I wish Jordie felt that way about me, but she’s been very aloof when it’s just the two of us. She’s not rude, but it’s almost like she doesn’t like me for some reason, which I don’t understand. I’m funny and devastatingly handsome. At least that’s what my mom says.
There was that one moment in my office where she softened the walls around her, and I felt a pull between us. I’m pretty sure she felt it too before we were interrupted.
“Of course. You’re the celebrity, Jordie. We’re here to cater to your every whim,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being called a celebrity.”
“Sports stars are celebs just as much as actors, singers, and whatever the hell the Kardashians are. You just have to embrace it.”
“Hmmm, maybe you’re right,” she murmurs, unimpressed. I’m still not sure what I did to make her dislike me.
I hold the door open, and Jordie brushes by me on the way into the building. I do my best not to jolt at the electric shock that results from the unexpected touch. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and I watch her from behind for a long moment. Her pale-blonde locks are down today—at the request of the hair and makeup artist—and the ends hit her about mid-back. My eyes drop lower, checking out her very firm ass, which is popping from side to side with her strut. You could bounce an apple off that ass.
I guide her toward the hair and makeup studio on this floor and nod at the security guard. He allows us through the frosted glass door.
“This is where we get models ready for their photo and video shoots. The photo studio is just beyond to allow for quick access to wardrobe, hair, and makeup changes.”
Jordie's feet pause on the hardwood floor, stopping just inside the room as her gorgeous aqua gaze takes in the vast space. Ten hair and makeup stations take up the center of the room, with white cabinets lining the left-hand wall, holding all the makeup and other products.
On the far wall, huge hot pink murals of the Hale Cosmetics logo flank the wood door leading to the photography and videography area, and five dressing rooms sit to our right. I head toward them.
“Your wardrobe should already be in one of these.” I open doors until I find her uniform and the flowing white dress in the middle one. She steps into the spacious dressing room, and her fingers drift slowly over the black and purple jersey.
“I can’t wait for the season to start,” she sighs with reverence.
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my charcoal pinstriped suit. “I’m glad the Dragons’ first game is at home. My family will be there. We have a suite.”
With bright eyes, she meets my gaze in the triple mirror in front of her. “Really?”
“Of course,” I say before my attention is directed toward a noise at the door of the salon. “That must be Bristol.”
Jordie follows me out, and we find a bombshell brunette striding in with a little girl of about seven holding her hand. Behind them is a mountain. Okay, it’s not actually a mountain, but he could pass for one. The man is holding two more children—a boy and a girl—in one massive arm and carrying a tall, foldout cosmetics case in the other hand. A tiny, elderly lady with pink hair stands beside him.
Without thinking, I grasp Jordie’s hand and pull her toward the newcomers. I like the way her long fingers wrap around the back of my hand. “Come on and I’ll introduce you to the Hanfords.”
“Phoenix, good to see you,” Bristol says, and I release Jordie’s hand to offer Bris a brief hug and kiss on the cheek.Verybrief because her husband is a former Navy SEAL and one big motherfucker.
“You too. Thank you for driving down for this. We wanted the best for Jordie’s photo shoot.” I step back and gesture at the blonde standing just behind me. “Jordie, this is Bristol Hanford, the best hair and makeup artist I’ve ever worked with. Bristol, this is?—”
She cuts me off and grabs Jordie in an enthusiastic hug. “Oh hush, Phoenix. I know who this is.” She pulls back and holds Jordie’s biceps, flashing a brilliant smile at her. “Jordie, it’s so great to meet you in person. I’m honored to get to work with you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Jordie says, beaming in pleasure at the praise before dropping her gaze to the girl who had been holding her mother’s hand. She’s wearing a number nine Dragons jersey. “And who is this?”
Bristol brushes an affectionate hand over her daughter’s dark wavy hair. “This is our daughter, Amelia.”
Jordie immediately squats down to Amelia’s level and shakes her hand. “So nice to meet you, Amelia. I love your jersey. Is Carrie Broxton your favorite player?”
The little girl nods vigorously. “She’s my cousin.”
“Oh,” Jordie replies, confused for a moment before she stands and points at Bristol and her husband as recognition dawns. “Ohhh, you’re Carrie’s Aunt Bristol and Uncle Tank.”
“That’s us!” Bris says brightly, her violet eyes sparkling. “I haven’teven gotten to tell her I’m meeting you because she’s been on vacation with her family. Oh! Let’s take a selfie and send it to her. She’ll be so surprised.”
While they do that, I approach Tank Hanford, the aforementioned mountain, and greet his little ones and the tiny woman with the pink hair. “And who is this lovely lady?”
She holds out her hand, palm down, as if for me to kiss the back of it, so I do in a most gallant fashion.
“I’m Tank’s grandmother, Hattie Hanford. Everyone calls me Gram,” the woman replies before lifting one pink eyebrow at me. “But a cutie like you could call me Mrs. Hale, if you want to.”
