* * *
It’s no surprise when I tell Jagger about me having a fake girlfriend that he demands an in-person meeting, asking to be introduced to Leighton. He uses the same tone of voice he did when a picture of me passed out in a bar’s VIP lounge circulated. Unfortunately, that required me to send a text message to Leighton, asking her to please set aside a little of the free time she doesn’t have to meet my agent.
I walk into Peeper’s—Jagger’s choice, which is fine since it’s right under our condo building. It’s afternoon, and the Falcons don’t play until tonight, so it’s dead except for the usual crew of regulars that line the bar.
I stop at the edge of the bar instead of going to the backroom Ruby reserves for us to keep the diamond girls and fans from bothering us. She definitely has a softer heart than she lets on. Ruby has a Doberman exterior, but more of a Labrador interior.
“Why are you here?” she asks, filling a beer for one of her regulars.
“Jagger wants to meet me here.”
She glares at me over the beer handle. “What did you do?”
I blow out a breath. “Other than being a saint, nothing.”
I smile at her, but she doesn’t return it because Ruby finds very little to smile about. Plus, she probably thinks I’m full of shit.
Ruby’s one of those take-no-shit, you-do-what-I-want types of people. The funny thing is, according to the Falcons players, she’s loosened up a lot over the years. I imagine the fact that the last few tenants living above her have been professional athletes helps—she’s probably used to our bullshit by now.
She’s one of those hardcore Chicago-will-persevere types you just can’t help but love, even if she shows no love toward you. Though once you get to know her, you realize she does, only in her own small ways.
“I’ll bring it in,” she says, so I go into the back room and turn on the TV, finding a cornhole competition on the sports channel.
Ruby comes in a little bit later and slides a beer in front of me.
“Thanks, Rubes.”
She pulls out a chair and sits. “Are you getting traded? Am I gonna have to get used to some new boy toy on the third floor now?”
When will people stop thinking I’m a screw-up?
“I have a contract until the end of the year.”
“I know, but I’ve seen a lot of shit with all of you athletes?—”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re stuck with me, Rubes.”
She doesn’t say anything for a second. “You’re doing good out there.” She nods in the direction of Webber Field. “Even the regulars say you are.” She stands and slides her chair into the table. “I’ll go fix Jagger his usual, although he’ll probably come in with one of those green shakes or some healthy shit. God, those California types. I don’t understand them.”
I chuckle, but she squeezes my shoulder and walks out of the room, probably thinking Jagger coming here means my ass is about to be handed to me. She may be right.
My phone vibrates on the table, and I pick it up to see a text from Leighton.
I’m running late, but I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.
I wanted to tell Jagger to fuck off when he asked for this meeting. I didn’t want to put anything else on Leighton’s plate, but I also know how important it is to tell your agent what the hell is going on in your life. I didn’t bring him into the fold last year, and that proved to be a massive mistake.
Take your time. I’m sorry you have to come here in the first place.
Her text pops up immediately.
It’s fine. You’ve done me all kinds of favors. I can do this one for you.
I’m not keeping score, just so you know.
Then good for both of us that I’m a list person.
I want to flirt back, but I’m struggling after our conversation in the alley. I can’t help but wonder if she thinks I’m still that guy from last year but doesn’t want to tell me. Every part of me wants to prove her wrong, but something stops me—can I have it all? Can I be the baseball player I aspire to be, a good partner to her, and have a role in the kids’ lives? I’m not sure, so I text back the only thing I can think of.
