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“Yeah. According to you. You’ve been relevant for a whole fucking fifteen minutes. And with your head being this big, I’d give it fifteen more minutes before it all blows up.”
I’d been around for a while now, and I’d seen athletes like Breen, who finally had their first kickass season after several unimpressive years playing. He’d burned through money, trying to look like a baller his first few years, and now he was actually playing well for the first time in his career, and he couldn’t stop talking about it. Success could go to a guy’s head quickly, and no one lasted very long once they fell off their pedestals.
Because you couldn’t always be on top.
You had to swallow the losses and stay humble through the wins.
Work hard every fucking day, and remember that there was always someone younger, faster, and stronger coming up next.
“Ah… are you still pissed about me fucking your girl back in the day?”
“Sure. I’m really pissed about that,” I said, not hiding the sarcasm.
“Okay, let’s take a time out. Breen, enjoy your wine. I’m going to get his order, and I’ll be back.” Brinkley pushed to her feet.
She was wearing dark jeans, a silky white tank top, and a pair of sexy heels.
Why did that piss me off?
She looked fucking good.
Did she make the effort for him?
Her hand wrapped around my bicep, and she urged me through the dining room and down a hallway, which I assumed led to the kitchen. Once we were out of view of everyone, she whipped around.
“What the hell was that?” She threw her hands in the air.
“What are you doing with that dude? He’s bad fucking news.”
“Well, that’s rich, coming from you. He hasn’t gotten me fired or been escorted out of any establishments yet.” She raised a brow.
“Good Christ, woman. Just trust me on this one.”
“I don’t know why you care. But for your information, he’s a client. I’m writing a story on him,” she said as she backed up against the wall in the dark hallway. I stood so close that I could feel her warm breath on my cheek as she spoke. Lavender and honey flooded my senses. And fuck me if my dick didn’t jump at her nearness.
“Just watch your back.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know why you’d waste your time on a guy like that.”
“It’s not rocket science. I need to find a job, so I need a story.”
I couldn’t pull my gaze from her plump, pink lips.
“You were offered your job back. Why not just fucking take it?”
She sighed and shook her head. “Not that you’re off the hook for getting me fired, but it was a terrible job, and I’m not going back. It’s time to move up. But in order to do that, I need athletes to interview so I have something to offer.”
“You don’t need dickhead clients.”
Why was I moving closer to her? My chest brushed against hers.
“Well then, I guess that rules you out as a potential client?” she said, and her lips turned up in the corners as if she were proud of herself.
“Are you asking me to be your client, sweetheart?” My voice was gruff.
Her gaze searched mine. “You want to tell me your story, Lincoln Hendrix?”
“You want to know my story?”
“Not particularly,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But the world wants to hear it, so I wouldn’t mind telling it.”
