Page 11

11

COMMANDO IN MY SWEATS

Jack

“ N o. He hasn’t skipped town, and he doesn’t need a PR manager. He has me, and I’m on top of it.”

“You listen to me, Hale. You might represent him, but I’m the one signing his paychecks and writing his contract. He’s a free agent and had the nerve to shit all over my big win. Tell your boy that when I call him, he’d better answer his damn phone.”

I don’t take my eyes off Emma as Eric Oliver, the general manager of the Founders, rips me a new asshole. Emma has inspected every pair of pants in the store and has moved onto a rack of dresses. If it weren’t for the fact nothing else is open this early, there’s no way I’d be here. I can afford the best now and that’s what I buy. My mom couldn’t even afford to shop at a big box store when I was little.

“Respectfully, Brett Sullivan is my client, not my boy. I’ve talked with him at length about what happened. He was framed. I believe every word he says. And since he is a free agent and MVP of your big win, everyone and their dog is going to want to make a run for him. If he needs a minute to recover, I’m going to make sure he gets it.”

“There’s only so much bullshit the franchise can deal with when we know nothing,” Eric bites. “If you have this handled, the least you can do is keep me in the loop. The media is eating me alive. They’re all over my ass like a fucking STD that won’t respond to antibiotics.”

“My skinny latte won’t be the same after your graphic metaphor just made me throw up a little in my mouth. You’re reimbursing me. I’ll negotiate it into Brett’s contract.”

“Fuck that,” he growls. “I refuse to pay for even a shitty cup of coffee until Sullivan proves those pictures of him are AI generated or he produces the medical records that he really was roofied.”

“Unfortunately, Brett hopped on a plane to make his appearance for the parade with mice. It’s too late for a blood test.”

Emma plucks a dress off the rack, turns to me, and holds it up to her. It looks like it’ll cover every inch of her and still show off every curve she’s got. It’ll look fucking great.

I’m about to nod with my approval and make dinner reservations so I can look at her all night in it, until it dawns on me whatever she wears to work won’t only be seen by her associates, but also the millions of people who tune into the nightly news. Not only that, but she’s gone viral, and that’s likely to happen again when they post the interview with the most-talked-about man in the country.

I frown and shake my head.

Emma frowns back and doesn’t take my advice. She tosses the damn dress into the basket and moves onto the next rack.

Eric keeps interrogating me. “Then what are you doing to make this shit go away with the media?”

I follow Emma and her ever-growing pile of clothes she pushes around the store. “I arranged an interview. It happened last night and should go live today. My client ,” I stress the word to the asshole on the phone, “held his own.”

Eric lowers his voice and tries to be menacing, but it comes off desperate. “Make sure he does better than that. The celebration parade in the District is tomorrow. He can’t hide any longer. He needs to show his face and be on the fucking open-air bus.”

I sigh. The only thing I’m thinking about more than Emma and shoring up Brett’s contracts is the parade.

If Brett skips the celebration, the media will do nothing but talk about him.

If he shows up to the parade, the media will do nothing but talk about him.

Either way, it won’t be good.

I just need Emma’s interview to go live sooner rather than later. If there’s some sort of explanation out there, that will give the talking heads something to chew on other than the leaked photos.

I give in and confirm what I haven’t talked to Brett about yet. “He’ll be there. I’ll make sure of it.”

“He’d better be. And you’d better be as good at PR as you are strong-arming me out of more money.”

I follow Emma out of the clothes and straight to the shoes. “I’m going to take that as the compliment it was meant to be. I appreciate it.”

“Agents,” he mutters. “You think you rule the world.”

“Only when we represent the star of the show,” I amend. “Good talking to you. Enjoy your day.”

“Enjoy my ass.”

That must be his form of a farewell, because he disconnects the call before he can utter the second S in ass.

The damn parade.

One more thing for me to worry about.

“Are you planning on moving in with me?” I ask as I watch Emma push the cart through the aisle of socks.

She throws me a look like I’m a mutant from Mars.

“What? If that’s the case, you won’t get a complaint from me. But I thought we were here for one outfit so you don’t look like you shacked up last night or live out of your car.”

“I’m not feeling anything at the moment. I can’t decide.”

“You might be feeling it if you would’ve let me shower with you this morning,” I announce.

I say this as we pass an older woman inspecting a rack of knee socks. She glares at me.

“What?” I hold out my free hand since my other is holding my almost cold cup of coffee. “It’s true.”

Emma stops and grabs my hand to pull me around the corner, hissing, “Would you stop? How many times do I need to explain that I couldn’t get my hair wet?”

“What do I need to buy you so shower sex is always an option? Let’s go to that aisle.”

She lets go of my hand and picks up a pair of panties clipped to a hanger. “My dad asked me a million questions last night about where I was staying, which means this cannot become a normal thing. That’s the last conversation on earth I want to have. I’d rather walk into work wearing yesterday’s panties, and you already know how much I don’t want to do that.”

I rip the hanger from her hand and inspect the garment that looks nothing like the panties I almost ripped to shreds when I tore them off her last night. “These are … interesting.”

She yanks them back and tosses them in the cart. “These are comfortable.”

I smile, take a step closer, and hook a finger in the waistband of my sweatpants she stole from me this morning when she got out of the shower. She refused to put on her panties from yesterday. Her hair is slicked back and pulled into a high ponytail and her makeup might be perfect, but she’s commando in my sweats. “I vote you don’t buy any of this shit. I like knowing you aren’t wearing anything beneath my clothes. If anyone asks, I’ll give you a stack of my business cards so everyone will know who’s responsible for the state of you. I’ve never been more fucking proud of anything.”

Emma glances down at herself. “Your client is Brett Sullivan, and this is what you’re proud of?”

I feel bare skin beneath the cinched waistband that’s folded over twice when I yank her to me. Her hands land on my biceps, and we’re pressed chest to chest under fluorescent lights in a sea of bras and panties. I slide my hand around her waist and dip my hand inside until the tips of my fingers kiss the crack of her ass. “I got to rock your world two days in a row. I’m very fucking proud of that.”

She smiles but changes the subject. “Who were you talking to?”

“Eric Oliver.”

Her brows rise. “The general manager of the Founders?”

I tip my head to the side. “I’m impressed. And you said you knew nothing about football.”

“I was in Vegas for an entire week covering the team. I know who Eric Oliver is. What did he say?”

I press into the small of her back to hold her to me. “Are you just using me for my professional sports contacts?”

She hikes a brow. “Are you just using me for PR to get your client out of the doghouse?”

“Touché, my beautiful lover.”

It seems Emma can dish it out as good as she takes it. She looks pleased with herself, which she should be.

“Brett isn’t answering Mr. Oliver’s calls, and the GM is pissed. He expects Brett at the championship parade tomorrow. I’m not sure how that’s going to go, but in the end, The Founders organization is Brett’s employer. He needs to be at that parade. Which means we have one day for you to release that interview.”

Emma’s dark eyes light up. “Maybe they’ll let me cover the parade once they see the interview. You need to stop groping me in the middle of Target so I can get to work.”

“We could hit the dressing room for a quickie,” I offer.

It almost takes me off guard when Emma raises up on her toes to press her lips to mine. “Nice try, but I refuse to go to work smelling like sex.”

“Then you’re back at my place tonight,” I demand.

She leans into me farther and lowers her voice. Gone is the teasing tone in her voice. “What are we doing, Jack? One night in Vegas is turning into tonight and tomorrow?—”

I stop her right there and interrupt. “And the next day. If I get my way, you can add the one after that. While you’re at it, keep your calendar clear for next week too.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but my cell vibrates in my pocket. We both feel it since she’s pressed to me. Since I’ve got more drama swirling than the old soap operas my grandma used to watch, I can’t afford to let any call go to voicemail. I set my cold coffee on a shelf next to us and dig my cell from my pocket.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Who is it now?” Emma asks without pulling away.

I hold her tight and answer her question when I connect the call. “If it isn’t Dr. Hollingsworth taking time out of his surgical schedule to call his best friend.”

Emma’s eyes widen. The mention of her brother is enough for her to pull away from me. Or at least try to.

I hold tight and shoot her a wink.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Levi bites. “Outside of the Homies string, I texted you five million times last week with no answer, so I had to actually dial your fucking number like we’re retired or some shit. When all I got in return was crickets, I kept calling—four fucking times. I even broke our high school pact and left you not one, but two, unnecessary voicemails. I watch the news, Jackie. I know you’ve had a big week, but did I do something to you? Are you pissed at me? This silent treatment feels like I got dumped, and you won’t man up and say why.”

It's not lost on me that my making a mental list of all the ways I want to fuck my friend’s sister while talking to said friend might be fucked up on a level that’s new even for me.

But here I am, going through the physics of dressing room sex with Emma in my head while on the phone with Levi.

That’s some challenging shit since I skated through physics on nothing but sparkling charm and quick wit.

“Trust me, Dr. Smartypants, if I broke up with you, you’d know. You don’t have some ball-less lame excuse for a bestie. If you piss me off that much, I’ll hire a plane to write that shit in the sky for all to see.”

“You would do that,” Levi mutters. “But now that I’ve got you pinned down and know we’re not over, I want to know what’s new with your big-name client. You have to know something by now.”

Emma’s eyes are as big as the bullseye on the front of this store. “He’s not into anything. He was framed. The truth will come out soon enough. I’m actually working on that now.”

“I listened to a sports podcast on the way into the hospital this morning. There’s speculation he won’t show up for the parade tomorrow.”

“Are you admitting to filling your big-ass brain with something other than medical journals and motivational books?”

“Fuck you, Jack. I work long hours and have a family. I don’t have time to sit around and watch game after game like we used to. By the way, did you run into Emma while you were in Vegas? She’s not returning my messages either. You had to have been close since she interviewed Sullivan.”

“Yeah, you could say I ran into your little sister.” A small smile finds its way to the corner of my lips. “It’s been forever, but we definitely made up for lost time.”

Emma bites back a smile, and her hold becomes firm on my arms. It feels like a warning.

As if I’d heed any warning as soft as that.

“For someone who doesn’t know offsides from three seconds in the lane, she found a way to hold her own. She’s got the gift.”

“Don’t sell her short,” I warn. “She’s fucking killing it.”

“She is. Carissa even thinks there’s something between her and Sullivan. I can’t think about my sister with anyone. I thought I might be able to buy into that until shit hit the fan. If he’s bad news, he’d better fucking stay away from her. Carissa doesn’t give a shit. She can’t stop talking about, and I quote, the spark that sizzled between them after the game.”

The fact that anyone thinks they saw a spark during that interview pisses me off. I didn’t think my hold on Emma could get any tighter. But at the mention of Emma and any man other than me, it makes me want to put a fist in someone’s face.

And I’m not a violent guy. I might be all man in every other way, but I was raised by women.

It’s impossible to cover the bite in my tone, but I’m sick of hearing the Emma and Brett rumor. “I know for a fact there’s nothing between him and your sister.”

“That’s good.” Levi sounds relieved. “She doesn’t need to be with anyone in professional sports.”

My defenses go up, and I hold Emma tighter.

“What’s wrong with professional sports?” I demand.

“Drama,” he states, as if he double majored in it alongside molecular and cellular biology when he was at Hopkins. “Always drama, but under the microscope of the public. Hollingsworths like their privacy. It’s the way we grew up. Hell, after the shit Carissa and Cade’s dad put them through, we value it even more.”

Not that I’m trying to justify a reason that Emma should hook up with my fucking client, but I feel the need to defend my industry or, more accurately, myself. “Unless you’ve been living with your head buried in the sand, your sister went viral two days ago. Her job literally puts her under that big, bad microscope you mentioned. That’s her own doing. And look at yours truly—I live and breathe professional sports.”

“Then you of all people know the difference between working it and having the world picking apart your life choices or your outfit. I don’t want that for Emma.”

“Look at Daddy Levi taking after Daddy Asa. Emma is a grown woman. If she wants drama, she can choose drama.”

Emma hikes a questioning brow.

I shake my head.

“You know what I mean, and this isn’t what I called about. I’m pulling into the parking garage at the hospital. I have a full day in surgery. Hudson turns one next week, and we’re having a party at the house Friday night. We haven’t seen you in months. The season is over, so there are no excuses. Everyone will be there. If you skip the way you have the last few events, Carissa will hold it against you forever. She said so. If she starts up on The Homies group text again, I’ll hold you responsible. That’s the last thing I need blowing up my phone.”

I slide my hand deeper into my sweats to cup one globe of Emma’s beautiful ass.

Her eyes widen, and she whips her hand around to stop me before I go any further.

My smile swells into a wolfish grin.

She shakes her head.

“Yeah, I’ll be at your baby’s party. Text me the details, but not on The Homies thread. I’m trying to salvage a dramatic professional football career. You’re not the only one saving lives, asshole.”

Levi laughs as the call goes from his car’s Bluetooth to his cell. “You’d better not cancel. This is our last one year old. Carissa’s doing it up big.”

“Big party at your creepy-ass mansion. I can’t wait. And for some reason, I don’t believe you two are done popping out babies.”

Emma realizes I’m talking about her nephew and yanks my hand from her pants. She turns to the cart full of clothes with the granny panties thrown on top and turns down the main aisle toward the front of the store.

“I don’t know about that,” he says as I follow his sister to the checkout.

“Oh, one more thing, Levi.”

“Make it fast,” Levi says. “I’m about to get on the elevator and will lose you.”

“Just to set the record straight, when you see Emma going viral again with an exclusive interview with Sullivan, you can rest your head tonight knowing she’s not bumping uglies with him. No drama with the quarterback star.”

There’s a pause over the line. I’m about to disconnect the call so I can pay for the damn cart full of basic clothes, when Levi’s tone turns to one that sounds like it will erupt into World War III. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

What I do not tell him is that she’s not bumping anyone’s ugly but mine, or the fact my ugly is damn obsessed with his sister and intends to do everything in my power to make sure the bumping continues well past my client’s drama. “When you’re done cutting brains open, check the news. You’ll see. Gotta go.”

“Wait—” Levi bites, but I’ve had enough. I hang up on my friend who’s smarter than humans should be and slide my cell into my chest pocket of my blazer that isn’t from a big box store, but from Bloomingdales.

Emma doesn’t look at me as she sifts through her choices. She tosses the dress, a pair of pants, and sweater on the conveyor belt along with the panties. Apparently, she needs two outfits for the day. “How is Levi?”

I ignore her question and pick up the panties. “These are nothing like what you wore last night. I had no idea you liked grandma drawers.”

She shakes her head. “They’re bikini panties. They’re hardly grandma underwear.”

I toss them back on top. “I prefer the other ones.”

“Then I can’t wait to see you in a thong. These are cotton and comfortable,” Emma says.

Beep.

The checkout lady wearing red tosses them in a bag on the carousel and butts into our conversation. “She’s not wrong.”

“Seems I was out voted fair and square. I’m not one to question a democracy.”

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

There goes the rest of Emma’s outfits for the day. Apparently one or two are not enough.

I dig my wallet from my pocket and pull out my platinum-colored credit card. I’m considering this purchase an investment in Brett Sullivan’s career, which means Emma’s granny panties are a tax deduction.

I dare Uncle Sam to argue this point.

I will win.

I also add shopping for real lingerie for Emma to my list of shit to do after I get Brett’s career—and mine—back on track.

I’m shocked when the lady in red announces the grand total. Fuck, I forgot how cheap this place is. I swipe my card, happy to be done, so we can move onto digging Brett out of the pile of shit he was shoved into.

I grab the receipt and hand it to Emma. “Next time, I choose where we shop, and I get to pick out your underwear.”

She beams up at me. “Thank you for my new clothes. I’m so excited to go to work and show my producer the interview.”

I lean down and kiss her before claiming her hand so we can get out of this place. “Me, too, baby. Me too.”