Play Maker(31)

I stood on the sidewalk and took several deep breaths. This day f*cking sucked. I was a bad sister and a bad daughter. I couldn’t do anything right, it seemed. I dug into my bag looking for my phone, thinking I would call Maya, maybe even go into work and make a little extra money. Instead of my phone, though, I found a flat, thin keycard.

James’ room key. I had forgotten to give it back to him after our last night together. It lay on my palm, staring up at me, tempting me. There was no way he’d still be interested. Right? He had let me go the last time without any fight. Clearly he was done with me. And I should be done with him. But what if he wasn’t? Because I still wanted him. Despite everything, I wanted him badly. And I couldn’t help the thrill that went through me when I thought of what could happen if I went to the hotel tonight. If I left behind everything that was shitty about my day, forgot about the awful afternoon I had had. If I indulged myself completely. If I did something that was for me, just for me.

Before I could stop myself, I ordered an Uber. No matter what happened, there was no way my night could get worse. It could only get better. A lot better.





19





James





Ethan – in his infinite wisdom – arranged for dinners with the charities. His top choice was our first, at an old steakhouse in Downtown LA, The Palm.

“You’re better in informal situations,” he explained, as our driver took us towards the restaurant, despite my suggestion that we walk. No one walked in LA, the manager at the hotel front desk explained. Something I should probably start getting used to. I made another mental note to start researching cars. I pictured Nicole in the passenger seat of a convertible, her blonde hair loose and sexy. Something fast. Very fast. And red.

“Should I take that as an insult?” I joked, even though I much preferred this method of meeting than the way we had done with the first set of charities, stuck in a stuffy boardroom. Sharing ideas over steak and lobster was definitely my kind of meeting.

Ethan shrugged, but instead of returning his attention to his phone, he cast me a quizzical look. “You’re really sure about staying in Los Angeles?”

“I am,” I told him. “Why? Don’t you like it here?” I then realized I had assumed he would relocate with me, help me with the charity. I hadn’t even thought to ask him what his plan was. “You know I want you to stick around as my manager, though if you want to go back to London…”

“No.” He suddenly was fidgeting with his phone, which was very unusual for him. “I can definitely see the charm here…”

I then remembered that I had left him at the bar last night with Nicole’s friend. I reached over and smacked him on the shoulder.

“Did you get laid last night?”

He went red. “What? No!”

Bugger. “Why not? Didn’t you like Nicole’s friend? What was her name?”

“Maya.” Ethan was still very red, but then his eyes narrowed. “We actually talked about you. And Nicole. And what the bloody hell is going on between the two of you.”

I raised my hands. “Nothing is ‘going on’ between the two of us,” I insisted. “We’re having incredibly good sex. I believe people do that once in while. You might give it a shot.”

“Wanker,” Ethan muttered, but his focus didn’t waver. “It’s not like you to stay interested in someone this long.”

“This long?” Now I was offended. “I am capable of entertaining women for longer than a single evening.”

“Capable, sure, but when was the last time you wanted to?” Ethan reminded me. “I can’t remember the last time you went on a second date.”

“First of all,” I corrected. “What Nicole and I are doing is not dating. It’s sex. Just sex. And I have been with women for more than one evening.”

“Oh yeah?” Ethan stared me down. “Name one. In the last year.”

“Well, there was—” I did my best to recall the women I had slept with in the last year. Surely there had been some that I saw a second time. Shannon? No, only once after that night in the pub. Miranda? No, just that one time after the game in Sydney.

Shit. Was Ethan right? Had I broken an unknown streak with my repeat performance last night? And what did it mean? No. It meant nothing. It meant that Nicole was really f*cking hot and I enjoyed f*cking her and wanted to do it more than once. That’s all it meant. Nothing more.

“There’s no shame in liking someone,” Ethan told me. “I believe people do that once in while. You might give it a shot.”



The martinis were cold, the steak was hot, the conversation was good. By the end of the evening, I was feeling pretty good about the possibility of working with For Foster Kids, the charity that Ethan had chosen. Like the others, they were interested in a commitment to fundraising and promotional support, but they also seemed to expect a hands-on approach, which was exactly what I wanted to do.

“We do a suitcase fundraiser every year,” Gloria, the Executive Director was saying. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman, her gray hair pulled back in a bun. Nonplussed by the expensive restaurant, she had pulled out the most recent budget for the charity, setting it on the table next to our deserts.

“Suitcases?” I looked around the table, but everyone – including Ethan – was nodding with understanding.