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Debbie nods at Sam, who shrugs.
“Make it two. And nachos.”
“Definitely nachos,” I agree, and Sam and I high-five.
“What was just fine about your work today?” she asks as Debbie scampers off to get our order going, and she lowers her voice. “Is it that damn fine as fuck asshole getting in your way again?”
I lift a shoulder. “Sort of. James Williams seemed disenchanted by him at a press event today, and I confronted him to ask why and he basically inferred I was already sleeping with Nash and then told me to do my own research.”
“Disenchanted?” she presses.
I lower my voice since we’re in public, but the music is loud enough combined with the din of the place that nobody would overhear us. “He asked why Lincoln wasn’t at the event today since Thompson would’ve been there. When Steve reminded us that it’s a new regime, I heard definite scoffs around the room.”
She narrows her eyes as she studies me. “Scoffs? Why scoffs?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure, so I spent the rest of the day at the office doing my due diligence, as James directed me to do.”
“What did you come up with?”
Debbie swings by with our drinks, and we clink glasses before we each take a long, healthy chug.
“He’s aggressive. He’s not afraid to take risks on the field or off it. He’s incredibly driven and very talented, and he puts the game first above everything else. It’s why he’s thirty-six and single.”
She raises a brow. “You sure that’s why?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What are you implying?”
She shrugs innocently. “Nothing, nothing. I just…” She blows out a breath. “When are you going to tell me what happened in the break room?”
My brows dip. “What?”
“I saw you go in the break room two weeks ago when we were here. I saw him get up and follow you in there thirty seconds later. He left first, and then you came out looking flushed and flustered as fuck. I’ve been waiting two goddamn weeks to get you alone to have this conversation. Now spill it.”
I suck in a breath at her words. She saw me. Rivera saw me.
Who else saw me?
“Can I finish what I dug up on him first?” I ask.
In all honesty, I want to get her professional opinion on an article I saw about him earlier so I can figure out if there’s any truth to the claim. But I also want to tell her more about why people don’t love his coaching style—how he’s not afraid to make enemies, how he’s more worried about his team’s success than anything else, how he likes to shake things up in the locker room and push boundaries.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Come on. I need your professional opinion on something.”
“First the details of the break room. Then the professional opinion.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. But let me start by saying nothing happened and it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Okay, start noted. Now get on with the details, friend.” She gives me a pointed gaze before she drinks some more vodka.
“I needed a breather from him. He followed me in. I told him to get out of my bar, we argued. He pinned me up against the wall and it was hot and we almost kissed but didn’t, and then he said he didn’t know I had a kid and he left. That’s it. The end.”
I leave out some of the finer details, but really just the ones I think about late at night when I’m having a ménage à moi.
“Oh, no, no, no. That is not the end. That’s merely the beginning, sweet Jolene.” She’s all smiling and happy as she teases me, but I am not sharing that sentiment with her.
“It is not!” I squeal, and then I force my voice back to a normal decibel. “It’s not. It was a one-time thing, nothing happened, and we move forward. I have to keep this professional, Sam. My entire career depends on it.”
