An hour later, I’m still staring at photos of the couple, but the one that has me drinking straight from the bottle is the most recent one, where Miles and Jordie are entering her hotel together.
“Why?” I mutter, as if she can hear me. This hurts. I don’t know why, but it does. All the way to my bones.
The pictures on my screen are nothing compared to the ones my mind is imagining. Miles Soren kissingmygoddess. Tasting every inch of her body. Smelling her sweet, pretty scent. Rolling on top of her and…
“No!” I say way too loudly, but I’m drunk as a skunk and not thinking clearly, a fact that is highlighted when I do the stupidest thing imaginable.
I call her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Drunk and verbose
Jordie
A FEW HOURS EARLIER
“Hey,” I say, rushing up to the table in the downtown Chicago steakhouse, clutching my small purse beneath my arm. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Coach yelled at us for thirty minutes after the game.”
Miles rises and kisses my cheek. “No problem, beautiful. When you called and said you were running late, I went ahead and came down here to see if the restaurant would move our reservation back a bit. So it all worked out.”
He pulls out my chair, and I sit, placing the crimson napkin in my lap. “I appreciate it. Plus, I wanted to run by the training room to check on Sabrina.”
Miles sits across from me, a concerned look on his face. “I saw her go down. What are the docs saying?”
“High ankle sprain. They’re hoping she’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“Good. I hate to see anyone get hurt.” His eyes sweep over me. “You look absolutely fantastic, by the way. What is this outfit called? A romper? Or is it a jumpsuit? I can never remember.”
I giggle. “According to Carrie, a jumpsuit is full length, and a romper has shorts. So this one is a jumpsuit.”
“Whatever the fuck it is, it looks gorgeous on you,” he says, looking me over appreciatively once more.
“She’s been helping me update my wardrobe a bit. You know I’m more casual, but I need to start getting a few more dressy things. Luckily, this one is really comfortable,” I say, tugging at the stretchy fabric over my ribs.
“I approve.” He pours us both a glass of wine. “You played an incredible game today, but y’all had me worried there at the end.”
“Yeah, we were limited in the second half after Sabrina’s injury.” I scrunch my nose. “We’ve got to draft some more running backs next year. Oklahoma City’s offensive line is brutal, and I’m nervous about playing them in a couple weeks.”
We look over the menu and the suited waiter comes by to take our order. Then the conversation turns back to football. Miles’s team has been struggling so far this season, so we commiserate over that.
When our server drops off our perfectly cooked steaks, we dig in. “More wine?” Miles asks, lifting the bottle of red from the table.
“Sure. We’re traveling tomorrow so we won’t have practice.”
He fills my glass, and I take a long sip. The flavor is rich and warm on my tongue, pairing nicely with the meal.
“So what are your plans for the week?” Miles asks before slicing into his steak.
My shoulders scrunch. “I’m cat-sitting, and I’m weirdly excited about it. I’ve been wanting a cat, but it’s hard with my schedule. I had a kitty when I was a teenager, but she died while I was in college. I miss her furry little butt.”
He chews and nods. “It’s almost impossible with as much travel as we do unless you have a sitter or service. I’d never want to neglect an animal. Who are you sitting for?”
“Phoenix Hale,” I reply, feeling my cheeks warm at the mere mention of his name.
Miles’s eyebrows lift. “The cosmetics guy?”
I pay particularly close attention to cutting my asparagus, keeping my head down to hide my blush. “Uh-huh.”
