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“That must have been difficult,” she said. “You were newly estranged from your father, and grieving your mother at that time too.”
“Yes.” My throat tight, I swallowed to loosen it and returned my attention to her.
Even talking about things I never talked about with anyone else, and feeling emotionally vulnerable because of that, she was a much better view than what was out my window.
“It probably would have been easier to forget where I came from, but I believe there’s value in acknowledging it.”
She bit down on her lip. “You’ve brave to do that. I have a much different approach.” She sighed. “You don’t just acknowledge your past, you give back. You pay it forward with your charity organization that helps underprivileged athletes. That’s really cool.”
She placed her hand on top of mine, curling her slender finger around mine.
“I wish I had time to be more hands-on.”
“You do something.” She nodded approvingly. “That’s more than most do.”
She squeezed my hand, then glanced out her window while I stared at her.
The scenery changed as we left the freeway and approached my carefully zoned and stringently monitored neighborhood. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was looking at and trying to figure out the woman beside me. She was wounded and guarded, not the type of woman I usually went for. Not since high school, at least. After Carlotta, I’d accepted that I was nobody’s hero.
“Is this your house?” Electra asked as the driver slowed the limo.
“Yes,” I said, shaking off thoughts about the past. Not stepping up and being who Carlotta needed, I lost a child and a part of myself. Most times, I avoided thinking about it. I wasn’t as brave as Electra.
“It’s incredible. I’ve never been to a house so large.” She pressed her face to the glass, taking in the two-story modern that I’d built after razing two older homes to make one oversize lot.
“You are incredible, E.” I covered our joined hands as the driver steered the vehicle onto the driveway.
“Right.” Looking down at our hands and then up at me, she rolled her eyes. “Says the four-time offensive player of the year, and the Super Bowl MVP who lives in a mansion in Highland Park.”
“So says the guy who has seen you dance,” I said, and her eyes glowed with pleasure like they did when I had my cock inside her. “Want a personal tour?”
“Absolutely.” She bobbed her head.
“Okay.” I helped her unbuckle her seat belt, then did my own.
Getting out first, I withdrew my phone and used an app to open the driveway gate. I wanted to show her the backyard first. It was my favorite space. The house was nice, but it felt too empty.
“Let me help you.” Opening her door, I offered her my hand.
“Thanks,” she murmured politely.
“Thanks for coming tonight.” Keeping her hand, I moved it to my forearm and walked her up the sloped drive.
I stopped at the driver’s window, and he rolled it down.
“Thanks for the ride,” I told him.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Valentine.” He dipped his chin. “Appreciate the autograph for my son.”
“No problem. Happy to do it,” I said.
Nodding and murmuring for us to have a good evening, he rolled up his window.
I escorted Electra along the rest of the well-lit driveway, watching her instead of where I was going.
On a deeper level, I didn’t know where this thing between us was headed. I was winging it, uncharacteristic behavior for a guy who lived a carefully planned-out life.
But I knew doing the usual wasn’t going to get me extraordinary.
