Page 11 of Truth or More Truth (Throwback RomComs #3)

ten

. . .

“ W ho’s your favorite client?” Melissa asks me, when she gets back into the car after successfully making a payphone call to Leslie.

I give her a side-eyed look from the driver’s seat. “I didn’t agree to play ‘Truth or Dare’ again. And I’m not answering that question.”

“I didn’t ask you to play, but now I will. Only this time, it’s ‘Truth or More Truth.’ And I’ve decided I’m not asking, I’m telling.” She laughs as she pokes my shoulder. “Come on. Tell me your favorite client. I promise to keep it a secret. Is it Diego?”

“Of course it’s Diego. He’s like a brother to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have any real brothers or sisters?” she asks.

“Is this the ‘more truth’ part?”

“Yep. How many siblings?”

I shift in my seat. “One.” I don’t elaborate.

After a few awkward seconds of silence, she says, “You’re not ready to tell me that story, either, I take it.”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to get all your secrets out of you one day, you know,” she teases .

I grunt in response. Little does she know, she doesn’t want to hear some of them.

“For now, what’s something you feel comfortable telling me?” she asks. “How about school? Where did you go?”

That’s easy enough. “USC—for both undergrad and law school.”

Melissa turns in her seat so she’s facing me as much as she can with her seatbelt on. “You’re a lawyer?”

“I am. A lot of agents are. It helps to understand all the legal ramifications of contracts, endorsements, and so on.”

“That makes sense. I have an older cousin who went to USC. Graduated in ’75. What year did you graduate?”

I give her another side eye. Does she know how old I am? This might open up a can of worms I’m not necessarily ready to open, but if I refuse to answer, she’ll know something’s up. “Undergrad in ’71.”

Again, she’s quiet for a while. “So you graduated college at nineteen? How much of a genius are you?”

I laugh. “Not a genius.” Technically, my IQ says I am, but I’m not about to say it. If I do, she’ll never let me live it down.

“You going to tell me that story?”

I sigh and give her the Reader’s Digest version.

“Things weren’t great at home. I legally emancipated myself at sixteen, my high school guidance counselor helped me apply to USC and jump through a lot of hoops, and I was accepted.

I got some scholarships and a couple of jobs, and I worked my way through undergrad in three years, then law school.

” I clench my teeth as I pray she won’t ask me to elaborate.

“Why did you decide to be a sports agent instead of another kind of lawyer?”

“I had an undergrad classmate at USC who played football. After he graduated and was drafted, a terrible agent took advantage of him. He fired that guy and asked me for legal help, so I learned all I could about athletic contracts, and I discovered I enjoyed helping athletes get the contracts and endorsements they deserve. The rest is history. ”

“Aww.” She places her hands over her heart. “You’re a softie deep down inside. I knew it!”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not.”

She places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You are. Instead of Sport, I’m now going to call you B.S.”

My eyebrows raise. “B.S.?” Those are my first two initials, as my middle name truly is Sebastian, but I don’t think that’s what she’s talking about.

“Big Softie.”

A laugh bursts out of me as an unexpected warmth fills my chest. “You can call me B.S. as long as you never tell anyone what it really stands for.”

“Deal.”

We stop at a Pizza Hut somewhere in Arkansas to eat lunch.

We’re about an hour away from our destination, and I suggested we push on through, but Melissa was starving and claimed the Pizza Hut buffet wouldn’t take long.

She also explained that this way Leslie and her parents won’t feel the need to feed us once we arrive, and I appreciate her thoughtfulness.

“Based on your sweatshirt last night,” I say over a slice of supreme pizza, “I’m assuming you went to Columbia.”

“Yep. Majored in sociology.” She picks a pepperoni off her slice and pops it in her mouth.

My eyebrows raise. “Really?”

She swallows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just pegged you for a business major, considering your job in the Cubs front office.”

“Yeah, but my job consists of dealing with people every day. I’m in Customer Relations.”

“Oh.”

Melissa gives me an incredulous look. “Did you not know what my job is?”

“I guess not.” And I feel like an idiot for not knowing or even asking .

“Even though I initially met you while doing my job of checking on things in a luxury suite where you were watching a game with Ash and Leslie?”

I can feel my face turn red, which is an uncommon occurrence for me. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“We talked for like five minutes.”

Interesting that she remembers all this. Of course, I remember it, too—well, everything but what her actual job is. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

She sighs. “Nothing, I guess.”

I nod. “So where did you work before this job? I’m assuming you worked somewhere else, since I only met you last spring, but I’ve been around the Cubs organization for a long time.”

“Yeah, I did. I stayed in Manhattan after college and worked in Human Resources for a Wall Street firm.”

“Wall Street, huh?”

“What? Do you have a problem with that, too?”

I raise my hands. “I haven’t had a problem with anything you’ve said.

This is all just surprising to me, which I don’t want you to take offense to, as I’m not trying to offend you.

I’m simply wrapping my head around it all.

Especially after getting to know you this past day, Wall Street doesn’t seem to fit your personality. ”

“I wasn’t a stockbroker or anything. That’s very much not my jam.”

“I didn’t think it would be. Anyway, what made you move back to Chicago?”

She can no longer meet my eye, and I wonder why.

“Well?” I prompt.

“I … my dad had some major health issues, so I wanted to be close to my parents again.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Is he okay now?”

Melissa peeks up at me through her lashes and nods, but her eyes are sad.

“He was having some heart problems, and then he had a stroke last winter. He recovered well enough that most people can’t tell a difference, but he didn’t get fully back to normal.

He never will be.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

“ But he survived, and that’s the important part.

Before he got sick, I wasn’t very good about calling my parents or visiting them. I won’t take them for granted again.”

Before I can stop it, my hand covers hers on the table. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Thanks. It’s no fun watching your parents get old.”

I squeeze her hand before bringing my own back to my side of the table.

As we continue to eat our pizza in silence, I consider how I’ve done almost nothing other than hold back personal information from her, but she freely offered the information about her her dad.

I wonder if I should give her something personal in return.

“Why are you staring at me, B.S.?” she asks.

I chuckle at the nickname. “Not so much staring as thinking while looking in your direction.”

“What are you thinking about, then?”

“Your honesty.”

“You’re not honest?”

“I am, usually to a fault. And I’m honest with what I say, but there’s a lot I don’t say.”

“Yeah, I’ve picked up on that.” She gives me a goofy grin.

“I’m a lot like my dad in that way,” I say, deciding to open myself up to her a little more. “But I don’t want to be anything like him.”

Melissa searches my eyes. “He wasn’t a good man?”

I shake my head. “Not in any way.” I look away from her. “Like I said, I’m a lot like him.”

“Bobby,” she says in an intense tone, “you’re a good man.”

“I thought I was a jerk,” I mutter.

“You can be, but that’s not all you are.

And you’re trying to be better, right? If you weren’t a good man, you wouldn’t want to try.

You wouldn’t have told me ridiculous jokes to keep me calm when I was about to lose my mind while driving in the snow yesterday.

You wouldn’t have offered to help keep me warm overnight.

Or maybe you would have, but you also would’ve tried to make a move on me.

And you know how else I know you’re a good man, Bobby Jacobs? ”

I feel a strange pricking sensation behind my eyes as I finally look at her again. “How?”

“Because Diego Sanchez, Ash Hamilton, and Randall Hamilton are three of the best people I know, and they wouldn’t let you get close enough to be like a brother or ask you to be in their wedding if you weren’t a good man.”