Page 83 of The Romance Line
Pretty sure I know what he means, but I can’t resist teasing him either. “Is it you? Did you get a parking ticket again? I know you like to park that ridiculous Lambo wherever you want. The one I make possible for you.”
Garrett groans, all over the top. “You say that like it’s a problem that your success and my hard work funded my sweet ride.”
“Fine, you deserve your sports car. And ten more. Anyway, what’s going on?”
He’s clearly in a good mood, and I’m damn curious.
“I heard from Clementine and Zaire this morning,” he begins, businesslike. “They’re both going to be at the dog adoption event next week, and they were very happy you talked to the press earlier this week. Zaire even saidthe producers atThe Ice Mennoticed it, and they’re glad to see it too. No idea what inspired you but keep that shit up.”
I picture Everly. Her effort. Her commitment. Fact is I wanted to do something for her. She’s done a hell of a lot for me.
“What can I say? I guess it was just the right time,” I reply instead.
“Now, was it so hard to say something nice the other night?”
I roll my eyes but I’m glad Garrett is happy. “You think we can get some sponsorships now?” I ask, shifting gears though I immediately want to take it back because I sound a little desperate. But the fact is, I’d like to start moving forward on this front again. Make some progress with my financial plans. Put away enough to take care of Sophie and Kade for life. Help my parents out even more with a big retirement plan for them too.
“We’re not there yet,” he says. “I’m not fighting off phone calls to sign you up as a spokesperson. We’re gonna need a whole lot more of this if you want that to happen.”
I sigh, wishing it were easier. “Can’t fault a guy for trying.”
“But we’ll get there. You keep that up and I know it will.”
“Here’s hoping,” I say. “I’ll see you at the event.”
Then I go into the locker room. As I’m getting ready for the game, my phone buzzes with a text. Briefly I hope it’s Everly. That she’s sending me another pic. Saying hi. Wanting to know how I’m doing.
But am I wanting to hear from her too much when I’m supposed to be resisting her? For both our sakes, I do the right thing—I refrain from checking my messages.
When the game is over and we’ve won, I head to the team jet that’ll take us to Detroit. As I’m boarding, I hop over to my texts at last.
But I stop dead in my tracks at my row. It’s not from her. It’s from someone who hasn’t texted me in a year and a half, since the night I came home early to a hell of a surprise.
Lyra: Hi, Max! Can we talk?
27
THE PLAYER AND THE PUBLICIST
Everly
Before I can have my girls’ night in, I have to brave the fire swamp and endure Saturday morning with my parents.
I steel myself for my monthly breakfast with them. I meet them across the Golden Gate Bridge in Sausalito where they live, and go to Gigi’s Café—the same place we always go for our regular check-ins. Mom is dressed impeccably in navy slacks and a white blouse, with a fresh blowout of her blonde hair. Dad’s in khaki pants and a polo, looking like he’s about to work on a Saturday. Which he probably is, since the law business is a round-the-clock one, as he likes to tell me.
And only the strongest survive.
I say hello, then we make small talk as we settle into our regular table and peruse the menu. It’s pointless—Dad orders the same thing every time. Two poached eggs, no butter. Toast dry. Mom orders the fruit bowl and claims it fills her up.
I opt for French toast because Marie used to saylife’s too short to pass up a good French toast. She was right—life is too short.
“And how’s everything going at work?” my mom asks after the server leaves, then prattles on before I can answer. “I’m so glad you have a good job. Let me tell you—all my friends’ kids are struggling these days, living at home. Barely doing their own laundry. But look at you. You’ve got it all figured out. It’s like the accident didn’t even slow you down.”
Yes, Mom. I almost died and I didn’t miss a beat. That’s exactly what happened.
“Well, she’s not a director yet,” my dad points out since nothing is good enough for him. Nothing ever has been.
My gut churns. “I’m applying for a promotion though.”