I trust Maggie and forgive her for failing to relay the full content of the voicemail from Keefe’s mother, but maybe there is something else she’s not telling me. After all, I still have a secret too. I didn’t go see Mrs. O’Mealley, nor does she know about Siobhan.
Before I can think further, a woman wearing high heels towers over the table. I quickly get to my feet to welcome her formally and pull out her chair. Maggie is watching me, assessing for the review. This is more like torture, but I’ll go along with it only to get to the end of this thirty-day grace period before my life can go back to normal.
And the normal I want is a life with Maggie in it. Not just texts and occasional calls. Face time on the daily—and I don’t mean the video chat app.
Right now is a balancing act of demonstrating I’m a gentleman so I can be done with the finishing school sentence and get started in a relationship with My Maggie.
At the same time, I don’t want to give Blair the wrong idea. I have zero interest in this interview and if what I’ve been told about the likes of her, is that she’ll toy with me and play coy to get me to spill my secrets.
Blair introduces herself and then gets right down to business—asking about my personal life, my love life.
I give vague answers, keep things light, simple.
Then something warm and smooth taps my ankle. The pointy toe of a high heel tugs at the hem of my pant leg. I shift my footaway, closer to my chair. Blair repeats the action, all the while wearing a smile on her face as she asks about numerous women I’ve dated—half of whom I hardly remember. Clearly, she’s done her homework as well as practiced her footwork. Again, I move my leg away.
A chilling thought zips through me—sports drink with ice dumped over my head chilling. Playing in Minnesota in January frozen.
“I shouldn’t do this,” I sputter.
Maggie mentioned the playbook and to anyone watching, this might appear as if I’m breaking the rules.
“Declan?” Blair’s smoky voice threads into my thoughts. “Hi. You still with me?”
“Oh, right. Yeah.” Maggie sits nearby quietly evaluating and completely distracting me. I’m disoriented. I want her. I can’t have her.
“I have rules,” I say.
“Tell me all about them.” Blair purrs, reaching her hand toward mine.
I tuck it in my lap. “Coach’s rules, um...” Usually, I’m a smooth talker when around attractive women, but my tongue—and stomach—are in knots.
“I should go.” But I don’t want to fail my evaluation or give anyone the wrong idea.
“What’s the matter?” Blair’s tone sharpens like the toe on her high heel, which repeatedly pokes my leg, no matter how many times I shift positions.
My eyes flit from Maggie to Blair and back again. There’s no contest, my heart belongs to the woman across the room, but I don’t want to jeopardize the rest of the team.
Blair huffs. “Why is that woman staring at us? Is she some crazed fan? She can’t take her eyes off you. But you keep looking at her, too.”
Maggie writes something down in a notebook.
“She’s my, um, coach.”
“Your football coach?”
“More like a life coach.” A love coach. She’s the one who brought my heart back to life.
“But you’re not looking at her the way you would a professional. No, there’s something else. Would you rather she be in my seat?” Blair asks pointedly.
The honest answer is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Yes.”
Her face hardens. “I thought so. Good thing I came prepared. Come here, Declan. I have to tell you something.” She gestures, I move closer.
I lean in and Blair grips the sides of my face. Before I’m able to jerk away, she plants a kiss on my lips.
The snap of cameras flashing clashes with the clink of silverware and the single word, the plea, that flies out of my mouth. “No.”
I know what’s going to happen. They caught the moment on film.
