Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (11 page)

A threat. That’s what it was. And like she always has been, Renata is right. Right about Eddie. Right about this plan.

Still, I can’t help looking over at Kinley and wishing she were different. Wishing her blond hair was deep black. Wishing her full lips were stained cherry red. Wishing her skin and eyes were a deep golden brown, that her brain was sharper, that her career was less frivolous and far more focused. Without alcohol surging in my system, it’s clear to me that I’d rather she were Renata.

But Renata wasn’t up for the role. Not after what I did, anyway. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. Wingate told me she won’t even walk the hundred yards up to the house for the party.
 

I don’t blame her. By God, I don’t.
 

After a spell, I get dragged into a conversation with Kinley and my friend Darius, whose date is conspicuously absent. Kinley throws her hand over my arm, and Darius rolls his eyes slightly in my direction. Despite his read of the situation, the conversation flows easily, and Kinley and I fall into a rhythm, joking and maybe actually enjoying each other’s company.
 

I turn and walk across the room to refill her wine, and at the door, there’s a shadow. Standing about five foot eight, with deep black hair and a hint of red on her lips. My stomach threatens to drop out of my body altogether, and it takes all of the will power I have to pull myself away and walk back to Kinley.
 

It’s clear as crystal to me as I drag the words out of my mouth to make more small talk with prissy little Kinley. There’s only one woman that I want.
 

And I had to go and break her heart, ditch her and leave her behind after I graduated from Brooks.
 

For my family.
 

But as I look over my shoulder and see her looking inside, I know for certain it wasn’t worth the pain.
 

It never was.

And now I can’t help feeling like we’re both trapped in a game that will push us further and further apart.

There’s no good reason why I’m up here. None at all. I had my meeting with Kinley before Mack’s dinner. I checked in with our photographer, and with the sources at each one of the papers and media outlets where we’re carefully releasing pictures of a poised, sober Macklin Pride and his classy new musician girlfriend.
 

Kinley was pleasant enough, I suppose. wearing a dress made of light gray eyelet lace that made her look like she stepped out of an Anthropologie catalog. Her dark blue high heels even had matching eyelet cutouts. And she even recited our story perfectly--she’d met Macklin at one of her concerts. He was a fan, and he’d come backstage to talk to her, and of course, he was the perfect gentleman. We even had the tickets and a carefully orchestrated photo shoot set up the following day that would place Mack at her concert, showing the two of them meeting for the first time. With every word she recited to me, she spoke with charm and grace.

Her eyes were blue, her immaculately curled hair strawberry blond.
 

Even though it’s been years since I’ve been with Macklin, it seemed to me that Kinley was everything I wasn’t--innocent and sweet, her voice soft and melodious, her edges soft where mine have always been hard. No wonder he chose her--she’s nothing like me at all. Of course, she does have business savvy—pairing with a playboy like Mack will help her see a surge in album sales and ticket purchases. And an engagement--if the two of them can pull it off—will benefit her even more.

Everything seems to be set up perfectly, but I can't shake a little niggling feeling of unease. As I said, Kinley had been perfectly pleasant at our meeting. Almost too pleasant, in a way. Too polished, too perfect. And there had been a strange edge to her tone when we discussed the terms of the contract. She'd made what sounded like a throwaway comment about 'making it real' when I reminded her that it was a business arrangement only, not an emotional one of any kind. And when I questioned that statement, informing her that Macklin Pride wasn't the settling type, she'd taken a step towards me, looked me right in the eye and told me that she was used to getting what she wanted.
 

Now, I'm used to ambitious young people and in every other way, Kinley seemed perfect. Or, almost perfect. But her tone had been cold where mine was friendly and professional.

"I always get what I want." - That's what she'd told me. I wanted to ask her what she meant but the truth is, Macklin Pride's options - and therefore my own options - are running out. He's tiptoeing along a precipice of disaster, seemingly unaware of just how close he is to be fired from the only job he's ever known. There isn't enough time to vet more women or come up with another plan. It has to happen
now
. So all I can do is cross my fingers and hope that Kinley Edwards is as level-headed as I'm hoping she is. Calculating, I can handle. Ambitious, cold, self-interested - I can handle those things, too. As long as she's stable and I'm trusting that she is, because there isn't a plan B to fall back on.
 

And Mack. When the press sees this budding relationship, it will refresh the ideas of Mack that have been floating around for the past two years. If he’s with a successful, stable woman--instead of drinking with ten of the not-so-stable kind draped over his body at a time--he just might be able to win the owner of his team over. The harder part might be convincing him to stop throwing the frat-style parties. But that will come in time.

Why am I up here again?

I wait at the door, looking through the glass to see several of the more reputable Carolina players with their girlfriends, each one classier looking than the last. I chuckle to myself--we excluded any of the men who were single or had girlfriends who liked to drink or smoke pot a little too much. It took some time, but we now have a hand-selected group of friends for Mack. And if he tries a little, he might even grow to like this new little community.
 

I crane my neck and watch Wingate talking to one of the football players. Mack passes by, Kinley hanging off of one arm like she’s known him for years. Right on cue, she looks up at him affectionately and brushes one hand against the muscular bulk of his upper arm, leaning in to say something secret and hidden. I hope the photographer actually got a picture of that moment, even if the whole scene makes me feel slightly sick.

The sick feeling probably means I should leave. After all, I have a whole house I can go back to. I have an entire week’s worth of work sitting at that little dining room table--schedules and photo shoots and press releases and meetings. After that, we have to start setting up practices for Mack, maybe get him on some kind of detox diet he can talk about in Men’s Health. There are things to be done. There are rules to be followed. Still, I’m standing here, watching for glimpses of a man I lost a long time ago. Even though this whole thing is fake, something deep inside my heart started to hurt the moment I met Kinley.
 

She’s not for real,
I remind myself.
Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. He’s not the man for you. He’s the man who hurt you, the man who broke your heart, the man who left you with nothing but a ring and a wish for a future together--a future that wouldn’t come.
 

Just as I’m about to turn away, Kinley’s face appears at the door, and she opens it with her big, typical Southern country greeting. My nerves jangle. Kinley’s smile widens when she sees that it’s me, and it occurs to me that she doesn't know about Macklin’s past--his relationship with me seems to be something he’s kept hidden for a long time.
 

That’s another big ass reason I should leave, but Kinley grabs me by the hand before I can go, drawing me into the circle of football players, wives, and girlfriends. A jazz band plays quietly at the end of the room, and I wonder at the stark contrast between last week’s party and this one.
 

“Macklin said you weren’t going to come! In fact, he said he was sure you weren’t going to come. And instead, here you are! I’m so pleased. You know, I don’t know anyone at all, and I really thought I could use a friend.” She brushes a curly lock of blond hair behind one ear. The effect is so cute it’s mind-numbing.
 

“Sure,” I quip. “That’s exactly why I came by. I think you guys will be great together. You just have to get to know him. I do think there’s a mature guy under all that blustery exterior.” I realize I’ve been talking through gritted teeth as my eyes scan the room for Mack.
 

“Oh yeah. You’re probably right. He just seems so distant tonight. I hope we can get some good candid shots for the photographer. Mack’s not drinking any of the drinks or eating the food, but we can chalk it up to a summer cold or something like that, right?” Kinley gives me a look that betrays some of her impatience, her longing to get Mack to do as she pleases. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he needs a woman like that. Someone who will be impatient with him when he needs it.
 

I push down the cloying feeling that something is wrong with this whole thing. It’s not wrong—I planned it.
 

And I’m the best at what I do, aren’t I?
 

“Sure, we can chalk it up to that. He’s out of sorts with this whole new image thing, Kinley. He’ll gear up and get right where he needs to be—don’t you worry a bit.” I smile at her, and she grabs my hand again, a little too forcefully this time.
 

“He best get himself together because I’m a country superstar who needs a little boost since Taylor Swift’s tour is competing with mine. If this doesn’t do it within two months, I’ll be taking another route.” She gives me a big Cheshire cat grin.

Kinley Edwards flits away from me and reattaches herself to Mack’s arm, smiling back at me and waving. She blows me a kiss, and my heart sinks down to my knees.
 

You’ve dealt with women like this before, Renata. When you’re working with celebrities, you’ve seen it all. There’s nothing new under the sun. Why do you feel some type of way about this particular girl? She’s a girl, like all the rest. And she cares about her money because of course she does. Chin up. Get a drink. Walk away.
 

I head over to the bar and grab a tasteful glass of wine—no kegs at this event. That was all me and Wingate, though we’re letting the press give Mack’s new girl the credit. The flash of a camera goes off, and I look over to see Mack grinning like a puppy dog with Kinley holding onto him for dear life, looking up at him like he’s the golden god of the NFL.
 

He is, and she clearly doesn’t appreciate that shit. She’s not just doing a favor for him—this is a huge deal for her too.

Wingate comes up to me as I watch the happy couple go about their business. He taps his elbow against mine, the way he used to do when we were freshmen in the dining hall at Brooks. Even though it’s just Wingate, the slight tap sends my nervous system into overdrive, and I jump where I stand.
 

“It’s just me,” he says, giving me a quizzical look. “You expecting someone else?”
 

“No.” I want to tell him this whole thing has me on edge, but I can’t quite form the words. They’re on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not the kind of sports agent who gets on edge. I’m the woman with a reputation for being cool, calm, and collected—always. I remind myself that this is the reason I should take my wine and leave—the reason why I said I didn’t want to interact with Mack in the first place. “No, I wasn’t expecting anyone at all. Just wanted to see if things were going okay up here. He seems to like her?” I glance over at one of the other football players who seems to be looking in our direction, and I give him a nervous smile. Most of them probably suspect that the relationship is a marketing move, but it’s not something we necessarily want to advertise.

“Yeah, he seems to like her fine—but…” Wingate’s voice trails off and he takes a glass of dark, rich red wine in his hand. He looks at me and shrugs.

“Cat got your tongue?” I take a sip of my own wine, letting the taste overtake my senses, letting it relax me as I stand there, watching the football players at their most well-behaved. “I’m in this for the money that comes after we finish our job here, W. I think I need to know what comes after that ‘but.’”
 

Wingate shrugs again, and I remember how he used to infuriate me—infuriate both me and Mack, come to think of it. Wingate was always the one watching, mulling things over. Mack and I always called ourselves “people of action”—act first, figure out the details later. That aspect of my personality is why I’m damn good at my job—but it’s also why I’m here in Charlotte in 95 degree weather, trying to smooth over my ex-fiancé’s image problem with a country singer who kind of seems like a bitch.