Page 12

I Don’t Deserve You

I don’t give her time to protest. Charlene sizes her finger, and she tells me she’ll call me when it’s ready to be picked up.

And that’s it. Boom. Ring shopping—check.

Over the next few days, we fall into a routine that’ll get thrown into upheaval once the season begins in a few months, but it’s working for us for now.

I start the day with a workout while she works in the kitchen. She’s always up already typing in the morning when I walk in. She keeps going until she hits her word count goal, and then she does her administrative work. If there’s time left, she goes back in for more words.

She works until I make breakfast and shove a plate of food in front of her, and it’s really anybody’s guess if she actually ate meals before she moved in here or if she just grabbed whatever protein bar was handy in between her busy schedule.

We eat breakfast together, sometimes out on the back patio, and then she usually gets back to work while I sometimes swim and sometimes take a shower .

We eat lunch together, which is usually something simple like a premade salad or leftovers.

She works for a few hours while I do my own thing, which consists of meeting up with Tanner or some of my teammates, attending meetings, or doing little things for Sophie like setting up an LLC or looking into finding her an assistant.

When I get back, she’s usually showered and ready to tell me about what she worked on.

It’s one of my favorite parts of the day.

She’s always so enthusiastic and excited to share what she was working on, almost as if she’s bragging about her accomplishments because she wants to impress me. I guess I’m sort of an investor in her company, though to be honest, I’m invested in her as a person far more than in her business.

Today I’m meeting with my publicist, someone new I’m working with in San Diego.

She was recommended by Ford, the backup quarterback to my brother, and I hired her midway through last season.

We haven’t had much opportunity to work together yet, but I have some plans I want to talk to her about, which is why I scheduled today’s meeting.

I head to the office where Tara Holt works, and her assistant greets me with a bottle of water as she walks me back to Tara’s office.

She’s sitting behind her desk in a pantsuit as she studies her computer, clear square eyeglasses perched on her nose and her chin-length dark hair pushed behind her ears.

She glances up when the assistant knocks on the doorframe, and she rises from her chair and removes her eyeglasses as she greets me with her hand stuck out over her desk.

“Mr. Banks, lovely to see you again,” she says, no warmth in her tone as it’s all professional. “Have a seat.”

The assistant leaves, and I sit.

“What can I do for you today?” she asks .

“My brother is getting married,” I begin.

I’m not sure why I begin there, and she gives me kind of a funny look as I say it, so I backtrack.

“We’ve always been a package deal. But he’s doing his own thing now.

He started up an after-school program for kids to learn how to play football.

I guess I just…want my own thing, too. I want to work on my branding as an individual.

Create my own programs. Do my own community outreach. You know?”

She squints a little and nods as she clearly begins to formulate some ideas.

“Well, there are tons of ways we could tackle this, no pun intended. We could simply work on a line of endorsements or sponsorships. You could be the face of, say, All Pro Athlete Drink, or whatever offer comes your way that you feel is a good fit. That would help with the branding angle. As for program creation, what are you thinking?”

I shrug, and Sophie’s face comes to mind. “I don’t know. Something with high school kids, maybe?”

She nods. “Let’s give it some thought. Are you thinking a business or a charity?”

“More charity, I think.”

“Okay. An annual event, virtual or in-person, related to sports or something else…” She trails off after firing off all those questions.

“All great questions that give me things to think about.”

“What are you passionate about?” she asks.

Another great question. “Football.”

“Obviously.”

I clear my throat. “Player health. Leadership. Giving kids the tools and open doors to be successful in this career—or even helping them figure out if this career is right for them because it isn’t for everybody.”

She nods. “By high school, I think most can recognize the potential a kid has and if they have any chance of making it pro. So I think you’re onto something.

Let me do some research and see what similar programs are out there.

But help me break this down. You want to run a charity event where you inform and instruct students on things such as player health, leadership, and a career in professional sports, and you want it to meet…

weekly? Monthly? Annually for a week, like a boot camp? ”

“Yeah, something like that. Let me do a little research, too, and let’s touch base next week with what we’ve each found,” I suggest.

We set an appointment a week out, and then I head home to find Sophie crying at the kitchen table.

“Oh my God, Soph. What’s wrong?” I ask, rushing over and kneeling beside her.

She sniffles and wipes her cheeks. “Sorry. I just, ugh. God. Tyler called. He’s breaking his lease on the apartment and said he needs my key back tonight, and I can’t just magically make it appear. So I have to drive back to Phoenix tonight.”

“Fuck him,” I say. “Tell him to make a copy.”

“I would, but he had my name on the lease, too, and I’ll be on the hook for the deposit. And it’s not just that. I left a few things there, and he said he’ll trash them if I don’t come get them.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket. “There’s a flight that leaves in an hour. We could hop that one, stay the night, and come back in the morning.”

“Stop, Miller. You’ve been way too good to me already with this whole thing. I can’t let you book me a flight on top of your generosity.”

“I’d be booking it for both of us, not just you,” I say with a smirk. I click the button to purchase two tickets before she can protest, and I flash my phone at her.

Her jaw slackens. “I swear to God, I don’t deserve you. ”

“Go pack an overnight bag because we have to get to the airport,” I say instead of responding to that. Of course she deserves me. I just wish she could deserve me in an entirely different way.

We rush toward the airport with an overnight bag for each of us, and if she left anything large at the apartment she wants, I figure we can leave it at her parents’ house, or I can ship it home.

We get on the plane with plenty of time to spare, and I’m all set to listen to a podcast and think through this charity thing when she leans over onto my shoulder. I glance down at her.

“Thanks, Banks.”

“Anytime, Summers.”

She sits up and wraps her arms around one of mine, pulling it in close like she’s hugging it. “You’ve been so helpful to me. I wish there was something I could do to repay the favor.”

“Besides cooking for me?” I tease. We both laugh since we’ve been living at my place together for several days now, and she has yet to cook anything.

“Right. I’m going to learn, I promise. These things just take time.”

I laugh, but then I turn thoughtfully toward her. “You know, there actually is something I need some help with.”

“What is it?”

“I met with my publicist today, and I told her I want to expand my community outreach and branding. I told her I want to do some sort of program where I work with high school students to help them with some of the real shit that comes with being a pro athlete—leadership training, player safety, figuring out if they even want this as a career. That sort of thing. She asked me about a billion questions, and I need to come up with answers before our meeting next week. Want to help me? ”

Her eyes light up. “Help you? Dude, this sounds like a job I was born to do.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You think so?”

“I know so. Let’s back up. What were these billions of questions she asked?”

I start rapid-firing some of the things I need to make decisions on, and somehow…she’s absolutely right. She was born to do this. She knows a lot about high school kids and their interests since she worked with them for eight years, so planning a curriculum for this is like second nature to her.

It’s totally foreign to me, though. I know football. She knows curriculum design.

And together, we’re one hell of a team.

The short flight is enough to get several of my questions answered, and when I meet with Tara next week, I’ll be ready.

We hop into a rental SUV and pull in front of the apartment complex where Sophie lived until a week ago, and she sucks in a fortifying breath. I reach over and grab her hand. “You’ve got this, Soph.”

She nods. “I know. Because you’re here.”

I press my lips together. I wish she knew how much I’d drop everything to be there for her at any given moment. I think I’ve started to prove that to her this week, but she’s been hurt enough times that it might not be sinking in quite yet.

“Let’s do this,” I say.

“Let’s do this,” she echoes.

We get out of the car, and she grabs my arm and hugs it to her chest as we walk, just like we were sitting on the plane. She holds tightly to me, and then she lets go to let herself in. I walk in behind her.

“Tyler?” she calls.

No answer .

Good. I’m not sure exactly what I would do if I came face-to-face with that dickhead.

She sets the key on the kitchen counter, and then she heads off in search of the items she left behind.

“I’m going to use the restroom, and then I’ll help. Okay?” I ask, and she nods.

When I emerge from the bathroom, I hear voices down the hallway.

“How could you do that to me, Tyler? I thought I meant something to you!”

“You ended things out of nowhere, so I just put the final nail in the coffin,” he hisses back at her.

“What’s going on here?” I demand as I walk in and throw a protective arm around Sophie.

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ. Of course you called in your best friend.” He says your best friend with a healthy dose of mocking sarcasm, and I want to punch the dude in the face. “You two were probably fucking the whole time we were together.”

Oh, how I wish that were true.

I want to finish that thought with my fist in his guts, but instead, I do what will hurt him far more. A punch would wear off after a couple of days. A week, maybe. But this? This he gets to play on repeat for as long as he fucking lives.

I turn toward Sophie, and I slip a hand around her neck.

I pull her closer to me, guiding her into me with that hand.

I tilt my head down and drop my lips to hers, and she leans into me, sliding her arms around my waist as I open my mouth to hers.

It’s a natural response, and I know she thinks I’m doing it for show, for his benefit—but it’s everything I’ve wanted since I was fourteen.

I kiss her like he’s not standing there watching us.

I kiss her like my life depends on it .

I kiss her like I’m finally free to do it, in a way that shows her just how deeply I love her.

Her tongue meets mine, and she kisses me back with the same sort of warmth, the same sort of adoration and love.

And maybe it is for his benefit, too, but the way she’s leaning into me, the way she moans softly, the way she grips onto my bicep as if she needs to hold onto me just to steady herself…

it’s all enough to make me think there’s far more between us than just friendship.

She pulls back first.

Of course.

I would’ve kissed her all fucking night like that.

She turns toward her ex. “He asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

Fuck , I wish we had that ring, that we didn’t have to wait for it to be sized, that she could shove it in his face right now.

But we don’t.

So I lean down and press my lips to her temple as if to punctuate her words.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her.”

It’s a pretty goddamn easy act since every word I just said happens to be true.

I just wish her words were true, too.