“Martini? Bourbon? Tequila?”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Me? Never.” I chuckle and cross to the wet bar in the corner of the dining room, needing to distance myself before I overstep.
“A martini would be good. Do you have blue cheese stuffed olives?”
“Do I look like an amateur to you?” I shoot over my shoulder.
She grins. “I’ll be outside,” she says, then she ducks out the door before I can say anything else and I get the sense she also needs a minute to cool off. Taking a deep breath, I shake off the tension and desire coursing through me and set to making our drinks. Pouring a bourbon for myself, I toss it back in one shot and relish in the burn as it goes down. Then I pour the vodka, knowing she prefers it to gin, the olive juice so it’s extra dirty, and a splash of vermouth over ice and shake until the metal shaker is frosted.
Once both our drinks are finished, my dick has settled and the haze of lust has lifted, so I join her on the patio.
“Why did you move to Nashville anyway?” she asks, taking the drink from my hand while kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath her on the couch. The sunlight bounces off the window behind her, giving her an angelic glow.
You, I almost answer, but having her in my space is already too real to share the whole truth on night one. If I have any chance of convincing my wife to be my wife again, baby steps are required.
Opting for levity, I say, “In case you didn’t notice, I own the team.”
“Still, I never thought you’d leave New York.”
I shrug. “Things change.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but the shrill ring of her work phone interrupts. “Sorry, I have to take this.” Answering the call, she hands me her drink, gets up and disappears inside.
With her inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts, her question throws me back to the conversation that started it all. The reason I agreed to leave New York and move to Nashville.
Summer Two Years Ago
“Coach, thanks for meeting with me.” I stand from the table in the Bronx dinner club to greet Coach Mike Crenshaw with a handshake.
“Davenport, good to see you.” He bats my hand away and pulls me into a quick hug, squeezing my shoulder the same way he did when I used to play for him. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit surprised when Ben called and insistedtheGrant Davenport wanted a sit-down meeting with me while I was in town.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I’m still the same guy you coached in bumfuck Virginia.”
He chuckles, taking a seat, and ordering a beer when the server comes over.
“Those were the days, weren’t they?”
I grimace. “I don’t know about that. I was fresh off a Tommy John surgery and trying to work my way back to my starting position.” Unfortunately, my elbow never fully recovered and I never got back on the mound, which forced me to pivot. That year was possibly the worst of my life.
“And nursing a broken heart, if I remember correctly,” Mike says. “A nightmare of a combination for a coach, and I still put up with you.” He grins over the rim of his glass before taking a hefty sip. Mike may be one of the only peoplewho knows about my relationship with Taylor. He not only got a front row seat to the downfall of my career, but also the destruction of my marriage.
“How is she?” I ask, referring to the source of my broken heart. Taylor’s best friend is Mike’s daughter, and I knew they kept in touch through Ivory. The way our worlds unintentionally melded together was soulmate type shit.
“She’s good. Always busting my balls, but she really looks out for my Bug. Ivory started her own production company recently. She’s working on a movie now that she wrote by herself while on vacation in Belize last year.” The pride in his voice makes me smile. He’s done a good job keeping his relationship with Ivory fairly private, which is hard considering she’s Hollywood’s Sweetheart.
Mike sets his glass down, turning serious. “But you didn’t call me here to talk about my daughter, so what’s with the summons, Grant?”
“Straight to the point.”
“I figured it’s how you businessmen operate.” He smirks, teasing me. “Prefer to not waste my time either since I know this isn’t a casual catch up among friends.”
He may be toying with me but I’m suddenly regretful that I did only call him to talk business instead of catching up, but I forge ahead with the confidence that’s made me a successful businessman. “I want you to come work for me.”
If he’s surprised by the request, he doesn’t show it. “Really?” He takes another drink of his beer and signals for the server to bring another round. “And why would I do that?”
“Word on the street is you’re not too happy down there in Tampa anymore.”
