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Because all I do is either think about Beau or write about him. Thankfully for me, I can turn distractions into fiction.
But for Beau, distractions lose football games. He’s under tremendous pressure. He’s the face of his team’s franchise, and it all rests on his multi-million dollar shoulders.
“Well,” Jace grins at me, lost in thought, “please tell your pretty face that you don’t love Beau Bronson because it doesn’t believe you either.”
“So what? You’re saying I should message him or something?”
“Do you want to?”
Hell yes.
“Do I want to get my life and heart ruined?”
“Your life?” Jace nods. “Yes. Because he’s not just famous for his golden arm; he’s infamous for that pretty-boy face. His dating life is a public sport, too, so anyone with him would be like a lamb led to a viral slaughter. But your heart?”
Jace rubs my back. It’s in that brotherly way that almost makes you feel better. You can almost fight the tears.
“Blair, I love your books. I’m one of your biggest fans. But I suspect the love you two deny would be far better as fact than your fiction.”
I think about it all night.
Should I message Beau?
Should I put my bleeding heart in the ocean full of hungry media sharks, hoping only Beau will bite?
And what if he doesn’t? What if I’m the only one who feels this way? The only one who wants more than Valentine’s night? What if football truly is his only love?
We purposefully didn’t exchange our digits, though I know I could find him if I tried. And Beau sure as hell knows where to find me. I work at Delta’s, a luxury adult store, while trying to get by as a struggling indie romance author.
Until yesterday.
Until Beau made my book go viral.
But he hasn’t messaged me. Apparently, he’s even in Charleston, where his older brother lives, and not in Atlanta, where Beau’s team is. But he was a no-show today. So, I hear his silence loud and clear.
And it hurts.
It makes me angry.
I feel like we’re back in college, and he’s playing another cruel, teasing joke on me. Back then, his jokes messed with my mind.
But now, they mock my broken heart.
So, all night, I try to revive my kitty. I hope she still has a pulse. I hope she’ll want to play again, but I worry.
Because watching Silas Van de May passionately fuck his beautiful wife, Eily, on the stage only makes me miss Beau. I know Silas and Eily. They shop at Delta’s all the time. They overwhelm you with their love, I swear. And Silas sure does make a hot cop tonight, role-playing with Eily, who’s willing to be a very bad girl to get out of a ticket.
Their marriage is heaven. Their love nirvana. Their sex is fun, too. It’s obvious Silas adores Eily, and she was meant to be his.
I want that.
I want that so much.
“Does that interest you?” A baritone voice tempts over my shoulder. “Because I have handcuffs and a big baton, too.”
Jace went to the restroom so I’m alone at the bar. Turning around, I confront a tall, gorgeous man. He’s a hundred percent fuckable. And months ago, based on looks, I’d jump him like a polecat.
But yeah, my kitty has flatlined. No response. “No, thank you.”
