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GOD BLESS THE FLU

Jack

E merson Hollingsworth.

It’s been a fucking minute.

I might get invited to random cookouts at Levi and Carissa’s, but it’s not like I’m attending Hollingsworth holidays. And she’s right, I flew by her grad party years ago like a military jet at the climax of the national anthem. I’d just landed my first client after leaving my old firm to go out on my own. I had to move back in with my mom so I could invest every penny back into my new venture.

I dropped off a card with a generous gift I could not afford at the time. I had no desire to talk about my new business or the fact I had to move back in with my dear mom because times were tight.

Not a time in my life I wanted to face Emma.

Emerson Hollingsworth had one shit year in high school. Other than that, from everything I heard from Levi and Carissa, she thrived. She lived her best life throughout the rest of her high school days and more so in college. She reported the non-news in the middle of nowhere, a place where literally nothing happens besides a herd moving through, followed by months and months of nothing but snow.

I’m in the business of representing talent. I might have struggled through college and law school and passed the bar exam by the skin of my teeth, but I had an end goal.

And I’m fucking good at my job.

I knew if I could jump over every hurdle required to do it, I’d succeed. I’m so good, I gave the double bird to Alfred C. Pike, my old boss, and left Pike Sports Agency because I refused to work the way he told me to.

Fuck him.

I quit in a blaze of glory. It’s one of my fondest memories.

One of a few.

It didn’t matter that my only clients included a random third-rate golfer and a champion bowler. I might not have had a winning quarterback or star pitcher back then, but that didn’t mean they deserved second-rate service so I could spend my time searching for bigger and better. If I’m going to make a living off my clients, I’ll treat them like fucking royalty.

Every single one of them.

When I started on my own, I landed a third-string tight end for the losingest team in the league. Injuries suck, but when they’re not your client’s, they’re like hitting it big at a roulette table.

He got his shot near the end of the season and helped send his team to the playoffs. Not only did I get to renegotiate his contract, but I also landed him a sweet marketing deal. It wasn’t for anything remotely as romantic as shoes or cereal, but it was a local car dealership.

The next year, I leveled him up to a national insurance company and a basic line of shampoo. After all, he does have great hair.

It took one client to spread the word. The rest followed.

I now represent eleven professional football players in the league, and I’m making my name in baseball.

It took four years on my own, but look at me.

I have one client in the big game.

And the star of the show is mine.

If I don’t do anything more in my lifetime, I can say I made it in the profession I always dreamed of.

My grandma always says I was born with the gift of gab. Being raised solely by women didn’t hurt.

What I should be focused on is renegotiating my quarterback’s contract since he’s now a free agent.

Or landing the deals that are romantic as fuck to someone like me. Shoes. Clothes. Fast food. Faster cars.

Hell, I’ll take a regional grocery store if they’re big enough and willing to shell out the cash.

I might only make three percent of my client’s salaries, but I make ten to fifteen when it comes to marketing deals. That’s what allows me to live my life—one I do not take for granted.

My phone blew up the moment the refs called the last touchdown and the clock hit zero. Timing is everything. But they can stew until tomorrow. I’m not above pitting corporate reps against one another. They’re not the ones with the star quarterback in his back pocket.

I was too on edge to eat at the game, and I never drink when my clients are playing. After the game, I was too busy fielding phone calls and making sure my client could live his best life and celebrate. Everyone wants a piece of my guy. He’s about to become a much richer man in the coming days.

Which means I am too. Time is money, and these are the moments that count.

I should be making lists and crunching numbers.

Instead, I’m laser focused on my best friend’s little sister.

Emma and I grew up together.

We’re friends … sort of.

Not the kind of friends who go out or talk on the regular. Our definition of friends is because her brother has been my ride or die since we were shitting our pants before she was born.

Emma and I are familiar. Or we were.

But this is not the Emma I’m familiar with. Not at all.

I was not kidding when I said she’s all grown up.

Even so, the memories don’t suck even if they were short-lived.

There’s nothing wrong with having a drink, right?

Hell, if I saw Levi in the middle of a casino, we’d do the same thing.

Though, if my best friend stepped inside a casino, it would only be during daylight hours. Levi is the most responsible person on the face of the earth. He’d never be three drinks into it with my little sister—if I had one—at two in the morning in a bar even if he weren’t married with three kids.

We’re halfway through a fancy-ass pizza, and Emma proves she’s a freak and went crazy over the spicy brussel sprouts and crab cakes. She’s told me all about her last couple of jobs. How this one fell into her lap like a freak accident. She went on and on about how she doesn’t know shit about football and about moving back to the farmhouse into her high school bedroom, living with her dad, Keelie—the hottest high school counselor on earth—Knox, Saylor, and the shit ton of goats they still keep.

Rest in peace, Jasmine. The most talkative donkey on earth is no longer with us.

My glass hangs from my fingers as I motion to her. “You’re telling me you landed the spot on the sidelines of the biggest game of the year, and your camera guy had to teach you what a touchback was during the second quarter?”

Emma’s long, dark hair is messier than it was when I found her sitting alone. She’s run her fingers through it more times than I can count. She’s either eaten her lipstick off or wiped it away, and she’s ditched the short blazer that didn’t even hit her slim waist. She’s down to a thin tank with no bra in sight.

My jacket is on the barstool behind me, I’ve released another button on my shirt, and my cuffs are rolled.

It’s been an hour and a half since I found her alone.

She leans forward, and her hand lands on my thigh—closer to my knee than my dick, but who am I to complain—as she laughs out loud. “Right? I mean, when you think about the whole thing, it’s ridiculous. You should’ve seen Dad and Levi trying to teach me about the game. They even found an old white board for visuals. All those Xs and Os might as well have been hearts and cupid arrows. I was so nervous, I couldn’t focus.” She leans in farther and squeezes my quad. “Let’s be real. The chances of me screwing this up and making a fool of myself on the national stage were probable. Hell, this is Vegas. I would’ve taken that bet.”

I take another sip and smother her hand with mine. “I don’t know if you’re a masochist or just plain lucky. I saw your interview after the game.”

Her eyes light up. “You did? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Too busy catching up.”

We stay connected, her hand being one with my thigh and all.

I might be holding it hostage, but she’s not complaining. The damn bartender stopped glaring at me over an hour ago. I think I’m safe from being thrown out of my favorite resort in Sin City.

It wouldn’t be the first time, but at least I can say I’ve been on my best behavior unlike the night I barely passed the bar.

Damn, that was a fun night in Georgetown.

“Yeah.” She sighs and picks up her dirty drink. “It has been a long time. How are your mom and grandma?”

“They’re good. Mom moved to The Plains last year. Grandma is still making waves at the assisted living place.”

She takes a sip. “I’ve kept up with your mom, but I was so little when we were neighbors. Even so, I remember your grandma. I have no doubt she’s the life of the party. She did help raise you.”

“True.”

No one from my present knows my past. It’s not something I dwell on, and it sure as shit isn’t something I share. I did what I had to do to get to where I am. There’s no point in looking back. Besides Levi and a few others who have stayed constant in my life, no one knows my past.

To be with someone who does is…

Odd.

Asa was still a cop and wasn’t divorced yet when we lived next door to the Hollingsworths. With a single mom and grandma, we were quite the threesome.

She picks up another piece of pizza, and for some reason that’s refreshing. The last woman I dated picked at vegetables and looked like she was starving to death.

Emma plucks a cold artichoke smothered in feta sauce off the top and pops it in her mouth. “Where did you land? Do you still live out in the country?”

“No way. I like to be close to the city. I’m in Old Town Alexandria. I bought a brownstone last year. I’m on the road most weeks during football season, but it’s more than I’ve ever had. Hell, it’s more than I need.”

“Look at us.” She takes another bite before setting the slice on her plate and pulling her other hand away from me. “All grown up one way or another. You’re doing the real thing, and I’m faking it as I go. And still, we ended up across the country in Vegas at the same bar.”

I lean back in my barstool and gulp the last of my drink. “Who would have guessed?”

She leans back in hers, but also hikes a foot up to her ass and hugs her leg. “Not me.”

I bump her other knee with mine again since we’re just that close. “You would’ve made it eventually even though you can’t talk football. You got a break and took advantage of it.”

“Because of the flu,” she amends, not giving herself enough credit.

I mimic the words she used earlier when telling the story. “God bless the flu.”

A smile breaks across her beautiful face. “They had it coming. Karma was my friend in this instance.”

“Good for you, Em. Karma is never my friend.”

“But you’re Jack Hale,” she goes on. “You don’t need Karma.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It’s late. It’s been a never-ending day. I was up at the crack of dawn for my client—but I don’t feel it.

I’m in an Emma trance.

She leans forward and lowers her voice like she’s telling me something I don’t know. Like it’s a secret from the universe about my inner-self—my every demon, insecurity, and assholish ways personified.

She returns her hand to my thigh again as she leans in. Her dark hair is disheveled around her olive-skinned face. She’s a Hollingsworth through and through, yet so different from Levi and her dad who are both tall and built like brick shithouses. She’s even different than her mom who’s tall and lanky.

Emma is not tall or short. She’s also not skin and bones. Her hair is long and dark, but her eyes are darker. On any scale, she’d be … average.

But there’s nothing average about her.

The curves that she does have are perfect. There’s a glint in her eyes that makes you question what’s going on behind them. And her hair is thick and heavy and soft.

I remember, even though that memory is from another lifetime.

“Jack Hale,” she echoes my name that she just uttered, but this time softer, like a secret. “Your personality. Charisma. The fact that you’re larger than life and demand attention from sea to shining sea.”

“That doesn’t sound like a statement. If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself into all those things.”

She shakes her head and tips it to the side. “No. Never a question. Not about you.”

I mirror her stance and place my hand on her thigh.

A smile touches her lips.

Fuck.

I give her a squeeze. When she doesn’t move, I take the chance and ask her what I’ve wanted to ask her for what feels like decades, even though neither of us are that old. “Are we going to do this?”

Her dark eyes flare. “There’s the old Jack. So presumptuous. What is it that you want to do?”

I lean in so far, I lose her dark eyes when I put my lips close to her ear. “Are we going to talk about the big, fat, fucking elephant that’s been wedged between us?”

She leans back far enough to catch my gaze. When she does, she’s biting back a smile. “Do you mean the big, fat elephant that happened over a decade ago?”

“Don’t play coy.” I give her thigh a warning squeeze on the last word. “You know what I’m talking about. The kiss.”

“Oh,” she drawls like she doesn’t remember. But from the look on her face, she remembers perfectly. “You mean my first kiss?”

My tongue sneaks out to wet my lips at the memory as I lie. “How was I supposed to know it was your first?”

“Look who’s playing coy now?” She shakes her head like she doesn’t know what to do with me. Hell, I don’t know what to do with me most days either. “And let it be noted that only you could use the word coy and still hold onto your man card.”

“It’s a gift. And stop deflecting. So I was your first kiss?”

She rolls her eyes. “As if you didn’t know.”

I shrug. “For all I knew, you went around kissing everyone. Maybe you’re just a shitty kisser. I’m not one to judge. How was I supposed to know? You threw yourself at me and then ran away in the middle of Levi’s graduation party.”

“Whoa.” She sits up straight and gives me the palm of her hand. “You went straight to I’m a bad kisser ? What the hell? I was fifteen, Jack. And let’s be real—I had a bad year.”

“It was just a drive-by shooting,” I deadpan. “There’s no need to be so dramatic.”

The toe of her shoe connects with my shin. She has the nip of a puppy, not that I’d know. I’ve never had a dog. “Don’t make me call the bartender over and get you blackballed from Nebula.”

I shake my head. “Don’t talk about my balls unless you’re willing to prove you’re not a shitty kisser.”

Her teeth find her lip, and her nose crinkles. “Was it that bad?”

I shake my head. “I’m just shitting you. You know that. Though, the smell of goat shit will always be laced with the memory.”

She licks her lips like she can taste said memory. “My first kiss, tucked away in the barn at Levi’s graduation party. Dad’s friends were roaming the place trying to make sure no one got drunk or pregnant, and you were the rake who stole my first kiss.”

I jerk back and act like her words are bullets to my heart. “I was hardly the rake. I saved you that night, Em, and you know it. I don’t remember his name, but that guy was a tool. No way did you want that to be your first kiss. He was shorter than you and covered in pimples. You should be thanking me for saving you from what would have been the shittiest memory in the history of kissing.”

She tries to frown.

Unlike her epic interview with Brett Sullivan, she fails. In fact, the last I checked, the interview is on its way to going viral if it hasn’t already. But I haven’t checked since I found her at the bar. Neither of us have glanced at our phones.

And since I’m in the business of relationships and sales and she’s in the business of news, I know it’s not the norm for me, and I can’t imagine it is for her either.

“I feel judged,” she states before going on. “Unfairly judged. For years, you’ve carried on through life thinking I’m a shitty kisser. Is that why you avoided me at my graduation party and made sure to never attend events at Levi and Carissa’s if I was in town?”

This time it’s my turn to wet my lips.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” I drone. “You think I’ve been avoiding you because you’re a bad kisser? You were barely fifteen. I’m Levi’s ride or die. Why do you think I was avoiding you?”

She leans in closer and lowers her voice to a mock whisper. “We’ve been over this. You’re scared of my dad.”

“You’re the reporter. Do I have to announce the newsflash that everyone is afraid of your dad?”

She laughs.

“See?” I reach up and twist a chunk of her hair around my index finger. “You know everyone is afraid of Daddy Asa. Not to mention, I was not anxious to go to blows with Levi because I kissed his sister. It’s probably the only secret I’ve kept from him in my entire life.”

“Levi is harmless.” She tosses those words out like she doesn’t give a shit that her brother would’ve disowned me forever over it. “Since when do you care what anyone thinks?”

“I cared what Levi thought then.” I shrug. “Now, not so much.”

She tips her head with a smirk. “I don’t believe you. But I do care that you’ve thought I was a bad kisser all these years.”

We’ve touched each other on and off since I found her, so when I reach out and wrap my hand around the middle of her thigh again, it doesn’t feel new even though it is.

“This is a conundrum,” I note. “What are we going to do about it?”

“That depends on how scared you are of my brother.”

I tighten my hand around her thigh and lean in closer. Her big, beautiful eyes are alert, and she hasn’t slurred one word. She’s had three drinks over a matter of hours with a shit ton of food.

“Tell me the truth,” I demand. “Are you tipsy?”

She shakes her head. “Not even close. But I am high on football and high school memories.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Why do I have a feeling you’re luring me into something I may regret?”

Her playful expression takes a hike into the desert, and a frown touches her eyes. “You think you’ll have regrets?”

“Regret for me? No fucking way. I’d never regret a moment with you. But if this is something you’ll regret? Then, yes. I’ll fucking hate myself forever.”

She looks into my eyes and there’s nothing playful or teasing or sarcastic about her now. “I’d never want you to hate yourself over me. I’d never do that to you.”

That’s so fucking Emma.

She can be hell on wheels one moment and sweet as fuck the next.

That’s it.

Right here, in the city of sin and at a bar that proves it with the amount of people eating and drinking in the middle of the night, I claim her face.

But I don’t kiss her.

Not yet.

“Emma.”

We’re so close, our noses almost touch. We’re breathing the same air.

She licks her lips, and her dark eyes flare. Those thick lashes flutter as she pulls in a deep breath. “Hmm?”

I brush her cheek with my thumb. “I remember everything about that moment. You weren’t a bad kisser.”

I feel her swallow hard. “Everyone remembers their first kiss. And mine was with Jack Hale.”

“Tell me to stop.” My gaze sweeps every feature of her face before focusing back on her eyes. “Say thanks for the drinks, it was good to catch up, and goodnight . Say it, dammit.”

She shakes her head in my hands.

I brush the tip of her nose with mine. “We’re not in high school sneaking around in the dark shadows. This is your last chance. Say goodbye or else.”

“I’ll take or else .”

That’s it.

I can’t wait another second.

I pull her lips to mine.

I didn’t lie about her not being a shitty kisser, but it was years ago.

We were fucking kids.

This is different.

When I slide my tongue between her lips to taste her again, she’s not tentative.

She’s an active participant.

I pull her closer, and she proves how much she wants it. She slides off her stool, and I pull her to me. She grips my shirt and wedges herself between my legs.

When she presses herself to me, she feels even more perfect than she looks.

She can’t get close enough.

And I can’t keep the blood from rushing to my dick.

“Ah-hem.”

Emma tenses in my arms. I want to kick someone’s ass for interrupting a moment I was not expecting.

Our eyes open at the same time we hear the bartender. “I know this is Vegas, but Mr. Black does have standards for Nebula.”

I don’t look away from Emma when I demand, “Check.”

Emma’s breath fans my face. “Yes. Check, please.”

Damn.

And just when I thought this day couldn’t get any better.