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ANDI

As a server places a plate in front of Ford, he reaches into an inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a small package.

I watch as he unwraps a set of eating utensils—knife, fork, spoon—and sets them on his plate.

I blink but say nothing, picking up my own fork to dig into my salad.

I’m just happy he’s here.

My insides are writhing with jealousy and nerves.

She’s pregnant.

It’s bad enough that I have to face my ex with his new girlfriend, and that she’s nominated for the same award I am, but she’s pregnant ?

Sweet baby Jesus and his tiny toes.

Trevor never wanted kids.

Neither did I.

He was focused on his baseball career, and I was focused on my job.

Focused on supporting us while he followed his dream.

But this…

kind of hurts.

I feel like I’m eating and talking and smiling in a fog.

I can’t stop thinking about Haven’s cute pregnant belly.

How they’re going to be a family.

How I’m alone.

And she was a bitch to me!

I have to win this award.

I will probably die if I don’t.

Okay, that’s a bit hyperbolic.

Or maybe not.

“What’s wrong?” Ford asks in a low voice near my ear.

“What? Nothing. Why?”

“You made a noise. Like a growl.”

I press my lips together.

Oops.

“I’m fine.”

“I wanted to smack her, too.”

I jerk my head around.

His eyes are warm with compassion.

“Is Haven nominated for the same award as you?”

“Yes.”

“Sucks for her.”

I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

“I appreciate the support.”

“Did you know she’s pregnant?” he asks in a low voice.

I shake my head, looking at my plate, my throat full of sand.

“No.”

He curses under his breath.

“I’m sorry.”

I blink rapidly and smile.

“It’s okay. It’s not like I wanted kids. I thought Trevor didn’t either, but… well.”

After our salad, we’re served a New York strip steak with peppercorn cream sauce and then a chocolate brownie with fresh fruit.

It’s all delicious, but the knots in my stomach are growing tighter as we get closer to the awards part of the evening.

My self-esteem has taken a beating the last few years, with my husband dumping me for another woman, a woman I considered a work friend, then leaving my secure, high-paying job to start my own business.

To basically start over.

And she’s pregnant.

I really want to win tonight.

I need to win at something .

Which means I’m going to be crushed when it doesn’t happen.

I wind my fingers together in my lap and look down at them.

Ford bumps my shoulder with his.

“Are you going to eat your dessert?”

I glance at him.

“Yes. No. You can have it.”

He takes my plate and finishes off the brownie while I fret over watching Haven win the award, imagining Trevor’s enjoyment and her gloating.

So what if she does?

It doesn’t really matter.

I’ll be fine.

I keep telling myself that.

By the time speeches and awards start, I’ve accepted that Haven is going to win and that’s okay because I’m my own boss now, I have a great new life as a single woman, and I’m here with a hot professional athlete.

There’s always something positive!

So when my name is called I blink in confusion.

Did I hear that right?

I turn to Ford, who’s smiling broadly.

I’m afraid to stand up in case I’ve made a terrible mistake and I’ll humiliate myself.

Ford takes my hand and pulls me to standing.

“Congratulations,” he says in my ear.

“Get up there.”

Still blinking, mouth open, I make my way through the tables to the dais, trying not to stumble.

The presenter, a man I vaguely know through networking functions, smiles and nods at me.

I guess it’s for real?

I’m not up here stealing Haven’s award?

Still forcing a smile, I try to get my shit together as I speak into the microphone.

“Oh, wow. This is really unexpected. Holy shit.” That gets me a big laugh, and heat floods up into my face.

Dammit, I have no idea what to say!

I break out in a sweat as I search for words.

“I’m so grateful for this because it comes from my peers,” I stammer out.

“I know all of the nominees personally and they are all incredible at what they do.” I’m calming down a little and I smile and make eye contact with a few people.

“So it really means a lot to me, and I want to thank all the other nominees for the work you do to inspire and motivate, and thank you especially to Haven for all that you taught me in our years working together.” Yeah.

I can be the bigger person.

I straighten my shoulders and thank other people—my former bosses, mentors, and friends who’ve supported me.

“And despite economic concerns, there are so many reasons to be optimistic that business will improve.”

I return to the table holding my small crystal trophy, determined not to look at Haven.

And Trevor.

Now the adrenaline is flowing and I practically float through the room, beaming and accepting congratulations from the others at our table.

The room is a blur around me.

Ford stands as I arrive beside him and I exuberantly throw my arms around him.

His hands close on my hips, sending a dart of heat to my belly, which I ignore.

“I just fucked that up,” I say.

He chuckles.

“You did great, Marsh. Congratulations again.” And he slides his arms around me, pulls me against him, and gives me a gentle squeeze that makes my skin tingle everywhere.

It’s a normal physical reaction.

He has an amazing body, exuding heat and energy and masculinity, and he smells incredible.

And I’m high enough from my win that I just go with it.

I’m about to take my seat when Haven appears.

“Andi,” she says tightly.

My first reaction is to smile, assuming she’s here to congratulate me.

“I can’t believe you won,” she says.

I blink, sensing Ford’s body tense next to me.

“But you only won because you stole Mirabella Cosmetics from me,” she snaps, leaning in.

“That was dirty. You don’t deserve that award.”

I actually gasp out loud.

“What?”

Ford slowly stands, scowling at Haven, waves of fury emanating from him.

“Excuse me?”

She glances at him and actually takes a step back seeing the look on his face from his six-foot-four height.

But she doesn’t back down.

“You heard me. She’s a fake. She cheats. She went behind my back and stole a client away from me.”

“I did not!” Outrage heats my veins and I stand too, facing her.

“That is a lie. You take that back.”

“I will not.” Her eyes narrow.

“Losing that client cost me at Design Edge. And it was because of you. That was your plan all along.”

“You’re…” I stop and slide my gaze around, taking in the people around us watching.

I lower my voice.

“This is not the place for this discussion.”

It’s not a discussion, though.

She’s lost her mind.

“Walk away,” Ford says softly, staring her down.

He slides an arm around my waist in a protective gesture, pulling me to his side and slightly behind him as if Haven’s going to punch me or something.

“Andi did not do that. Just leave.”

Haven’s face floods with color and she glares at him, then at me.

And she moves toward me.

Instinctively, I take a step toward her too.

“Oh, hell, no.” Ford pushes me behind him, putting himself between me and Haven.

“Don’t even think of touching her,” he growls.

His protective presence obviously deters her.

Others at our table have stood, sensing an impending bitch battle, or something.

Much as I’d like to, I can’t fight with a pregnant woman.

Haven presses her lips together, her face in rigid lines, then pivots on a heel and marches away.

Suddenly I’m trembling, leaning against Ford’s back.

“Oh, dear God.”

He turns and steadies me with those big hands.

“Are you okay?”

I swallow.

“I think so.”

“What is her problem?” he rumbles.

“Jesus.”

“She’s… I think she’s jealous.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” He rubs my back in gentle circles that both comfort me and send sparks down my spine.

“What the fuck?”

“Thank you.” I draw back from him, gathering my composure.

I glance around.

“Thanks for standing up for me.”

“Of course. She’s a loon.”

“That was not cool,” the woman next to me says.

“Wow.”

“Unprofessional,” her partner says, frowning.

“I think… I’d like to leave now.” I gaze up at Ford.

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

I grab my little purse and my trophy, holding myself together long enough to say good night to the others sitting with us, then Ford leads us out of the room, down to the ground floor, and out into the city night.

The sun has set and the lights of Manhattan glitter and sparkle around us.

I pause.

I don’t know which direction to go.

“Should we get an Uber?” Ford asks.

“I need a drink. Let’s walk.” I stalk along the sidewalk toward West 46th.

Ford falls into step with me.

“You okay in those heels?”

“My feet are killing me,” I admit.

“But I’ll make it.”

There are lots of restaurants on this street just up ahead.

We pause at one of the first we come to, an Italian place with a tiny patio in front.

Miraculously, there’s an empty table and we are quickly seated there.

I pick up a cocktail menu and study it.

“Are you warm enough?” Ford asks.

I realize I shivered in the evening breeze.

“I’m fine.”

He shakes his head and takes off his suit jacket, moving around to drape it over my shoulders.

His warmth and scent—like warm leather and spice—envelop me and for a moment I feel a wee bit dizzy.

I resist the urge to drop my chin and press my nose into the lapel to breathe in more.

“Thank you.”

He sits back in his chair and loosens his tie, all smooth and sophisticated in his expensive clothes, a contrast to the sweaty, half-naked guy doing martial arts, or the athlete on the ice, or even the automaton he appears to be at home, all regimented and organized.

A waiter appears and I order a dirty martini.

Ford gets a beer.

“So,” he says.

“Did you steal her client?”

“No!”

His lips twitch and I see he’s teasing.

“I didn’t steal them,” I say more calmly.

“They were a client I worked with at Design Edge. We had a good working relationship. When I left Design Edge, they had a couple of months left on their contract, and they decided not to sign with them again and came to me. But I had no idea they were going to do that.”

He nods.

“Some of the people at Design Edge were upset about it,” I continue.

“Especially Haven, who took over their account when I left. The thing is, Haven’s good at what she does. Mirabella just preferred working with me. But she doesn’t need to be jealous of me.”

“You’re too nice to her.”

“Probably,” I say with a glum smile.

“Thanks again for defending me.”

“She was way out of line. For a minute I thought I was going to have to break up a cat fight.”

I snort-laugh.

“You almost were.”

“The only reason I stopped you is because she’s pregnant and you were gonna take her down.” Amusement shades his voice.

“I thought hockey players like fights.”

He grins.

“I’m a goalie.”

“So goalies never fight?”

“Uh… rarely.”

Intrigued, I lean forward.

“Have you? Gotten in a fight?”

“Maybe a few times.”

My mouth drops open and a little laugh escapes me.

“Seriously?”

He gives me a look with a crooked smile.

“I have a bit of a temper.”

I tilt my head.

“I’ve never seen that.”

“Mostly when I see something unfair.” He pauses.

“That sparks my temper. Like whatshername blaming you for losing a client.”

Tonight was the most emotional I’ve ever seen him.

No, wait—he had seethed a bit when he found out Trev had left me for another woman.

So there are things that rile him up…

“So you fight in hockey when something’s not fair?”

He rubs his chin.

“I guess? One time this player for the Bears—Jake Colman—kept skating through my crease, kept bumping me. He was pissing me off and I told him if he touched me again he would, er, eat my hockey stick.”

A laugh bursts from my lips.

“And he did?”

“Yeah. So he had it coming. I warned him.”

“Did you get a penalty?”

“Oh, hell, yeah.”

“Was that the only fight?”

“No.”

Our drinks arrive and I pick up my martini to take a swallow.

It heats my mouth and warms me all the way down my esophagus.

When the server has gone, I say, “Okay, tell me.”

He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“There were actually a few times when I was a kid. But the other time as a pro, I wasn’t the only one who got in the fight. One of the other team’s guys crosschecked Shawzy, right in front of my net, dropped him to the ice. I was pissed and I came out of the net and jumped the guy. A few other guys got involved and then the tender from the other team came down the ice and he and I got into it.”

I cover my face with my hands, wanting to laugh, even though I don’t approve of physical violence.

Getting riled like I did earlier is out of character for me.

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, it kind of was. Anyway. You didn’t need to get into a donnybrook with a colleague at a fancy awards dinner. That’s a little different than mixing it up on the ice.”

“True.” I take another sip of my drink.

“I’m calming down. Thanks for distracting me.”

“Good. Sorry that happened. Don’t let it ruin your night. You should be proud.”

I give a firm nod.

“I am.” But…

I wrinkle my nose.

“I thought winning the award would make everything okay. But I’m still divorced. Haven and Trevor are still together. And she’s pregnant.”

Ford purses his lips as he lifts his glass.

After he swallows, he says, “I thought you were over him.”

My eyebrows tug together.

“I… am. I guess.”

“You guess? Do you still want to get back together with him?”

His question takes me aback.

There have definitely been times I’ve imagined Trevor coming back to me, apologetic and begging for forgiveness, admitting he made a terrible mistake.

It’s a fantasy to imagine the man who broke your heart is also broken-hearted and repentant, hurting as much as he hurt you.

But if that happened, how would I react?

Would I really forgive him?

Would I really take him back after what he did?

“I… I don’t know. I mean, he’s with someone else. And they’re having a baby. So no.”

“What if he wasn’t with someone else?”

I meet Ford’s eyes, but it’s uncomfortable because he’s looking at me so steadily and intently, and I look away.

“I don’t know. It was more than just him falling for another woman.”

“What was it?”

“It was… the fact that I’d supported him all those years. We got married when we were young. I put myself through college and supported us so he could play ball. So he could pursue his dream. I…” I stop, my throat closing up.

“I wanted to be a veterinarian. But that takes years of school. So I did a business degree instead. Trevor always told me that I’d get my turn to follow my dreams once he’d made it. But then…” I clear my throat.

“Just when that happened, when he finally made it to the big league, and I was starting to apply to vet schools, he… lost interest in me.”

It fucking hurts to admit that.

Even though it’s been almost two years since it happened, I still sometimes question why I wasn’t good enough for him.

Why wasn’t I enough?

And yeah, my friends have tried to shut that down and reassure me that I am enough, that he just wasn’t the right man, and I mostly believe that, but there are times when I’m feeling low and those doubts creep back in.

I watch Ford’s face change, going from relaxed to stony with narrowed eyes, then neutral.

“He’s an idiot.”

I smile.

“Thanks. You’re good for my ego.” He’s been so kind and compassionate tonight.

I’m not sure why I’m a little surprised; maybe it’s because I’ve mostly seen his cocky, dirty, flirty side.

His shoulder lifts in a barely-there shrug.

I drain my martini glass, feeling a welcome buzz.

The waiter instantly appears.

“Another one?”

“Sure.” I look at Ford, but he lifts his half-full glass and shakes his head.

“Anyway.” I look down at the table.

“It’s over between us. He’s moved on.”

“And you seem to have moved on, with all those guys you date.”

I make a face.

“Yeah. That’s the only kind of relationship I want. Not serious. Just fun.”

I’ll always love Trevor, in some ways.

I’ll always love the Trevor he was when things were good—when we were young and in love and had so much fun together.

But that Trevor is gone.

I’ll never have a relationship like that again.

And that’s okay.

Obviously my judgment about men is flawed.

Professional athletes clearly are only concerned with themselves—with their careers and getting ahead.

And as supportive as Ford is, I know he’s exactly the same.

And that’s why we’re just friends.