Page 61 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“What’s going on with you, Clay?” Tiffany asks. “You’re usually one of my most reliable clients, and suddenly you’re ghosting me.”

It was easier to avoid her calls when I was distracted in Paris, but Tiffany has been my agent for years. She’s one of the best in the business, and she deserves better from me. “I’m sorry for not returning your messages.”

“We need to talk about your extension.”

I rub the knot in the back of my neck. “I’ve had a lot on my mind the last few months. I’m not ready to sign on the dotted line.”

“Finally, a little communication. Thank you. I know you’ve got a lot going on, with Staley chomping at your heels, your shoulder acting up, and the playoff loss. Let’s set up a time to discuss it. That’s what I’m here for.”

“I’m not ready to do that yet. I need you to buy me more time.” The cab pulls over in front of the restaurant. I swipe my credit card to pay for the fare and thank the driver as I climb out of the car.

“Clay—”

“Sorry, Tiff, but I’ve got to run. I just need a few more weeks to figure it out. I’ll be in touch.” I end the call feeling like a dick, but I push that discomfort down deep and put on a winning smile as I walk into the restaurant.

The young hostess’s eyes light up like I’m her favorite candy. “It’s nice to see you again, Clay.”

“You as well, Gretchen.” I scan the dining room, with its elegant candle-style chandeliers and two-story brick walls, and spot Seth and the others sitting at Seth’s usual table in the back by the arched entryways to the bar.

“Melanie should be right back to take you to your table,” Gretchen says. “She was just seating a group.”

“That’s okay. I can seat myself. Have a good night.” As I make my way to the table, hushed voices ring out. Is that Clay Braden? and Is that the quarterback for the Giants?

I didn’t miss this attention in Paris. I smile for the eager fans. I appreciate them, but while I used to get off on being recognized, the lack of privacy has worn thin.

Seth is the first to stand to greet me, sporting gray skinny slacks and one of his nerdy old-man sweaters—a thick olive green with lapels and a patterned orange-and-gray stripe across the lower chest and arms. Like me and our other brothers, Seth is over six feet tall and athletic. His hair is dark and wavy, like Victory’s, but it always looks windblown, while Flynn and Noah have lighter hair, and mine is somewhere in between. Noah will be sorely missed tonight, but we’re a long way from Colorado.

“Bonjour, little brother,” Seth says, tugging me into an embrace. “Here’s to another great season.”

I scoff. “We had a shitty loss.”

“It was a good loss, and we’re all proud of you,” he says.

“We sure are. Welcome back,” Victory says as she hugs me. “Did you miss me?”

“Like a splinter. You look great.” She and Sutton are fashionistas, and dressed to the nines. Like me, Flynn looks casual in a Henley and jeans. I eye Sutton, motioning to Flynn’s collar-length hair. “Get this guy a haircut, will ya, Sut?” I push him out of the way and hug her.

“Never,” Sutton says. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You, too. You look as beautiful as always. Is my little brother treating you well?”

“Like a queen he wants to fire,” she teases.

“That’s one way to keep the spark alive, bro.”

“Whatever it takes, right?” Flynn embraces me. “Good to see you.”

As we settle in around the table, the waitress takes our drink orders. I wait for her to leave, then say, “Catch me up. What’s going on with everyone?”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Victory says. “We’ve been waiting for you to get here. We want the scoop on you and Pepper.” She leans forward, folding her arms on the table and looking at me expectantly. “Spill that tea, baby brother.”

They’re all looking at me, eager for details, but I don’t need them dissecting our relationship. And yeah, I know Pepper doesn’t think we have one, but she’s wrong. “We had a great time. She’s an amazing person.”

“She must be,” Victory says. “That was a bold move you pulled, calling Treat to hire his pilot and use his private plane.”

Seth’s brows slant.

“Dude, that’s huge,” Flynn says.