15
Stella
I wantedto go straight home after arriving back in Boston. Go home, do laundry, change the sheets, shower away the flight, look over my calendar and plan out the week. That was my routine and I loved it. It staved off the jet lag and put me in the right mood to get back to work bright and early. To get back on the trail.
But I wasn't doing any of that. Nope, the car service was driving right past my neighborhood and into downtown Boston where Lucian McKendrick was dirty dancing—pants down—on a bar. Thankfully, it only took me whistling at him from the door and my sharpest glare to get him down and the pants up. I'd called ahead and handled his tab and Flinn already had a jump on minimizing the social media impact.
McKendrick complained about leaving, of course, whining and moaning to his adoring fans as he shuffled toward me. None of that mattered to me. He was allowed to save face. Hell, he could throw me right under the bus for all I cared. I didn't mind being the villain here. If I played this situation right, I'd be the villain with the corner office and the kind of raise that said "vacation in the south of France."
I held the car door open for McKendrick, waiting until he scooted to the far side before climbing in beside him. The driver already had McKendrick's address and orders to take us there regardless of the bribes and promises lobbed at him.
When the car turned onto Storrow Drive, heading out of the city, I glanced at the man to my left. "What was that all about?"
He shrugged. "I'm twenty-seven years old and really fuckin' rich. What am I supposed to do with myself on a Monday night?"
"Honestly, McKendrick, I know a lot of rich dudes. Rich ladies too. You're the first one I've met who entertains himself by gettin' low on a bar, rubbing a bottle of Hennessy on his junk, and then dousing a bunch of chicks in that ball-sweat-anointed Hennessy. But here's how I see it," I continued. "You're an individual. You follow your own drummer. You want to rub your jewels on that whiskey and there's nothing anyone is going to say to change your mind."
"Thank you," he cried, slapping his palms on his thighs. "Thank you. Finally. Someone who gets it."
I didn't get it but I wasn't telling him that. It only mattered that he felt heard, seen. "We're headed to a number of goodwill appearances and charitable events in the next few weeks," I said. "I want you to think about limiting the balls-and-whiskey situations to private spaces. You can't take your picture with sick kids in the morning and then go buck wild at night. It's incongruent. People won't let you near the sick kids if your sac is all over social media." I gestured toward his lower body. His manspreading claimed two-thirds of the back seat. "Unless you'd rather we visit the testicular cancer floor."
He grabbed his crotch, shivered. "Why in the fuck would I want to do that?"
"Because the only reason you'd have your balls out in the middle of a bar—not a very good one, I might add—is to remind men to get them checked. Clearly, you're raising awareness about a disease that few discuss," I said. "With the exception of men growing beards in November."
He shifted, staring at me with a pensive expression creasing his forehead. "What are you talkin' about, lady? I don't grow a beard for ball cancer. I grow a beard for the World Series."
I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. "And here you are, raising awareness in April."
"I'm a hero. Obviously," he replied, still watching me with that confused look. "Who are you, lady? What's your story?"
I gave him a warm smile, dimples and all. "No story, McKendrick. I love the game. I love helping players position themselves for long-term success."
He chuckled. "That's a load of bull, honeycakes. That's something you read off a motivational poster or a fortune cookie. No one says shit like that and means it."
"I mean it," I replied, laughing. "I do love the game and I do love helping my players. Especially when they get into trouble."
"You might mean it but it's not your story," he said, turning his attention to the window and the dark countryside beyond. "You married, lady? Kids?"
"No and no," I replied, wiggling my ringless fingers at him.
"You looking?" He gestured to his lap like he was a model onThe Price Is Rightand his dick was the showcase.
I worked hard at keeping my expression even. Experience had taught me that laughing at this moment was thewrongresponse. "I'm actually seeing someone." It was my standard response but it wasn't my usual stiff delivery. My voice softened, my head tilted to the side, my cheeks burned at the memory of Cal's tongue between my legs. I didn't expect any of it. I wasn't sure I liked it. "I'm seeing someone," I repeated.
McKendrick rolled his hand, wanting more. "You can't say that, honeycakes, and leave me hanging. I have the gym and my shenanigans. Nothin' else. No ball, no boys, no workouts with the team, nothing. I'm not even getting laid on the regular because someone won't let me socialize." He pinned me with a sour glare. "What's his name? What's he do? Where's it going?" He nudged me with his elbow. "Or is it a she?"
I gave McKendrick credit for asking if I was seeing a woman without a leer or suggestive tone. That was an accomplishment. "He. His name is Cal. He's a heart surgeon."
McKendrick drummed his fingers on his thigh. "And where is it going, lady? You serious? Will I get a plus-one to your wedding or will I have to plow all the bridesmaids to keep myself entertained?"
"I'm not inviting you or your scrotum to my wedding," I deadpanned. "I'm not getting married."
"That's a shame," he groused. "My Electric Slide is on fire." He rolled his neck from side to side, a loud crack accompanying each movement. "It's serious, huh? You're feelin' this guy?"
"I, uh, I don't—I don't know," I stammered. Fuck, why did I say that? Why did I say that? I made a point of keeping my personal life private. The last person on this planet who needed an update on the ongoing saga of Stella and Cal was Lucian McKendrick. Aside from the fact he was my client, he was gossipy as hell. "It's new. I'm not sure it's going to last."
Stellllllllla.
