“Daniel’s a widower.”
His blunt statement falls into the room, each word a pebble striking my resolve and sending ripples over it. Sympathy for the handsome man with the beautifully braided cornrows and lovely hazel eyes squeezes my sternum. I can’t even imagine ...
Renae lost her fiancé a year ago. A drunk college student out celebrating her entrance into law school plowed her car into Derrick, killing him instantly. The woman survived with a broken leg, but Renae? She remains broken in places the eye can’t see, and yet, at times, it’s a physical thing.
“Shit. And I handed him my business card.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Sighing, I meet his steady gaze. “How long was he married?”
“Eleven years. He lost Jerricka two years ago. He’s been like a ghost since then, just a shade of the man I’d known. You’re the first woman he’s shown interest in dating since her death.” Jordan slides his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and briefly glances back toward the window before turning to me again. “This is a big ask, but if he hasn’t called you already, would you, as a personal favor to me, give him a chance? Just one date, Miriam,” he softly pleads. “If he’s taking the risk and putting himself out there, I’d hate for him to be hurt.”
He moves closer to the desk until his thick thighs press against the edge, and this close, I catch the tiny, almost imperceptible tic of a muscle along his jaw. As if he’s holding himself back from ... what?
A rabid curiosity filters into the dregs of resentment and sorrow still sticking to my chest.
“And you’re putting this on me?” I ask, genuinely confused. “I’m the one person you should keep your friend far away from. Not only do I break up with people for a living, but I want nothing to do with athletes—Jordan, you know what I mean,” I scramble to cover, to fix that thoughtless remark.
He nods, but the ice that crystallized his expression doesn’t thaw. Doesn’t melt the deep freeze in his eyes. Dammit.
“Jordan ...”
“No worries, Miriam. I know what you mean.” A smile curves his mouth, and in spite of the circumstances, in spite of the inexplicable tension crowded into the room like a nosy neighbor, my gaze still drops to it. Still notices the beautiful shape of it. Still notices that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And you’ve made your views about being involved with athletes clear, which is why if I could avoid having this conversation with you, I would. But it’s you he’s attracted to, not another woman. And so I’m asking.”
“What do you get out of this?” Frustration creeps into me, peppering my voice. I fling a hand toward my office door, as if Daniel stands on the other side of it. “Other than warm fuzzies for being the team matchmaker? Which, by the way, technically makes us mortal enemies,” I hiss.
“He was there for me when I didn’t have anyone,” he says. “I owe him.”
“So you’re fine with just throwing me at your friend? Like I’m payment for some debt?”
The bitterness that coats my question sours my stomach. Stupid. Stupid to feel like ... traded goods. Like I should mean more to him.
Don’t men have a bro code like women? Jordan’s been inside me. How can he so easily just hand me over to a friend, no matter how much he believes heoweshim?
Shit. Why doesn’t he just tag my ear and herd me out to Daniel’s waiting car?
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snaps, his brown eyebrows slashing down into a dark frown. “I’ve never disrespected you. Never treated you like you were some nameless random who doesn’t matter to me.”
You just did.
And I should know. I’ve been that nameless random before.
The difference between then and now?Thisman I care about.Thisman is my friend.
And dammit, I’m a sucker for a widower.
“Yeah, you’re right. Forget I said it. You know me, letting shit just fly out of my mouth.” I force a smile that’s all teeth and fake as a porn star’s moans. “Fine. I’ll do it. If Daniel calls, I’ll go out with him.”
“Miriam ...”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “Quit while you’re ahead, ’kay? But”—I pop a finger up—“I’m promising one date.”
Another pall of silence blankets the office, and I suppress the urge to rub my arms as the chill in the room is surely part and parcel of my imagination. But not the rigidity of his huge frame. I’m not imagining that. Tension rides through him, stiffening his shoulders, transforming him into living marble. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
Would he be offended if I stuck my finger under his nose to double-check?
Best not to chance it.
“You’ll do it? You’ll go out with him?”
“Yes.” I huff out a chuckle that’s far, far from humorous. “I thought this would make you happy. I gotta say, Jordan, you don’t look happy.”
