Page 44

Alex

T he jazz band at Belle’s Place is playing a melody of Miles Davis, which fills the space in the private loft where Olive and I are seated. There’s a vanilla candle flickering on the table, cutting through the dim light of the room that she’s looking around.

“This is where it happened,” Olive says, breaking the silence as she meets my eyes.

“What?”

“The assault.” She gestures toward my head, which I nearly forgot hurt. I guess there’s something to the distraction method when it comes to chronic pain after all. “You stopped in the alley and looked like you saw a ghost.”

Damn. I did do that, huh? “That night is still a little fuzzy. But, yes. Clarkson’s stepsister owns this place. I’m sure you’ll meet her. It’s only a matter of time before she busts up here asking me why I’m out of bed.”

I’m surprised she didn’t greet us at the door. I know she told Jesus, one of the security guards, to let her know when one of the guys shows up so they can be let right in.

“I saw the photos of her,” she says, fiddling with the straw wrapper of her soda because she didn’t want wine. Something tells me it was when she saw the price of the bottle. “On the news, they were showing you walking into the hospital.”

I remember the camera flashes, but not much else from the walk from Belle’s car to inside the emergency room.

“She’s cool” is all I say about her. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all that needs to be said. “The guys and I have been here a few different times. What happened that night isn’t common, if you’re worried.”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But you’re not? We both know you can’t afford another injury. You’ve suffered concussions before at Lindon.”

I did, and each one of them sucked. But I’m not going there right now because I know where this is headed. All athletes have to face the reality that we can only take so many hits before our careers are at jeopardy. Thankfully, I’ve only had three injuries, and they were all minor.

“Crime in this area really isn’t common. What happened here was a freak thing. You don’t have to worry about it happening again.”

She bites down on her bottom lip that’s painted pink. It’s bright, and I’m fairly sure she’s caught me staring at her mouth at least twice since she applied the color in the car. She chose that with intent, and it’s working.

“I do, though,” she admits with a shrug.

“Worry. And trust me, I don’t like it. It’s easier to only think about yourself, but that’s not always reality.

I think you and I are more similar than we think.

We both wish we could be more selfish than we are.

That’s probably why we’ve gotten along all these years. ”

I can think of a lot of reasons we’ve gotten along, but I’ve never wanted to admit it’s because we’re similar.

I don’t want her to be as cynical as I am, and if we’re that alike, that’s what it would make her—a girl who looks at life like it’s a glass half empty. “If that’s true, I feel bad for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “You may have a lot going on in your life, but that doesn’t make you broken.

You just want people to think you are so they don’t bother trying to break past the barriers you put up.

Spoiler alert, Alex, you already let me in.

I met your mom. You told me about your childhood. How many people know about that?”

I can’t even try denying it because she’s right.

“Do your teammates know about your mom?” she pries, wrapping those damn lips around her straw and taking a long sip. It brings me back to the times she’d wrap them around me .

Now I’m hard in my goddamn jeans.

I peel my eyes off her mouth and lift them to meet hers. “No.”

I try mentally talking down my boner.

She quirks up a brow. “And why is that?”

“I didn’t even tell my friends back home or the people I lived with for three years at the frat. Why would I tell anyone here?”

“I don’t think you give people enough credit,” she says softly. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you told me. Even if it might have been by forceful coercion.”

I huff out a laugh. I’m not going to tell her that a part of me feels relieved.

I’m also not going to tell her that weight has lifted off my chest that’s been there since I told the judge I’d stay with my mom when I was younger.

I don’t regret any of those things, and I can’t go back and change them.

But I never realized how much of it piled up until now.

We fall silent, as I try racking my mind for something to say.

“You like the wrong football team” is what I blurt out when nothing else comes to mind.

She stares at me. “What?”

“We’ve always had a lot in common, but we never liked the same teams. It used to drive me fucking crazy when you’d show up to my place wearing a Giants’ jersey. And don’t get me started on the Rangers shit. I was ready to peel them off you whether we were going to have sex or not.”

The way she snorts at me is actually kind of cute. “As if the Patriots are any better. Even Tom Brady got tired of them. Without him and Gronk they were nothing.”

We’ve had this argument before. “You’re lucky we’re here. If we were at my place, I’d make you pay for those fighting words.”

Her eyes flare with heat. “That’s because you don’t have it in you to admit when you’re wrong. It’s okay. At least New England’s team is grateful for your unwavering, albeit questionable, loyalty.”

She’s playing with fire now, and my dick only gets harder.

Before I can reply, Belle shows up at the top of the stairs like I knew she would. She all but bounces over, her outgoing personality practically popping the bubble of heated tension between me and the girl on the opposite side of the booth.

“Alex, I thought you were supposed to be resting,” she chides, like I knew she would. She sticks out a hand toward Olive. “Hi, I’m Belle. This is my place. Hopefully you’ve taken it easy on Alex since the doctor told him not to drive or do any strenuous activity.”

Olive eyes dart to me. “You’re not supposed to drive?”

I sigh. “The doctor told me not to drive for forty-eight hours after the incident. It’s been longer than that. Not that it’s any of your business, Belle .”

“I’m Olive,” my date tells Belle, ignoring my tone altogether.

Belle beams. “Oh, I know. You’re Sebastian Henderson’s little sister. I looked you up.”

Olive blinks.

I’m the one who asks the obvious question. “Why exactly did you look her up?”

Belle gives me an exasperated look, like I’m somehow dumb for asking.

“Because I was curious. Plus, Olive is such a unique name. I figured there was no way that your Olive was different than the one I saw when that photo went viral with her brother and that hunk of a right wing. Don’t tell Jesse I said that about Hoffman, though. ”

I grin. “Oh, I will.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Meanie. But whatever. I’m stating facts. Hoffman is attractive. Don’t you agree?” Belle directs that question to Olive, not me.

Olive nods, not making eye contact with me while answering. “He’s like a real-life Thor.”

Belle grins. “Thor was always my favorite.”

“I was always more of a Captain America kind of gal, but Thor is a close second.”

I cut in, because I don’t feel like spending my night debating on which superhero is hotter. “Is there a reason you’re high jacking my date, or did you just come over to scold me for trying to live my life outside the confines of my apartment?”

Belle perks up, looking between me and Olive. “Date, huh?” She winks at Olive before refocusing on me. “I like her, so I approve. And while I’m glad you brought her here, there’s a nice steakhouse down the road that you could spend some of your money at. Don’t cheap out on your girl.”

I glare at the implication. “We wanted privacy. What kind of business owner are you trying to turn away paying customers?”

Belle props her hands on her hips. “I always give you good discounts here because you and Jesse play together. I’m simply encouraging you to spend some money on her before she comes to her senses and runs for the hills once that dazzling personality of yours comes out.”

Olive tries to hide a smile behind her glass.

But I see it.

“She’s not a hooker, Belle, I don’t need to buy her. And she’s not exactly shackled to the table. If she wants to leave, she can. But I have a feeling she’s not going to do that.”

It’s Olive who asks, “Why not?”

I meet her eyes. “You’ve had the choice to walk away long before now, but you’re still here.”

Belle makes a little noise as she claps her hands together.

Olive’s lips tilt up at the corners. “Even though you like the Patriots, I couldn’t walk away. I think some part of me knew that you needed me—needed a friend. And my best friend back home told me to give us a chance. Here I am doing that.”

Belle’s sigh is light, like she’s soaking this up with that lovey-dovey look she gets around Clarkson. It’s borderline nauseating. “You two are cute. But you’re in Pennsylvania now. It’s the Steelers or the Eagles. But I choose to forgive you regardless.”

My teammate’s stepsister remains standing there, peering at the two of us.

“Belle,” I tell her slowly.

“Yeah?”

“Go the hell away.”

“Oh. Right. My bad.” As she walks away, I hear her mumble, “The Pats?” in quiet disbelief.

Olive leans her arms on the edge of the table with a small smile on her face. “You never correct people when they call me yours.”

It’s not a question, but a statement.

“You don’t either,” I point out matter-of-factly.

Her smile grows, brightening her eyes. “I don’t.”

Like me, she doesn’t offer an explanation.

I guess neither one of us thinks that one is necessary.

*

I hold the door open for Olive when we get to my apartment, letting my gaze dip down to scan over her ass as she walks inside. When she looks over her shoulder and catches me, there’s a grin on her face. “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” I say unabashedly.