Page 20 of The Backup Plan (King Sports #1)

Chapter 20

Kelley

For a quick moment, the world quiets. The room is frozen.

There’s a sharp burning pain down my arm and some on my chest and stomach because as I’d turned to greet Thad—sex on legs and still so fucking hot—he fell and covered me in coffee. Coffee that I can only assume is illegal levels of temperature.

The sting only lasts a second longer than the shock before I’m out of my seat and trying to pull my button-down away from my body.

“Shit, fuck,” Thad hisses. He comes at me again but is still holding the coffee cup. Which still has stuff in it.

I step back and glance at the mug, which he drops on the ground as soon as he realizes.

“I’m so sorry. That was an accident.” The fear in his eyes makes me think he’s telling the truth, and I want to believe him, but what the hell, man? “I swear.”

Brady and Merek are now out of their seats too.

“I got this,” I say to them. “I’m going to go to the bathroom to clean this up.” I exit the conference room and head toward the public restrooms on this floor.

Okay, so I know I haven’t exactly kept in touch over the last two months, but I didn’t think my punishment from him would be third-degree burns .

I reach the restroom and start unbuttoning my shirt. I have no hope of salvaging it, but I throw it in the sink and turn the cold water on anyway.

Maybe I should’ve messaged Thad, but I didn’t know if he was only being nice when he said I could contact him or if he actually wanted me to. And considering he never picked up the phone to text or call me, I figured that was that.

We both stepped away. Like we said we would.

But I’ve wanted to get in contact with him. Especially after going on that date with Mr. Perfect.

Jeremiah Castleberry might be from the sticks, but he’s a true Southern gentleman at heart. He comes from one of the richest families in Alabama, and considering his skin color, I can only assume his long line of inherited money came from his ancestors doing not-so-nice things to my ancestors. But that aside, he was raised right, he had manners, and we even had things in common, like wanting to compete in a sport that’s inherently homophobic. We had a lot to bond over. And talk about. He was great. Wonderful, even.

So very wonderful.

Wonderfully boring .

There was no spark. He was polite.

Since when do I hate manners?

And the following day, when all those photos surfaced of me and my date, I had an eerie control over my anxiety. It turns out when I don’t have the fear of losing something I really care about, I don’t have the need to panic. I’m also getting better with the comments. I saw a few that were borderline ignorant and homophobic, but I was able to close down the article and forget about them. Mostly. I didn’t dwell on them and obsess, at least. Hooray, progress.

Thad barges into the bathroom behind me. “Let me help you.”

Ah. I think I’ve found the reason Mr. Perfect was perfect on paper but very dull everywhere else. Thad St. James.

Because the second he steps over that threshold and into my space, my body comes alive. Every inch of me .

He has a wet cloth in his hand, but I drop my shirt in the trash can and try to avoid eye contact with him. If I look into his blue eyes, there’s a very good chance I’ll offer to get on my knees for him right here and now.

“I don’t think my shirt’s salvageable, no matter what we do. I don’t suppose you have a spare lying around your office or anything?”

Thad looks so mouthwateringly hot in a bright blue suit that I’m sure would make his eyes pop if I had the guts to look at them. He has a dark button-up underneath, and I’m almost tempted to ask for it so I can see his hard muscles again.

As if reading my mind, Thad takes his jacket off and then starts undoing his buttons.

“I didn’t mean the one you’re wearing.” I laugh.

“It’s okay. I’ve got an undershirt too.” He strips out of his black shirt and hands it to me, but I’m still staring at his sexy arms as he slips his jacket back on.

I force myself to look away and put my arms through the sleeves of his soft shirt that smells like his cologne. I have no idea what scent it is, but it’s strong. Fresh. I might never take this shirt off again. “T-thank you.”

“I really am sorry. My feet weren’t cooperating, and?—”

“It’s certainly one way to get my attention. You know, if you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve asked.” The only reason I’m able to fake this confidence is because I still haven’t looked at his face.

Thad lets out a loud breath. “I thought you were going to go ballistic on me. We don’t see or speak to each other for months, and then the first thing I do when I see you is throw hot coffee all over you.”

“You could’ve reached out to me,” I point out as I focus all my attention on trying to do these buttons up.

“I didn’t want to step on any NASCAR driver’s toes.”

I close my eyes and hate my brain once again for convincing me the reason I hadn’t heard from Thad is because of me. “Are you telling me the reason you haven’t messaged is because of Jeremiah? ”

I can no longer put it off. I have to look at him. I glance up in time to see his jaw tighten. His eyes are missing the sparkle I’m expecting, but maybe that’s a good thing.

“How is good ol’ Jeremy?”

I’d like to think he pronounced Jeremiah’s name wrong because he’s jealous, but I can’t decipher his tone. It sounds genuine, but maybe … “Last I spoke to him, he’s doing well.”

“Did he treat you nicely?” Thad’s teeth are gritted now.

“Very.”

“Good. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

My heart melts. “Says the man who called me names and yelled at me for being addicted to social media.”

Thad rubs his stubbly jaw. “Yes, well, if I recall, I more than made up for that once I knew your situation. I was quick to judge, so sue me.”

“That would be a waste of a lawsuit.”

“Oh, right. I don’t have any money.”

I turn serious for a second. “How has all that trouble been?”

“I thought that once Mom and Dad’s cards were canceled, Wylder might come running back home, but he hasn’t made an appearance yet. He hasn’t had access to steal any more money, so things are good. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me?—”

Thad’s cut off by the bathroom door opening and Brady sticking his head in. “All good in here? Just wanted to make sure you didn’t finish him off and are trying to dump the body.”

“Where am I going to dump the body? In a toilet stall?” Thad asks. “Sorry, I forgot my bone saw today.”

“Good to know,” Brady says. “Damon’s waiting.” Then he disappears again.

Thad turns back to me. “Sorry. Again. About the coffee.”

I smile. “It wasn’t so bad.” It allowed us to talk privately, so I’m not complaining.

Thad goes to leave the bathroom when I step closer.

“Can we, maybe, go somewhere after this? Get coffee and talk?”

He hesitates. “You want to risk being around me and another cup of coffee?”

“Lunch, then.”

He still looks unsure.

“Just as friends,” I say.

“Sure. I could probably swing an early lunch. When do you have to head back to Philly?”

“Not until this afternoon. My first game of the season isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Lunch, then. After this meeting. Whatever it’s about.”

“It’s about my upcoming season and schedule.”

Thad frowns. “Then why was I brought in on it?”

“I don’t know, but also, I’m not complaining.”

“Even if it made you have a coffee shower?”

“What can I say? Third-degree burns might be worth scoring this shirt.” I lift the collar to my nose and love the way Thad’s eyes fill with heat. “It smells nice.”

He’s still staring, momentarily silent until he says, “I’m getting that shirt back, by the way. One day.”

“I promise I will return your shirt.” Maybe. Possibly. Okay, no, I won’t. He doesn’t need to know I’m crossing my fingers behind my back.

“Sorry about that,” Thad says as we re-enter the conference room. “We’re all good now.”

I want to argue that my pants are still covered in coffee, but I don’t because I don’t want Thad to actually get in trouble for this.

“No use crying over spilled milk and whatnot. I do kind of wish I was able to drink my coffee instead of wear it though.”

“Here.” Thad moves to the tray of coffees. “You can have the one I made for me. It might be too sweet for you, though, as it’s got sugar in it. ”

Brady shoves out of his seat. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll get Kelley his coffee.”

Thad stops in his tracks. “Right. Probably best.” He ducks his head and rounds the table so he’s sitting opposite to where I was, and his skin is a nice shade of embarrassment pink.

Brady puts the coffee cup on the table in front of where I was sitting, and then he pulls out the chair for me. “I swapped over the seats before you came back in, so there’s no coffee on this one.”

“Thanks.” I take my spot and sip the now only warm coffee. It is sweet compared to what I’m used to, but it’s not too bad.

Wearing Thad’s shirt, drinking his coffee, it really hasn’t been a bad morning at all.

“Thank you for coming in,” Damon says. “I thought it might be a good idea for all of us to meet up to discuss the upcoming season and what you might need from us going forward.”

I glance at Thad out of the corner of my eye because he doesn’t need to be here for that. Not that I want to kick him out, but I’m beginning to worry that Damon might be adding him to my team of agents, and I really don’t want that. Not because I don’t think he’ll be good, but because we have had a personal relationship that shouldn’t get mixed up with a professional one.

“And Thad,” Damon continues, “you were wanting to see different styles of approach when it comes to clients, so I figured you were already familiar with Kelley, and you could observe how a soft hand can work in an agent’s favor.”

I let out a relieved breath. He’s only sitting in. I can deal with that.

“Of course, maybe rule number one of using a soft hand would be to not throw coffee all over your client, but given you’ve handed over the literal shirt off your back, I’d say you handled that situation well.”

I can’t tell if Damon’s giving him a serious talking-to or if he’s joking. His face is stoic, and damn, Damon King is an intimidating man. But then Brady starts laughing, like he’s been trying to contain it and can’t.

Damon nudges him .

“Sorry.” Brady holds up his hand. “It’s just, they all think you’re being serious, and everyone looks scared.”

“And this is what I get for working with relatives,” Damon grumbles. “Complete undermining.”

I relax enough to laugh now too.

“Now, how are you doing with the social media side of things?” Damon asks.

I don’t mean to keep looking in Thad’s direction, but he’s really difficult to stop looking at with how damn attractive he is. Plus, because of him, I think I really do have a firmer grip on this social media problem. “The few weeks in the Catskills were really good for me. It was like a reset. Once I got out of the habitual motion of picking up my phone and navigating to my apps, it’s become fairly easy to control what I see and what I don’t see. And the stuff I do see, I’m getting better at letting it go.”

“That’s good to hear, but you let us know if anything changes on that front. We might not be able to lend you our interns all the time, but you could look into hiring a personal assistant.”

As much as I’d love someone there to smack my hand every time I did something that might elevate my anxiety, I wouldn’t think they’d have much else to do, and then I’d feel ridiculous having someone shadow me all day to make sure I don’t touch my phone.

“We’ll leave that as a last resort,” I say. “I want to do this on my own, and while I’m under no delusion that my anxiety has gone forever, I am in a good headspace at the moment. Spring training was good. The team hasn’t changed toward me at all since I came out—minus Cooper, who I’ve been avoiding since his online rant—and yeah, I’m looking forward to a great season.”

And for the most part, I actually believe it.