Beauty and the Baller(20)

“Hmm, right. Maybe. Who knows? I just thought she stumbled in the wrong ballroom. You know they have those cosplay parties where people dress up all the time. You ever do that? Dress up as Luke Skywalker and wave a sword?”

“It’s a lightsaber, and no, that isn’t my thing. I’m just a collector.” I push up out of the swing and pace around the porch. “You pointed her out to me.”

“Everyone saw her, but maybe I showed her to you—I don’t remember.”

“You insisted on the bet with me.”

“Which I never collected because you clammed up and didn’t give me any deets.” There’s wariness in his voice, which means . . .

I sit down on the porch steps, making connections. “You told her I’d be there. Admit it.” Part of me has always suspected, but I let it go, not wanting to deal with it.

He lets out an exhale, and I hear a chair scraping back as he sits. I picture him running a hand through his sandy hair, maybe pulling on the ends. “Took you long enough to ask. Of course I fucking sent her. You needed to move on.”

“Shit. I knew it—”

He continues. “And don’t give me grief, because I’m your best goddamn friend in the whole world, and I was looking out for you, trying to knock some sense into you—”

“Stop your tirade; I’m not angry.”

“You were different after that,” Tuck says on a sigh after a few moments of silence. “You stopped drinking. You got healthy.”

“Did you date her?” Tuck goes through women like a frat boy guzzling beer. He falls in love; they leave, usually giving up on him committing; and then he moves to the next one.

“No.”

“So . . . elaborate. How the fuck did it happen?”

“You are pissed!” He groans. “You know I can’t stand it when someone’s got beef with me. I screwed up. I meddled like a mom, and now you’re—”

“Just tell me who she is.”

He clicks his tongue. “Let’s see. Her name, shit . . . she worked at the Baller, that bar we used to hang out at. Remember? You had to have a membership to get in?”

“No.” I wasn’t hanging out in bars the last couple of years . . .

“You were seeing Whitney then.”

“Right. You met this girl there?”

“Yeah, she bartended. Gorgeous, like I took one look and thought, If Ronan was single, he’d be all over that.”

“Hmm. You totally hit on her.”

“She turned me down. Weird, right? I mean, I am amazing, but I digress . . . anyway, one night at the bar, one of our games came on the TV, the last Super Bowl win, and she was really into it. We started talking, and maybe I was drunk, but I had the best idea ever.”

“Dress her up as Leia and crash our party.” I shake my head. “You had her memorize a line.”

He grunts. “When you say it, it sounds ridiculous, but I am brilliant. That outfit cost me two grand. It was a replica made by someone in LA.”

“Wow. You went all out. Did you pay her?”

“Ronan, it wasn’t like that. She wanted to—”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t, asshole! Okay, okay, I initially told her I’d pay her, I did, but she insisted she was cool, and I gave her my digits in case she changed her mind, but she never got back with me after the party . . . come on—don’t be angry. You liked her.”

I did . . . but . . . God, the guilt I felt. I wore it like a mantle, part of it anchored with Whitney, the other side full of self-reproach that I’d hurt an anonymous person. For months, every time I walked into a party or a restaurant—hell, even on the street—my gaze searched for every blue-eyed blonde.

My gaze goes back to the house next door as Nova comes out to take Sparky for a walk. She turns in the opposite direction of my house, and I watch her disappear.

“Give me a name,” I say as dread builds up.

I hear him slurp his coffee. “It was something different. Star? Nope, hmm. Wait, wait! Nova! It was Nova!” He heaves out a sigh. “You mad?”

My chest rises, my jaw flexing. He manipulated, intervened, and set me up. She did too. She knew exactly what she was doing when she walked into that party. Yeah, I’m simmering. Disappointment hits me, unexpected. Part of me liked to believe that my night with the beauty was serendipitous, a message from the fates to move on—when in truth it was planned.

I click off, my head tumbling. He tries to call me back, but I ignore it.

Yeah. A long breath comes from my chest.

I get it now. I get it now—that tightening in my chest when I saw her in my kitchen.

It’s her.

The question is, What am I going to do about it?





Chapter 5


RONAN

Two landlines ring simultaneously on my desk in my office in the field house. My cell pings next to them. I ignore them and stalk to the walk-in closet, unbuttoning my dress shirt from class, then grabbing a polo for practice. Just as I’ve slipped it on and tucked it in my khakis, I hear the squeak of my office door opening.

I step out, and Lois stands there in a denim skirt and a Bobcats jersey with Milo’s number on it. “Hey!” She tips her hat up. “I just want a minute—want me to get those phones?”