2
I can’t believe that I acted so stupidly when I approached Cara. As soon as she entered the bar, all I could see was her. Her slender legs, the short dress, the shoulder-length black hair, and the friendly smile that took over the room. My god, I was immediately smitten. Alex annoyed me for almost half an hour, trying to convince me to approach her and ask her out for a drink.
My twin brother kept bugging me until I got up and went over to her. When I was almost at her table, she dropped her fork, and I took the opportunity to talk to her. When I saw her face, with her dark brown eyes looking right at me, I was speechless. And because I couldn”t think of anything better to say than my name, I told her to get a new fork. It couldn”t have been more awkward. Her friend didn”t take her eyes off us and told her for sure that I was the biggest idiot ever.
Sighing, I look in the mirror in front of me and rest my hands on the top of the sink. Even though this attempt at flirting backfired, I don”t have to hide. I look good, I”m in my prime at twenty-five, and I have the best damn job in the world. Why on earth shouldn”t I be able to meet a woman like that?
In most cases, all I have to do is tell women that I”m Noah McCarter and it becomes a no-brainer. Being the quarterback of the Boston Foxes basically gives you a free pass.
After washing and drying my hands, I stand to my full height. To boost my battered ego, I flex my muscles and grin smugly.
I”m a cool guy. I can walk up to a woman I like, ask her out, and lure her into my bed! And now I want Cara in my bed.
“You can do it, McCarter,” I encourage myself. “She”s an ordinary woman.”
I turn and confidently leave the bathroom to talk to Cara again. I notice with regret that the table where she was with her friend is empty.
I glance through the bar and out onto the street to see if I can spot her, but nothing. She”s gone.
“Damn!” Annoyed, I cross the bar and sit down with my brother. Alex looks at me sympathetically. Since he dyed his hair brown, we don”t look much alike. But if you look closely, you can”t deny that we are identical twins, despite our different hair colors. Alex is two minutes older than me, which he never fails to point out. We grew up with our big brother Logan in a small town outside of Nashville. Logan plays tight end for the Nashville Warriors. We started playing American football in high school and had athletic scholarships in college. Alex went to Utah, and I went to Georgia. We got drafted three years ago. Alex was drafted by the Boston Foxes, and I was drafted by the Miami Sharks until I followed him to Boston this year.
“What was that?” asks Alex, raising his eyebrows.
“Nothing,” I grumble, dropping onto the barstool. “In fact, nothing at all.”
I reach for my beer and take a big gulp.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Alex replies, not very gallantly. “What happened? You didn’t even get her number. Since when do you suck at flirting?”
I roll my eyes and take another sip of my beer before answering. “She dropped her fork, and I picked it up,” I summarize the situation he saw for himself. “I introduced myself, she introduced herself, and then I told her to get a new fork because hers was dirty.”
Alex tries to remain serious but fails miserably. The next moment he bursts out laughing, causing the bartender to give us a quizzical look.
“Oh God, Noah.” Alex is clearly enjoying himself. “I thought you were going to buy her a drink and ask for her number.”
“I know,” I hiss. “When did she leave?”
“Shortly after you disappeared into the bathroom, they called the waitress and paid,” he replies. “You must have scared her off.” I roll my eyes. “But wait...” I look at him intently. Ever since we were little boys, he”s been such a drama queen, always procrastinating. “Since I had nothing better to do, I followed them, and your sweetie got into a Ferrari.”
I open my eyes and turn my head toward the door to look out at the street. “A Ferrari?” I ask. “Are you sure?”
“Yep, I can recognize a baby like that,” he replies. “Great ride. She definitely has taste and a great benefactor.”
I frown.
“Benefactor? What does that mean?”
“How old do you think she is?” he says, pretending to really think. “Early or mid-twenties at the most. A woman that age can”t afford a two-hundred-thousand-dollar Ferrari.”
“Why not?” I ask, “Maybe she has a business.”
What is so surprising about the fact that a woman can make a lot of money at a young age? Take Miley Cyrus or the Olsen twins. They were multimillionaires as teenagers.
“Or a rich boyfriend, or no, wait ...” The drama queen is back. “A sugar daddy? Rich parents?”
Now his imagination takes over.
“She doesn”t have a sugar daddy!” I grimace and shake my head vehemently. I don”t want to believe that she has a sugar daddy. How disgusting would that be? Such a beautiful woman, with such a beautiful body, and then she lets some old dude fuck her to drive a Ferrari? “No way!”
“You just don”t want to admit it,” Alex teases, winking at me. “And if she doesn”t, she has very rich parents.”
“And what”s wrong with that?” I want to know.
“Well.” Alex shrugs. “You”re a little boy from Tennessee who knows how to throw a ball.”
I can”t help but laugh and look at my brother.
“And what are you?” I ask immediately. “A little boy from Tennessee who”s good at catching balls?” He grins and nods. “So... what”s wrong with that?”
“Get her out of your mind,” he advises me. “She’s probably going to marry someone from a rich family or have an up-and-coming politician at her side. But not a professional athlete from Tennessee. You know what Mom always says.”
I sigh. Our mother is very worried and afraid that we will never find a good wife but will spend our lives being courted by TV starlets and models. She is very old-fashioned and would prefer that we marry a woman from the neighborhood, or at least from the same county.
“That the best girls and later wives are on a farm in Tennessee?” Alex nods. “I still want her,” I decide. “Mom will get used to the fact that we”ll never marry these girls.”
“And how are you going to do that?” Alex looks at me with interest. “You only know her first name and you know her car. Well ... I know her car because it was gone when you came back. That”s not much.”
Damn, it really isn”t much, but I”m not giving up hope.
“Maybe she”ll come back soon,” I think aloud. “Then I”ll talk to her again.” Alex looks far from convinced, but he nods. “You don”t like the idea?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Boston is huge, if you count the metropolitan area and the state of Massachusetts, even bigger. How do you plan on seeing her again?”
“Hope dies last,” I make a vague prediction.
“It died when she left the bar, dude,” Alex replies.
I sigh and grab my beer. I wish I had just opened my mouth.
***
A Few Days Later
I park my Bentley in front of Corse Sports Managementheadquarters and turn off the engine. I fired my agent a few weeks ago and am looking for a new one. The collaboration was no longer satisfactory, and the contracts he was negotiating were ridiculous. Certainly not at the level of an elite quarterback. Some of my colleagues are being handled by the agency owned by our former quarterback and club legend Michael Corse. I made an appointment with him to possibly do business together. Without exception, the guys are happy and say that Corse knows exactly what”s important because of his own experience as a pro. He knows the details of the contracts, which clauses not to sign and which collaborations to accept and which not to. I”ve had that experience over the years, but it”s always nice to be represented by someone who knows the players” situation. So far, everything they”ve offered me has sounded promising.
I have my appointment with Mrs. Corse. I know Corse has a daughter my age, but I can”t remember what she looks like, I haven’t seen a photo of her in a while. The last one was taken a few years ago at Corse”s official induction into the Boston Foxes Hall of Fame. Cara Catherine Corse is her name. It”s almost ironic that she has the same first name as the pretty brunette from the bar a few days ago. I still can”t get her out of my mind and I”m thinking about how I can see her again. Alex thinks my thoughts are ridiculous and doesn”t support my plans at all. You”d think my twin was making fun of me.
The Bentley”s lights flash as I lock up and head for the main entrance of Corse Sports Management. The entrance hall has a black marble floor, a seating area with black furniture, and the reception desk, where a woman my mother”s age sits, is also black with silver highlights and the company logo branded into the counter.
I walk over and smile at her.
“Good morning. Noah McCarter,” I introduce myself. “I have an appointment with Ms. Corse.”
“Good morning,” she replies friendly. “Ms. Corse is expecting you. Please follow me.”
I nod as she stands and circles the reception desk. When she looks at me, she has to tilt her head back.
“Thank you,” I say, letting her lead me through the large lobby to the elevator. As you would expect, it is glassed in and offers a wonderful view of the company as you go up and down.
“Ms. Corse”s office is on the third floor next to her father”s.”
I nod.
To be honest, I want an experienced agent who has been in the business for years and can get me the best deals. Not a young woman who got the job through daddy”s favor. As his daughter, I doubt that she had to interview for the job, or even show a résumé and references to secure the job.
“How old is Ms. Corse?” I ask, and the woman looks at me in surprise.
“Sorry?” she asks nicely, offering me a way out.
“Forget it,” I mumble. “It”s not that important.”
And really, it”s none of my business how old Ms. Corse is.
“No, no,” the woman continues. “I just didn”t hear you right.” She smiles at me and taps the little hearing aid in her left ear. “Please repeat the question.”
So much for her giving me an out.
“I asked how old Ms. Corse is,” I repeat.
“She is twenty-two years old,” she replies, eyeing me suspiciously. “Is that a problem?”
Fortunately, before I can answer, the elevator stops, and we get out. I don”t know if that”s a problem. Twenty-two is extremely young. To me, that means she just graduated from college. We all know that she only has this job because Corse is her father. Under other circumstances, she probably wouldn”t even be allowed to make coffee for clients like me. My next problem is that if I really like Corse Sports Management, I can”t criticize the owner”s daughter. Right?
“Please wait here,” she asks me.
I nod and agree. I take my phone out of my pocket.
+1 new message from Alex
*Alex: How is it going?
*Noah: I just got into the office.
“Mr. McCarter is here now, Ms. Corse.” The employee doesn”t speak very quietly. “Shall I invite him in?”
I can”t hear Ms. Corse”s answer, no matter how hard I try. But when the woman turns to me, whose name I either still don”t know or haven”t memorized, I know I can enter.
“Please,” she says, making an inviting gesture with her hand. I nod and walk past her into the office.
“Thank you,” I say as my last word to her.
And as soon as I enter Ms. Corse”s office, I am stunned. Standing in front of me is the woman from the bar I was trying to get out of my mind.
This can”t be true. I can”t be that lucky, can I?
Cara. My Cara from the bar is Cara Catherine Corse? Holy shit.
I stare at her with my mouth hanging open, and she seems to still be getting over the initial shock of seeing me like this.
“Mr. McCarter,” she greets me in a businesslike tone that irritates me at first. I picked up her fork. Wow, that sounds even dumber than ‘I carried a watermelon’ from Dirty Dancing1.
Cara comes over and holds out her hand.
I look at her without saying a word. Cara is wearing a knee-length, tight-fitting red dress with long sleeves and a round neckline that looks nice and seems perfectly appropriate for the office. The high heels on her feet make her look much taller than she is. Her makeup is heavier than in the bar. Her lips are a seductive red and her hair is loose over her shoulders.
“Nice to meet you. Cara Corse. Welcome to Corse Sports Management.”
She extends her hand invitingly, which I take.
“Hello,” I reply a little grumpy because she doesn”t greet me more personally. “Noah McCarter. Nice to meet you too.”
1Dirty Dancing is an American romantic drama dance film(1987).