Torn (Lords of the City #1) (36 page)

“I really can’t,” I insisted. “Even if it’s innocent, it’s a line I’m not willing to cross.”

“So you’re beautiful and loyal. Your boyfriend is a lucky man.”

“Thanks.”

I stared down at my half eaten meal and knew I couldn’t take another bite. I leaned over the counter and fetched my own to-go box.

“In a hurry?” he asked.

I lifted a shoulder. “Sort of.” I filled the box and pulled a twenty from my wallet.

“Gladys looks like she’s going to have her hands full for a while. Will you make sure she gets this?” I asked, setting the bill on the counter.

“Sure,” he agreed. “If you’ll give me your phone number.”

I blushed and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“I understand. But I can’t stand the thought that I may never see you again.”

I knew he was just flirting, but my pulse quickened and my heart felt like it might explode from my chest with excitement. I slung my purse over my shoulder and met his eyes with a smile.

“I guess if we’re supposed to meet again, we will,” I teased.

His eyes smoldered and he dropped his voice an octave. “I eat dinner here every Wednesday around this time. If you decide we’re meant to run into each other again, you know where to find me.”

He’s serious. He’s actually interested in me.

My smile softened and I dropped my tone to match the seriousness of his. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.

“Till next time, then,” he offered with a grin.

“Till next time.”

I walked out of the diner, filled with emotions I didn’t understand. I loved Ben, and I wanted to build a life with him. But when Ethan asked for my number, I regretted not being able to give it to him. I took the long way home, trying to sort out my feelings.

I’m exhausted and my head isn’t on straight. Ben and I haven’t had much time together since school started. That’s why I got so caught up in Ethan’s flirting. I didn’t cross any lines. But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, I don’t need to see Ethan McAlister ever again.

***

On the second Friday of the school year, I reached a milestone in my class. Not one single child cried about missing their parents. I rewarded myself with a hot bath, followed by a night in bed with a bottle of wine and a week’s worth of television. I turned my alarm off before I drifted off, determined to sleep in Saturday morning. My friend Melissa had other ideas. She called bright and early at seven a.m.

“This better be good,” I mumbled into the phone.

“Good morning, sunshine. I’m sorry to wake you. I thought you’d be up by now.”

I pushed myself up against the headboard and reached for the bottle of water on my nightstand. My mouth tasted like sour wine and a dull throb filled the back of my head.

“Monday through Friday, I would be. On the weekends, I sleep,” I reminded her.

“Right, I’ll try to remember that next time.”

“It’s okay,” I replied through a yawn. “What’s going on?”

“I’m about to go watch the Stallions practice. I’m interviewing some of the players after, and I have an extra press badge.”

The Stallions were Portland’s new professional football team. The city had been petitioning the powers that be for years, and eighteen months ago, they finally gave their formal approval. The Stallions were owned by Victor Montez, Oregon’s wealthiest citizen. Montez had spent his career building an empire of casinos. He’d moved to Portland after selling out to Montgomery Enterprises, an even larger chain of destination resorts. Rumor had it that he’s a hot head and incredibly difficult to work with. Sportscasters insisted he was exactly who you’d want in charge of a startup team.

“You’re going to the stadium?”

“Yes. Phillip was supposed to go, but his kid has the chickenpox. He’s never had it before, and the last thing he wants to do is walk into practice like Typhoid Mary. Bill threw it to me, said it was my chance to prove I could hold my own with the sports desk. I know it’s short notice, but I have an extra press pass and I thought Ben might like to tag along and fanboy out while I get my interviews.”

“Aw, man, he would have loved that. But he’s working at the club today.”

“Even better. You can come with me and we can gawk at the hot football players,” she suggested and I could almost hear her waggling her eyebrows.

“I don’t know. It sounds like fun. But I had such a long week. I was really looking forward to doing nothing today.”

“I promise you won’t have to do anything physically or mentally exerting,” she pleased. “It’s going to be a beautiful day. You don’t have to do anything but sit in the stands and soak up the sunshine.”

“Okay,” I finally agreed.

“Great. We’re supposed to be there at noon, so I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

“I’ll see you then. Thanks for inviting me, Mel.”

“No problem. I’ll see you soon.”

I ended the call and let the phone fall to my bed. I shuffled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and then dove back between my sheets. I chased two Advil with the rest of my water and told myself I was just going to close my eyes until the throbbing stopped. I woke up three and a half hours later.

Shit, shit, shit. Melissa will be here in thirty minutes and I’m still in my pajamas.

I threw open my closet door and grabbed my go-to boyfriend jeans and a blue and grey raglan t-shirt. I stuffed my feet into black Converse and trudged back to the bathroom to check my reflection. The extra hours of sleep hadn’t done anything to improve my bloodshot hangover eyes and my long hair hung limply around my tan face.

Screw it. I’ll just throw on a hat and a pair of sunglasses. It’s not like I’ll run into anyone I know. But I’ve got to stop making a habit of leaving the house like this.

I swiped a light layer of powder over my face and tied my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. From there, I moved on to the kitchen, brewed myself a cup of coffee, and rifled through my fridge for something that would pass for breakfast. I settled on a yogurt, which I ate over my sink. My doorbell rang just as I set my second cup of coffee to brew.

I opened the door and Melissa greeted me with a broad smile and a bag from the Eight Street Bakery.

“Cinnamon chip scone,” she explained, thrusting the bag into my hand. “I thought you might need a pick me up. You sounded exhausted when I talked to you this morning. Please tell me you were able to get back to sleep. I felt like an ass for waking you.”

I tossed the bag next to my purse on the coffee table and turned back toward the kitchen.

“I just woke up about half an hour ago,” I explained. “Let me pour my coffee into a travel cup and I’ll be ready.”

“We have a little time, if you want to finish your makeup.”

I didn’t even get insulted at the hint. “I’m just going to throw on a hat and sunglasses. There’s no point in doing my face when everyone’s eyes will be stuck to you,” I insisted. “You really do look fabulous.”

Melissa held a hand to her flawless chocolate complexion and smiled back at me. “Do you really think so? I finally had a reason to use my ‘on camera’ makeup my Mom gave me when I landed the job at the station. I was a little worried I’d gone overboard.”

“I think you look perfect. After today, the viewers will be insisting that you cover the sports desk. You know as much, if not more, than the men and you look three times as good doing the commentary.”

The motivation behind my comment was easing Melissa’s obvious nerves, but that didn’t make the words any less true. Melissa grew up in Portland as the only girl in a family of eight kids. She was also the baby and spent her childhood cheering her seven older brothers on from the sidelines of their various athletic events. Melissa paid attention and by the time she was twelve, she was offering her brothers’ coaches pointers during practices.

And Melissa wasn’t just smart. She was also drop dead gorgeous. Her skin was smooth and clear, the color of coffee with just a hint of cream in it. She had dark, doe-like eyes, beautiful, perfectly straight teeth, and the kind of body most people could only achieve with the help of a plastic surgeon: curvy and alluring, without an ounce of extra fat.

“I’m ready when you are,” I announced, stepping back into the living room with my coffee. I tossed one of Ben’s club ball caps on my head and slung my purse over my shoulder. I held my coffee and scone in one hand and locked the front door with the other.

“I can’t believe I’m finally getting some airtime,” Melissa said, her words brimming with anxiety. We buckled ourselves into her Subaru and she backed out of her parking space.

“I’m so proud of you, Mel. I really think this will be your big break. Just try to relax and be yourself during the interviews. The rest will take care of itself.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said, navigating through the city. “I need to think about something else. Distract me. What’s been going on with you?”

“Same old, same old. I’ve settled back into my school routine. And I think most of my kids have gotten the swing of things. Aside from that, I’ve just been spending time with Ben and hanging out with Uncle Walt. He’s met a woman and retired, by the way.”

Melissa’s eyes widened. “She must be one hell of a woman.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet. We’re supposed to have dinner on Tuesday.”

“Do you think he’ll finally get married?”

“I don’t know. If you asked me last week, I’d have sworn he’d stay a bachelor his entire life. But now, I’m not so sure. I guess time will tell.”

I stared out the windshield as the stadium appeared in the distance. “It really is an amazing building,” I observed.

“I can’t believe we get to be some of the first people to see the team on the field. My brothers are going to shit when they find out about this.”

“Ben too,” I agreed. “But I’m glad he’s working and I get to be here on your big day.”

“Me too.”

Melissa pulled into the stadium’s parking lot and eased into a spot near the front entrance. There were only a few dozen cars in the massive lot, and I knew most of them had to belong to the players. Melissa killed the ignition and pulled two press passes from her glove compartment. She passed me one of the stiff, laminated cards and I pulled the lanyard over my head.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked, my voice enthusiastic and supportive.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m ready. My camera crew isn’t here yet, but they can meet up with us inside.”

We climbed out of the car and made our way to the main entrance. We were greeted by an official looking man wearing a headset. He took one look at our passes and directed us to the press seating near the fifty-yard line.

After finding our seats, Melissa and I spent the next hour watching the players scrimmage on the field. As I watched the game, I felt the strangest sense that I knew one of the quarterbacks.

That’s impossible. I’ve never met anyone capable of playing professional football. Last night’s wine is messing with my head.

About fifteen minutes before the practice wound down, Melissa’s camera crew showed up and shot some footage of the team in action. I’d assumed the after practice interviews would take place on the field and was shocked when Melissa pulled me toward the locker room.

“I can’t go in there,” I insisted. “There will be strange men showering, and changing, and God knows what.”

“Oh come on, Emily. Don’t be such a prude. We’re all professionals and the players are expecting us. No one’s going to be naked.” She pulled me into the room before I had a chance to make any more objections.

To my relief, all of the players were clothed from the waist down. Some still wore their pads and jerseys, but most were lounging around bare chested. The sight was distracting, to say the least.

Larry Davis, the head coach of the Stallions, approached Melissa with a smile and an extended hand. I shuffled behind her cameraman and did my best to blend into the wall.

“Thank you so much for having me, Mr. Davis. I was hoping to ask you a few questions, and then maybe interview a few members of the team,” she explained.

He released her hand and gave her an indulgent grin. “Let me guess. You’d like to have the first local interview with our new star quarterback.”

“I’d love to talk to everyone on the team,” Melissa assured him. “But, of course, if Mr. McAlister is willing, I’d love to speak with him too.”

McAlister? Quarterback…? No. It can’t be.

“I’m willing to speak with you,” a familiar voice boomed through the room and my face flushed hot as I fought the urge to look toward the voice.

“Thank you so much,” Melissa answered, a note of gushing in her tone.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Ethan warned. “I’ll talk to you now and I’ll throw in a sit down after our first home game… on the condition that I can have a few moments alone with Emily. Just to talk, of course.”

This isn’t happening. It’s the wine. I’m home asleep in bed, and this is all just a terrible dream.

I looked up from the locker room floor; every eye was on me. Melissa’s mouth had fallen open in shock while the rest of the team seemed amused by the exchange. I cleared my throat and finally met Ethan’s charming, apologetic gaze.

“Where would you like to talk?” I asked him, forcing a smile that was brighter than I felt.

“Why don’t we step back out to the stadium? Melissa can find us there when she’s wrapped up the other interviews,” he suggested.

I exhaled deeply. “Lead the way.”

Melissa mouthed a quick thank you and turned back to the coach. Ethan walked past his teammates and led me back into the stadium. I was still recovering from my surprise at seeing him and was at a complete loss for words. He didn’t seem to mind the silence though. We sat down and stared at the field for a few moments before he finally spoke.

“You said if we were supposed to meet again, we would,” he reminded me. “So what do you call this?”

“I don’t know,” I hesitated. “I guess I’d call it a coincidence.”

I wanted to believe that’s all it was, but I didn’t. I loved Ben, I reminded myself. At the same time, I felt the strangest pull toward Ethan. And when I looked at him, my heart soared with not only attraction but an odd sense of familiarity. The way it would after seeing someone I loved after a lifetime apart. I didn’t understand my feelings, and that terrified me.