Page 11

Chapter 11

Evie

A couple of days after convincing Logan to let me run a social media account for him and receiving his agent's approval, I create him an account while sitting in my parents' living room. I've stolen my lunch hour to come check on them. Worry still plagues my mind after our last call.

"Un café, hija?"

I nod. "Gracias."

My parents work in the restaurant business. It's a merciless industry. Most of their debt comes from attempts at having a place of their own, and growing too fast with too many liabilities. Now they run a small sandwich shop that opens until late in the night. It's almost time for them to go to work, so I get to the point as soon as we're all sitting with our drinks.

"So?" I ask. "Are you still thinking about expanding?"

They share a look.

"Yes," my dad says. "It won't be like before."

I bite my bottom lip. "Are you sure? "

Nerves swirl in my stomach. My whole life, I did what needed to be done. When my parents got too nervous calling insurance? I called for them, who cared that I was eight. When it was time to renew visas, and they couldn't make sense of the checklists, multiple documents, and submission requirements? I did it at the tender age of twelve. Did they sign things with the bank they shouldn't have? I went there and did damage control, no matter if I was sixteen.

They tried to do better as I grew up, but the initial mistakes were big, and smaller ones followed despite their efforts. I did my best to help with that, too. For a long time, I've known we have boundary issues. The conversation we're having is my latest attempt to find a balance with them.

"We're doing things right this time," Dad adds.

"It has to be done right, Papá." I swallow through a tight throat. "The sandwich shop is your retirement plan. We already have enough with trying to save the house, and the bank hasn't given me an answer about the renegotiation."

I promised to help with their home, if they focused on building a good business this time that they could sell later on. That way, they'd have money to live off of as they grew older, and I would have a light at the end of the tunnel— a time when I'd be free to live my life and just be their daughter. The idea that could be at risk is freezing the blood in my veins.

"Tranquila," Mom says. "This will help."

I'm tempted to ask for a business plan, like they're kids and I can check their homework before they're graded for it.

I sip from my coffee, press my lips tight, and stare at my lap instead.

"Hija." My dad's voice is soft.

I lift my eyes to him.

He gazes back with understanding. "Adding a food truck will be the right way to grow our equity and keep fixing our credit score. Poquito a poco."

"But who's going to lend you the money? I really can't pinch any more cash out of my paycheck, and my credit score is in the dumps too. No bank will let us borrow any more. We need to get the bank to give us a bit of extra time. We have to pay off the principal and then focus on the penalty we negotiated last time. It's the only chance we have—"

"Tranquila," my mom says again.

At least, their shop is safe for now, and the bank can't touch it if they take the house. I would rather they never do, so we get to keep both.

Even though they keep reassuring me, it doesn't have the effect all of us hope for. Anxiety still plays with my nerves like they're the rope and I have to continue skipping. One wrong step, and I'll be out.

All I can do is monitor the situation, do my best to stop my parents from creating more dangerous debt, and focus on my promotion.

I'll make the fans obsessed with Logan. I'll impress Selena. That raise will be mine.

It's with those thoughts that I enter the Thunderdome and walk straight onto the sidelines of the training field. My bag still hangs from my shoulder, but I take out my phone and start filming the equivalent of b-rolls for my new project— making Logan into a social media sensation.

The fans will love him. I'll make sure of it.

"Miss Moreno!" Saint runs to me. "What a pleasure seeing you here."

"Hey, Saint." I point the camera to him. "How do you feel about the new QB?"

"King?" He gives me a dimpled, glorious smile. "Oh, we're going to do amazing this season with him. The team spirit is high."

"You won all the preseason games."

"It's a new era for the Strike."

"Hear the thunder?"

He lifts both arms and roars. "Hear the thunder!"

I laugh and pan away from Saint, recording the rest of the field. I find Logan and zoom in on him. He's frowning at nothing, staring at something on the field or the horizon. His hair is long enough that he tied it up in a half-bun .

It changes the angles of his face. With thick, heavy eyebrows and his straight, long nose… with his tanned skin after being outside for the pre-season, and big, shapely body… his legs and arms, thick and defined… Gah, he is a gorgeous man.

Tingles appear in my belly, and I clench my teeth to contain them. I'm not supposed to react, and even less to wonder if we would have fun again if we were to have sex. My one time with him has to stay a sexy memory. Not an interruption to my work.

Sure, we would probably have fun, but we will never have sex again. I'm a one and done kind of person since— him, I suppose. That night, I decided I would only do one-night-stands, and I've kept that promise to myself. He doesn't get to change the rules, especially not after all these years.

Heat has raised up my body, and I have to resist fanning myself with a hand. I keep filming him as he goes off on a sprint. The plan is to use music for this section, so conversation doesn't interfere.

"Thanks for that, Saint." I glance at him with a smile. "Congrats on an amazing preseason. Ready to beat the Pirates this Sunday?"

"Evie, don't talk sports to me. When are you going to talk to me as a friend? Ask me if I'm still dating Tabitha, and not because you're offering to do disaster management."

I snort. "You've seen her twice. I'm going to guess she got a breakup pie already?"

"Saw her thrice, but yes. She got a breakup pie last night."

His grin is impish, and I shake my head.

"You're such a playboy, Gael Santiago."

I track Logan again. It's cloudy today, which lights up the players clearly on my screen. No sharp shadows to obscure their pretty faces and strong bodies, and professional training alike. Fans will be delighted. With Saint's close up, this video is going to be amazing.

The new quarterback makes a throw that Dom catches seamlessly. The play is smooth, and Dom celebrates with a dance .

A smile tilts my mouth. It will be great content and I can't help it— it makes me happy to see the team optimistic like this. It's much better if I focus on this instead.

I stop recording and face Saint. "We're professionals at our place of work, though. If there are no broken-hearted girlfriends having a difficult time letting go and you don't need my help with that, I may have a different type of proposal for you. With so many pies and muffins under your belt, what do you think about participating in a baking show during the off-season?"

"I'm not giving up, Evie." His dimples pop. "You'll be my friend one day, you'll see. For now, don't sign me up to the baking show. And remember I don't have girlfriends . You know I don't give that title away."

"I know, I know."

We smile at each other, and I give him a good-natured punch on the arm.

Many people think his smile is flirty, but I know it's the effect of those dimples and he doesn't mean it that way when he grins at me.

"I better return to practice," he says. "Do you want me to call anyone for you, or did you get what you needed?"

I gaze out to the field, to find Logan studying us from the fifty yard line. With a wave of my hand, I gesture for him to approach me.

"I'm good. Thanks, Saint."

Logan jogs to me. I get my phone up again, and record until he stands in front of me.

He crosses his arms. "What are you up to?"

His eyes are a bluish gray today, and they scrutinize me through my phone. He looks incredible with his hair tied up like that, his eyebrows heavy with a severe frown. The shirt he wears and the way he holds his arms around himself, it makes his arms look big and toned.

I bite my lip and order my body to keep quiet. "What do you want everyone to know, Logan? "

All tingles are swiftly suffocated. Partially suffocated, if I'm honest. Fine, they are there but I ignore them.

Melanie, the producer from the Sports network, sent me an email this morning. She thanked me for the work I put in. She said Logan has been giving short-but-sufficient answers to the crew, and things are looking up in that realm.

His lips twitch, and I know he's thinking of a professional answer. "This is going to be an amazing season. Keep an eye out, because lightning will strike."

The words drip with confidence. He stares at the camera with the self-assurance of a veteran player. One who has had years to learn how to engage with the fans. I'm certain— they will go wild.

I stop the recording and put my phone away. "Thanks. That was great."

"Do I want to know what you're going to do with it?"

"Probably not."

He sighs. "I'm going to guess it has to do with my agent's email this morning. I heard you called him yesterday."

"What I'm hearing is that you actually pay attention to your emails and, when you've ignored mine, it's been on purpose."

"I've never denied it, Miss Moreno."

"Anyway. I'll be posting the video to your brand new social media profile later. I'll let you know how it goes."

"No need, thank you."

I chew the inside of my lip. A mini-report for Selena might be a good idea, too, just in case. If the social media push goes as I hope, I want her to know how far I'm taking this. Anything for that promotion, and the extra cash that comes with it.

Logan peers at me. "Did something happen?"

I'm not sure if he's seeing something on my face, but I clear my worries in case I'm showing them despite myself .

"I'm good." I wave the question away. "Since we've established you read your emails, you must have seen the one I sent you about the library event. I need to know— are you going to ignore that one?"

His mouth takes a downward slant. "No. I'll attend."

"Good! It's going to be great."

"I will also attend a barbeque at Damián's house."

That makes me genuinely happy, and I grin. "That's amazing! Not everyone gets the invitation, you know? The fact he's included you means you're finding a spot within the team. There you go, building that team cohesion!"

"I'm not a child in need of a participation trophy, Evie."

His grumpy statement doesn't affect me.

I laugh. "Sorry not sorry, Your Highness. This is good news. You should take a treat for his dog Barkley. It will earn you a thousand points."

He raises an eyebrow. "How do you know so much?"

"I make a point of knowing as much as I can about everything."

He takes a step forward and brings his face closer to mine, like he's paying careful attention to my pupils dilating. It gives him the aura of a human lie detector.

"What?" I ask.

"I get it now."

"What?" The word sounds breathless this time.

"You are Miss Fix It, aren't you?"

My mouth goes slack.

Logan straightens but his eyes never leave me. He continues to inspect me, this time with a proud look on his face.

"I should have seen it sooner," he says. "Always checking in with people. Everyone's always thanking you for something. You're always thinking of the next thing that needs mending."

"It's my job."

"So you don't do it for people outside of TD? "

I purse my lips. I tell myself it's because I don't like that Logan put this together. He's supposed to take my help and use it to be successful. He's not meant to try to look behind the veil to ask why I do it.

The truth is, I'm uncomfortable. I don't like it when people look too closely.

Letting people in means I'll care. If I care, there will be more people needing things from me. It's too much. And if they care and then yank it away…

My heart loses its rhythm for a moment.

All I want is peace. Just peace, please.

"Nope." I raise my eyebrows in an expression I know will read haughty. "Less than a handful of people get that privilege. Otherwise, I'm getting paid for my skills."

The way he dissects my answer tells me he thinks he received a new puzzle piece, and is trying to fit it with the rest.

It's unnerving.

"Stop looking at me like that," I say.

"Won't stop me from thinking about it."

"King!" One of the coaches calls. "Come back! Training isn't done."

Logan smirks. "Saved by the bell, Evie."

He takes a step back, a corner of his lips curled up in a micro smile. His eyes shine with as much humor as I've ever seen on his face.

I ignore how it lightens him up and stop him. "One last thing. There's one last angle I need you to tackle."

"Shoot." He takes another step back, but continues to face me.

"Are you dating anyone?"

"King!" The coach calls again.

"I'm sorry, Malik!" I wave at him. "I'll give him back in half a minute."

"I think we're done for today." Logan makes to go away, but I stop him again, this time with a hand on his arm.

"I thought you'd be happy about this one!" I say .

"I am not happy about this one." The wrinkle between his eyebrows is deep as he stares down at me.

"If you have a life here in the city— if people see you out and about, people will love you more."

"That's a step too far."

"The new quarterback has thrown himself into life here," I say as if I'm quoting a newspaper article. "He's here to stay!"

"He's here to win the trophy, not to party."

"He can do both, can't he?"

"He doesn't want to do both."

"Ask Saint to take you out. Or Dom. There's a club the team likes to go to. Make it into a bonding event."

"Send me an email next time."

I smile. "I'll include tickets to an event. You can take someone who catches your fancy."

Any jealousy I might feel at the thought gets pushed out of sight. If a part of me wishes to be the one going places with him, I trip it and let it lie sprawled on the floor.

This is work. I'm a professional with a plan. Logan and I will follow it until we get what we agreed on.

"Evie."

I wink at him. "Talk to you soon!"

I'm the one walking away this time.

"Evie!"

All I do is give him a wide grin and a wave, pleased with my distraction technique, enough that I don't mind letting him have the last word.