said, “Would you rather make friends or money? The decision’s up to you.”
“Finally, we agree on something.” Cassidy leaned forward. “The decision is completely up to you, Denver. You’re lucky that you have a great foundation to support you in making it. And there’s one more thing we agree on. Whether it’s my vision for your future or Shaw’s, ultimately, Striker Sports Entertainment is the agency for you.”
Well, would you look at that? The little do-gooder was going for the “there is no ‘I’ in ‘team’ ” approach as well. Only she was using a different angle: the suck-up.
Denver gave a thunderous clap as he kicked his chair back and stood. “That’s enough business for today, man. My public awaits.” Grabbing the longneck in front of him, he finished it off in three gulps and slammed it back down onto the table, earning a raucous roar from his personal cheerleading squad and a disapproving look from his mother. “Bartender, another round for all my friends!”
Cassidy and I took our cue and stood to say our goodbyes. One never wanted to overstay one’s welcome when courting a major player in the game. Not only that, but spending too much time with one athlete made the others jealous. I had a lot of number ones, and each of them thought they were my most important, because that was what a good agent did. And it was true. Whoever I was negotiating for had my total focus until the deal was done and I needed to move on to the next client. But if the first guy ever needed me for anything, he’d have it back again. I liked my clients happy, so I gave them my all. I’d do the same for Denver Rockford, if he’d just give me the chance.
Denver and I clasped hands, and he pulled me in for a bro hug. I took the opportunity to throw out one more pitch. Hopefully, one that Cassidy wouldn’t have a chance to shoot down. “Just pass me the ball, Rocket. I promise, you won’t regret it.”
Denver laughed as he pulled back. “I hear ya, man. We’ll be in touch, okay?” He turned to my co-worker with a lascivious look in his eyes as he went in for a hug that was going to land his big paws on the cheeks of her ass.
Cassidy slapped his hands away and gave him a stern glare. Christ, it was the same look his mother had given him. “When I want you to touch me, Denver Rockford, I’ll let you know.”
She might as well have kicked the box out from under her own feet to dangle from a noose, because she’d just hung herself. I was a little disappointed, to tell the truth. I’d wanted that honor, but I’d settle for whipping up a quickie contract on a napkin to get the freshly scorned Rocket Man’s retaliatory commitment.
Denver and his ginormous ego did not disappoint. “Do you know who I am?”
Oh, this was great! I reached inside my pocket to pull out my pen while looking around for that napkin.
Cassidy put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I do. You’re a potential client with idle hands in the off-season. But that’ll be easily fixed once we get you signed and into some OTA drills.”
“Good God, woman! Sassy turns me on,” Denver said with a fake swoon.
Mama Rocket might’ve had to hop up to do it, but she landed a swift smack to the back of his head. “I didn’t raise you to be disrespectful to women, son. Apologize.”
“Ouch, Mom! Not in front of the paparazzi!” He rubbed the back of his head and sulked away to lick his wounds.
So much for the quickie contract. I needed to do some serious regrouping after this disaster of a meeting.
Cassidy giggled. Fucking giggled. Then she turned to Delilah and beamed. “He’s a cute one.”
“He didn’t get those manners from me.”
Denver hopped onto the stage and grabbed the microphone, back in superstar mode with his embarrassing moment forgotten. The DJ already had Elton John’s “Rocket Man” keyed up and waiting for him.
Delilah shook her head at the beginnings of her son’s dramatic performance. “He’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot. I swear, he’s a good kid.”
“I believe you,” Cassidy assured her. “And just so you know, he really can’t go wrong with SSE. We’ll take good care of him and always work toward what’s best for him, even when it might not be something he particularly likes.”
“I appreciate that.” Delilah gave Cassidy a hug, and for the first time since we’d arrived, I got a Mama Rocket smile. “He’ll go with SSE. We’ll see to it. Which one of you he signs with will be up to him, though. Best of luck to the both of ya.”
As she turned to walk away, Cassidy and I headed for the door. I supposed I should be happy we at least knew he would sign with the agency. Damn right Wade would be happy about that. But there was still the matter of the partnership. I felt a little worse for the wear, less confident than I had been when we’d first arrived.
I still had an ace up my sleeve, though. A surefire way to make her weak in the knees and bring her down a peg or two.
“Pass you the ball?” Cassidy said, interrupting my thoughts
. Obviously, she’d heard my private comment to Denver. “For what? So you can drop it? You do know that fumbles are bad, don’t you, Matthews?”
“Not if it’s the other team who’s doing the fumbling, Whalen.”
“We’re on the same team.”
“Are we? Because the last time I checked, teammates don’t face off against each other.”
“They do if the coach is trying to get one player to up his game to the level of the first stringer’s. I hope you took notes.” She gave me that high-and-mighty smirk and then slipped into the back of the car.
It seemed I’d underestimated my opponent.
CHAPTER 5
Cassidy
I hit Monkey Business at exactly six minutes past the five o’clock hour, which wasn’t like me at all. Mostly because I was so anal retentive about my work that I checked and rechecked my notes, made new ones, and rechecked those before I went anywhere, every day. Not today. Today’s anal fixation leaned toward the expulsive side, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I was fixating on the anal thing to begin with. Oh, wait. Shaw Matthews was the reason. After all, he was a giant ass.
The moment I crossed the threshold to the pub, Chaz slid a cold one down to the end of the bar, and it was waiting for me when I got to our table. I chugged the icy ale like a college frat boy doing a headstand on top of a keg at a toga party. That was five hours ago. I hadn’t stopped drinking since, though I had slowed down.
For all intents and purposes, Quinn and Demi had believed me when I’d told them I was celebrating my mini victory over Shaw, but I knew that was a lie. The truth was, I’d tried everything else to get that damn dream out of my head and nothing had worked. Tying one on didn’t seem to be working, either.
Shaw was perched atop his regular stool at the bar, of course, also drinking. I had a sneaking suspicion that his bun had nothing to do with a victory either, seeing as how I’d outmaneuvered what he’d thought would be a sure thing. Served him right. He knew that using one of his clients to get the upper hand with another was in fact underhanded, since it was a cheat. Plain and simple. I’d put the smackdown on what he’d thought was going to be a slam dunk.
Ignoring Shaw’s presence had always been hard to do, though never impossible. Until now. For some reason, I couldn’t stop stealing glances in his direction, even consciously admonishing and correcting myself. He was leaning over the bar in such a way that the slight angle of his back showcased his ass perfectly. I’d never thought of myself as an ass chick, but I knew for a fact I was a Gerard Butler chick. Which qualified me to say that Shaw’s ass was very Gerard Butler–ish in that it was fleshy enough for a nice bite but still firm enough to be manly. The slope from his back rounded out to a nice double palm–sized cup and then dipped elegantly into his thighs. If I had to guess, I’d say it had the same golden tan the rest of him appeared to have. As he leaned farther across the bar to take a playful swat at Chaz for something he’d said, I unconsciously followed, hoping his tucked shirt would pull free to reveal whether or not he had back dimples to compliment the smile below.
The forward lean was a bad idea. Mine was, anyway. The room had started to tilt on its axis a bit, which was good. That meant the booze was working. Though I supposed my keen observation of Shaw’s backside should’ve been clue number one that it was.
I wasn’t quite drunk, but I definitely wasn’t as wound up as I had been all day. In my current state, I’d convinced myself that it was perfectly reasonable that the dream had messed with my head. It was, in fact, in my head, after all. But I couldn’t quite shake my curiosity about whether a romp with Shaw would be anywhere near the same outside of the dream. Or, better yet, whether his bedroom talk would be anywhere near as naughty. Yesterday he’d been nothing more than a self-important jackass in a suit who charmed the pants off anyone who could get him somewhere in the world. Today I saw him differently. He was still a self-important jackass in a suit, but damn, he looked good in it.
“Uh-uh. Why is she crying?” Quinn asked. Thank God. I needed the distraction.
I looked up to see that Sasha’s normally glamorous face was tearstained and that a tall, fair-skinned man with the body of a soldier and a haircut to match was escorting her to our table. Though her escort was no stranger to Monkey Business or us, Landon Mercer’s presence meant he’d ridden to the rescue once again, and that implied only one thing. Sasha had either been the dumper or the dumpee in her latest relationship. If you could call her dating fiascos relationships, that is.
Though Landon now worked as a security consultant for a local government agency, he was a proud marine at heart—loyal, honorable, and strong. He was everyone’s hero, but for one woman, he was a superhero. And he was content to stay by her side, picking her up and dusting her off after every failed relationship, because that was the kind of man he was.
“Ah, jeez, Sash.” Demi engulfed her roommate in a comforting hug the second Sasha took the seat next to her, with Landon still at her side. “What happened this time?”
Sasha’s voice was thick with tears. “He said I’m selfish.”
The woman’s heart was entirely too big, and she had a thing for fixer-uppers. This time, it had been an unemployed pothead with kids he couldn’t afford to take care of. But there was a long line of abusers, addicts, and cheaters in her past, all of whom had made her believe that she was to blame for her inability to fix them. Worst of all, she’d trusted them—she was so damn good-hearted she couldn’t understand that loving a person unconditionally was only a bandaged solution to the wound beneath, and wounds that deep needed stitches only years of therapy could sew. Sasha wasn’t a therapist. She was a beautiful woman with a pure soul who came from wealthy parents, and she would be better off once she learned to supplement her codependency with flipping houses instead of men. At least a house couldn’t break her damn heart.
“How much, Sasha?” I simply asked what everyone else was already wondering.
She bowed her head and fiddled with the tissue in her hands. “I don’t know. A little over eight grand, I guess.”
Quinn threw his hands into the air. “You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me! Really? And you’ve been dating this one for how long now?”
“Fifty-one days.” She shrugged. “Give or take.”
“Fifty-one days, she says.” Quinn leaned across the table. “Eight thousand dollars in fifty-one days?”
“Don’t start with me, Quinn. It’s not like you don’t take money from Daddy.”
“Hold on a minute. Did you just compare—” Quinn began, but I shushed him. He growled a little but managed to rein in his outrage to say something semiproductive: “Sasha, honey, Daddy and I are in love, and we’ve been together for six years. Six years, not fifty-one days. He does things for me because he loves me, not because he wants me to love him. Do you understand the difference? You can’t buy someone’s affection.”
“I know! I know!” Sasha slumped in her chair. “I screwed up. Again. There, I said it. Are you happy?”
Demi pulled at some of the flattened curls in Sasha’s hair. “Sweetie, your broken heart could never make us happy. It makes us growly because we love you and you deserve so much better than these losers you’ve been dating. You need someone who will treasure you. Someone who could never fathom bringing mental, physical, or emotional harm to you. Someone who loves you because of who you are and not what you can do for him. Someone who rides a white stallion—”
“And is hung like a stallion,” Quinn threw in.
“—and has a superhero complex. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“Someone like Landon,” I added. Instantly, panic jolted my insides. I heard the words; I swear I heard them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t before they blasted their way past my lips. Demi and Quinn snapped their heads toward me and froze like deer in headlights, with their eyes wide open and their mouths clamped shut. If it hadn’t been for the background noise, I would’ve sworn someone had pressed the pause button o
n the world. And then Landon cleared his throat and pulled at his collar while shifting in place. Oops. Yep, I was definitely tipsy.
“Um, you know … because he’s a marine and he drives a white Bronco.”
“So did O. J. Simpson,” Quinn pointed out.
“Good point. Look, what I meant to say,” I backpedaled, “is if a guy’s not lifting you up, then he’s holding you down.” It was true, and therefore a magnificent save. “Maybe you should take some time to be good to yourself instead of feeling like you have to take care of someone else.”
For some odd reason, I felt like we should’ve joined hands to sing a chorus of “Kumbaya” or some Disney movie’s theme song.
“Yeah, I know you’re right. All of you are. I have the absolute best friends in the world. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Demi sighed and then stood, pulling Sasha out of her chair as well. “Come on, sugar lumps. Let’s get you home with some Chunky Monkey.”
Quinn clapped. “Oh, ice cream! I’m in,” he said, jumping out of his seat to link one arm through Sasha’s. “Are you coming?” he asked me.
I might have glanced toward the bar on that one. When my eyes locked with Shaw’s right before he jerked away, something told me to stay. It was that stupid dream haunting me again, but I was damned if I could shut it down.
“Go on without me. I’m going to have another beer, and then I’m heading home.”
“Oh, uh-uh. You’re not walking home by yourself. Have you lost your mind?” The way Quinn was gaping at me, I’d not only lost my mind, I’d grown two heads as well.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets there safely.” Imagine my utter shock when Shaw pulled a Landon. He also pulled out the chair next to me and took a seat as if he’d been invited to do so.