Page 87 of Turn Me On

Zane

Be outgoing. Be friendly. Be the guy the brand bought.

I repeat my at-bat strategy thirty-six hours later as I head into Ava’s Bistro off Park Avenue.

I walk to the hostess stand and flash my friendliest smile to a brunette wearing a painted-on black dress. “I’m here to join the LeGrande party,” I say, like it doesn’t ache to speak his name aloud.

“Right this way. Two of them are already here,” she says coolly.

Clenching my jaw, I fight off the emotions—the latent thrill of seeing Maddox mixed with the cutting pain of his rejection. The hostess guides me through the hip eatery, weaving past tables of well-dressed New Yorkers dining on tapas and sipping designer cocktails.

When we near a table in the corner, I spot the back of a man’s head, the dark, wavy hair I adored roping my fingers through, the strong shoulders I loved to grasp hard.

You can do this.

Like when I’m at the plate, I assess the field. Vance is next to Maddox, but they aren’t chatting. They look…uncomfortable.

Boo-fucking-hoo.

Then Vance’s familiar voice calls out when he sees me. “Buddy! How the hell are you?” He pops up, wrapping me in one of his big hugs.

“I am excellent,” I say, faking it like a badass Oscar winner.

In three seconds, I’ll have to make believe for the man I fell for.

Maddox stands, turns to me, half smiles.

Ah, shit. Is he gonna come in for a hug? I’m not that strong. I’m not that good of an actor, especially with this elegant, intelligent, giving man…

Nope, that’snotwho he is.

He’s the man who dumped me.

Maddox sticks out a hand, preemptively cutting off a hug.

Well, screw that too.

With a practiced smile I reserve for jackass reporters, I shake his hand. “Good to see you, Maddox,” I say.

I’ve only rehearsed those words ten thousand times since he took off yesterday morning. I practiced them last night when I should have been sharing the evening with him. When I would have asked him if we could find a way to do this relationship thing after New York. But he cut me off at the knees before I could even get the words out.

Now look at him. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt and no tie. Does he think I can’t handle it if he wears a tie?

Well, guess what, Super Agent?

I can. I’m a pro athlete. I’ve got balls of steel.

“Good to see you too,” Maddox says, letting go of my hand first. “Priyam should be here any minute. Can I get you a drink?”

I meet his dark gaze. “I’d love a daquiri,” I say, like a smug asshole.

Let him feel a little pain.

He blinks, then schools his expression in seconds. Does he feel nothing? Was it all in my mind?

When he heads to the bar, I sit with Vance. We catch up on baseball, recapping the three-game Comets series that ended with a day game we won this afternoon.

Soon, Maddox returns with the cocktail, then hands it to me. “Here you go,” he says, in a strained voice.