Jo drops a stack of flashcards onto the plastic dining table. “Nan said if she doesn’t see you soon, she’ll drag you out of the office by your bows.”
I laugh. She would.
The doorbell rings, and I rush to it like a dutiful host. I’m expecting a head of red hair and freckled cheeks, but bronze skin and broad shoulders fill my vision. It should be illegal to wear thin T-shirts out in the world when you look like this. The fabric is literally bursting at the seams, and I almost want it to.
He’s your client. Pull yourself together.
Cade Owens is on my doorstep. At prime booty-call hour.
What if one of my elderly neighbors is watching us right now as he looms over me? Him looking sinfully sexy with tired eyes and slutty little glasses. And me in my . . . Oh my god.
The CLU baseball sweatshirt he gave me before he left for California swallows my torso, hanging down to mid-thigh. The teal color is almost gray from being worn and washed so often. I tried to trash it once but chickened out. It was too comfortable to sacrifice.
“Nice outfit.” He grins. “Looks familiar.”
I refuse to smile back. “What are you doing here?”
“Movie night. Am I wrong?”
He’s not, but the risk is too high. According to my contract, being linked to a client isn’t a fireable offense. It’s how Winston met his wife of twenty years. But me? Because I’m a woman, I’d be torched and judged for the rest of my career. It would be assumed I couldn’t control myemotions or all I wanted out of this job is an athlete boyfriend. No agent would respect me, no player would want to work with me, and no player’s significant other would trust me.
My worst nightmare.
Delicate taps to my temple pull me from my spiraling panic. “Don’t worry. I’ll go,” he whispers. “Sometimes I forget that we’re not still us. I can’t just show up at your home. Please tell everyone I said—”
“Come inside, Cade.” I push open the door. “It’s fine. Your friends are here too.”
He casts me a doubtful glance but holds his pinky up. “There will be no funny business. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“You better,” I mutter as we step into the house.
A stab of embarrassment nicks my skin as he takes in the foyer, so different from the last time he was here. Walking into a house that Mallory built was like being wrapped in a warm hug. Now the pale blue walls that were once covered with photos and vinyl albums are bare and sad.
“It’s different,” he finally says.
That’s one way to put it. It feels and looks as if nobody lives here. I barely do.
“I’ll be back,” I say before sprinting to a spot Cade is not allowed. My bedroom.
I’m about to burst inside when the door swings open, and I run smack-dab into Mallory.
“I disappear for two seconds to find a Sharpie and you’re freaking out.” She grips my shoulders. “Where’s the fire?”
Pressing my finger to her lips, I turn around and point at Cade as he disappears into the kitchen. “Isn’t it obvious? I can’t be alone with him.”
“And why is that?”
“He’s my client, Mally! It’s unprofessional for him to be in my house, but I wasn’t going to make him leave when all his friends are here. I’m not heartless.”
“Are you planning on doing anything unprofessional with him?” When I glare at her, she pulls me into her chest. “Then get in there and talk to your client like he’s an old friend you never had sex with. Okay? Jo and I need to study for a little bit. I’d ask you to quiz us, but Adri already offered. Keep it professional. Baseball talk only.”
I can do that. Yeah. I love baseball.
“Hey, MalPal!” Cade appears and gives her a quick hug. “Studying?”
“Always, Cader Tot,” she says, pushing us toward the living room by our shoulders. “Kenneth will be here soon. You guys should pick the movie.”
Perching myself in my favorite corner of the sectional, I relax when Cade takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch and grabs the remote. Focusing on my phone, I navigate to the voting website for the All-Star Game in a few weeks, and lock in my votes since today’s the final day for round two.
