Page 113 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“We’re all guilty of it, babe.”

“That doesn’t make it right. I’ll talk with her tomorrow morning, and if she’s interested, we’ll set something up.” I guide his arm up above his head while I take more measurements. “You know what’s sad?”

“That you made me keep my pants on?”

“Yes, you poor, sexually deprived man,” I tease. “If you can get beyond that horrible deprival, think about how many other families are in the same position. Families who make ends meet the best they can, and then a kid gets a big break, and they have to continue to shoulder the burden of helping support their family. I bet there are a lot of families in that situation.” I finish taking the measurements of his chest and move to his back.

“It’s an eye-opener for sure. It makes me realize how privileged I was at that age. How privileged I still am. I’d like to give them money, but I did that when I first hit it big, and it was a huge mistake.”

“Why? What happened?” I move his arm to another position. “Keep your arm still if you can.”

“I got played by a young kid and his family. It cost me a lot of time and money, but I learned a hard lesson. Not all people are good or honest. That’s why I set up the Playing it Forward Sports Scholarship. There are rules and criteria that have to be met in order to qualify, and it allows me to help young athletes without being taken for a ride.”

“I didn’t know you offered a scholarship. That’s a great way to give back.”

“I’m glad I can do it. I award a dozen scholarships a year, and I commit to doing it each of the four years they’re in school if they maintain the academic and sports requirements.”

“That’s amazing. Couldn’t you do the same type of thing through a foundation or something similar for low-income families like Ben’s? You could set up criteria that have to be met just like you did with the scholarship program, only it would be for families of kids who receive sports scholarships, so the kids could focus on school and their sport.”

His brow furrows. “You might be onto something. They could get a grant from the foundation equivalent to whatever that kid was contributing. Or more if it makes sense. I’ll have to talk to my finance and legal guys to figure that out.”

I finish the measurements and put down the instruments. “Do you really have enough money to do something like that?”

“More than enough, and after meeting Clare and Ben and her other kids, it really drives home just how much extra I have.” He pulls me close again. “I love that brilliant mind of yours, Reckless.”

The emotions I’ve been tamping down try to spring up and cling to the word love. He’s looking at me the way he does so often. Like I’m the only thing he sees or wants, and I know it’s true, because he tells me all the time. But that doesn’t mean he’s in love with me. He loves my brain the same way I love his body or his mouth. Not in the same way I’m falling for him—deeper by the moment as his generous heart touches the part of me that has driven me into a lifetime of helping others.

Struggling not to reveal my hopeful heart, I say, “I’m glad, because it’s the only one I have.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Clay

Tuesday morning, I’m in Seth’s Manhattan office talking with him and my father, who’s joining us via video chat. I’ve just told them about Ben and his family and explained the concept for the foundation to help families of lower-income athletes who receive sports scholarships. “My legal and financial teams are ready to move forward, but before I proceed, I’d like to know what you think about the idea.”

My father’s brows pinch, his keen eyes serious behind his glasses. He’s always been a strong influence in my life. He’s patient, methodical, and supportive, and he thinks everything through before reacting, just like Seth. They are almost mirror images, except my father’s thick, wavy hair was more salt than pepper, and he has better fashion sense than Seth. As proven by his blue button-down versus Seth’s dark brown patterned sweater over a blue plaid shirt.

Seth sits forward, his elbows resting on the table, his fingers steepled. His gaze moves between me and my father, and he drums his fingertips. I know he’s waiting for my father’s response.

“I like the concept,” my father finally says. “It’s well thought out, and it can help a lot of families who aren’t as fortunate as you boys were.”

“That’s the idea,” I say.

Seth sits back, nodding. “I like it, too. You mentioned criteria. I assume the income of the kid and the adults will all be verified, but should there be parameters for the length of time they’ve been in that situation?”

“Yes. We don’t want anyone gaming the system. I wanted your input on that. My attorney suggested three years of verified income for the adults and two years for the kids.”

“I think that’s reasonable for the burden of proof,” Seth says.

“The kid would have worked through their junior and senior years of high school and kept up with their sports commitments?”

“That’s right. Pepper and I were brainstorming all weekend about ways to help families without holding them back, and she posed an interesting idea about offering incentives so the adults have a chance to better themselves.”

My father smiles. “I like the way she thinks. What kinds of incentives do you have in mind?”

“We thought about partnering with a career development company to offer job training, but that might be too limited and could be difficult to coordinate in certain areas. What do you think about offering to pay for classes for the adults and for childcare when it’s related to those classes or other job training?”

“I think that sounds like something your mother would have come up with,” my father says. “She always says if you’re helping someone, you need to also give them tools to help themselves.”