It’s been three days, and I still can’t get Leighton out of my head. This does not bode well for the season ahead.
“You need to get your head together. This is the kind of shit I’m talking about.” He points his fork at me like a dad would at his teenage son who’s on his fifth detention.
Jagger is the best agent in the industry, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he doesn’t sugarcoat anything. He doesn’t boost our egos or baby us when we fuck up. He was all over my ass last year, but I didn’t give a shit at the time. On the flip side though, he’ll praise us and fight for us when our skills and talent have us at the top of the MVP list.
“Let me remind you, you’re here because of me.” He turns the fork around and points it at himself, then uses it to stab some of the scrambled eggs on his plate.
To some, that sentence might sound conceited. I didn’t see Jagger busting his ass to get a D1 college offer, nor did I hear from him much when I was barely getting by in the minors. But I’m in Chicago now, playing for the Colts, blessed with a second chance to prove that I’m not a difficult player, so he’s earned an imaginary gold ribbon for being the best fucking agent.
“Didn’t you get my fruit bouquet?” I lean back in my chair.
His lips tip into an almost grin before he breaks out into a full smile. The other thing about Jagger is that he knows I’m deflecting and will play my game. “Quinn says get the one with more pineapple next time.”
I fork my egg whites and avocado. “Done. Apologize to your wife for me. And sorry for not being completely here. It’s just that my sister’s best friend?—”
He groans. “That sentence right there sounds like drama. The kind of drama you need to stay away from.”
“It’s not like that.” That’s a lie. If it wasn’t anything, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be on my mind every damn second.
Though there is some truth there, just for a different reason than Jagger suspects. Leighton isn’t into me… and probably thinks I’m a shitty kisser since the only time I kissed her, I was on the heavier side of buzzed. Not that the alcohol running through my veins was the reason I kissed her—far from it. I think I noticed Leighton the minute she hit puberty, which probably makes me a creep.
“The way your mind is wandering again, I’m pretty sure it’s exactly like that.” Jagger frowns.
I drop my fork and pick up my water. “It’s not. I appreciate this whole ‘make sure you have your shit together’ pep talk, but you didn’t need to fly out here. I’m good. I told you that.”
“All you athletes are so conceited. As if I’d fly to Chicago just for you.” He raises his hand for the waitress when she passes by. “Excuse me, sorry, but I forgot to order something earlier. Can I have a pancake made into a flower? My daughter.” He holds his phone out to her to see his screensaver. “She loves this place, and I promised to get one and eat it on her behalf.”
The waitress smiles and stares at Jagger for a moment before coming out of her trance and heading over to the pancake maker behind the glass to put in Jagger’s order. He’s definitely got that salt-and-pepper good-looking guy thing. Plus, his suit says he’s powerful. And rich.
“Does Quinn know you flirt?” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms.
“Believe me, I got my head out of my ass a long time ago. Quinn knows she’s the only woman I see or want. And if you think that was flirting, I can see why you’re still single.” He wipes his mouth and places the paper napkin back on his lap.
“I’m single by choice,” I say.
“I used to say that too.”
“I get that I fucked up last year, but I like to think I’m a pretty good catch.”
He sips his coffee. “That’s all you athletes’ biggest problem. You attract the ones who want you for all the wrong reasons, and the good ones want nothing to do with the spotlight that comes along with your career. And if they can handle it, most of the time you’re too blind to even see the good ones. I’ll tell you though, the Falcons?—”
“Here we go again.” I groan. “You treat us Colts like we’re your stepchildren.”
“More like newborns. You’re cute and all, but you whine and cry too much, and I often find myself having to clean up your shit.”
The waitress places the flower-shaped pancake in front of Jagger. “Here you go. Anything else?”
“No, we’re all good, thanks, Heidi.” Jagger pulls out a twenty and slides it into her palm. “Tell Erik thank you. She’s going to be so happy.”
She smiles and turns toward me, placing the bill beside my plate, and walks away.
Jagger pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the flower pancake, his smile so big and genuine, something pulls at my heart. He’s happy just because he knows his daughter will be happy. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be in a place to have my own family. My entire life has had one end goal, but that goal marker keeps moving. When will I feel like I can have it all?
“The bill is yours. You can pay it with the money from that shiny new contract I got you.” Jagger puts syrup on one petal and eats it, takes another picture, then sips his coffee as he stands, ready to leave. The man is a machine.
“You got a percentage of that contract.” I slide the bill toward him.
He picks it up and straightens his tie, pulling his wallet out. “Come on, you’re not my only client.”
