Chapter 5
5
[Bolan]
T he morning after The Red Dress Event, I don’t know that I’ve ever been so anxious in my life. My meaty palms sweat. My pits are damp.
This is it. The big moment. Deal or no deal.
A future Chicago Anchor or a sunken ship.
I’m being melodramatic. But it isn’t just my future on the line. Every decision is for Tulane. I’ve made enough money over the years to keep us in good standing for a while, but I haven’t had the payouts that garner endless retirement after playing. And the bigger problem is I don’t know what I’ll do once I’m forced to leave the sport.
I picture used car salesman or mattress seller, and my stomach twists. I’m not qualified for anything other than playing baseball.
With these thoughts rumbling around in my head, I trip over my own feet as I enter the conference room at Imperial Sports Management. I don’t typically wear what most consider dress shoes and the tight leather, plus hard soles, cause me to stumble.
The room is overly bright. Uncovered windows allow in brilliant streams of sunlight. The conference table is vivid white, reflecting more light throughout the space. But the thing— no, person —who blinds me is the woman standing near a sidebar setting down coffee mugs.
That hair. The shape of her hips. The curve of her ass.
Blindfolded, I could recognize her, and I saunter up behind her, chasing images in my head of her in a red dress, bent forward and hitching up her leg, allowing me to enter her.
“Flower?” I whisper, catching my breath on her nickname. Her strange mix of floral and spice, like petals and thorns, tickles my nose.
When she spins to face me, an empty coffee mug drops from her hand, but I’m quick to catch it, holding the loose cup an additional second.
My first reaction is to smile at her. A little blip inside my chest is relieved to see her again. See her whole and in front of me.
But then my slog of a brain catches up to our position.
Ruthie is Nylah’s daughter-in-law. She’s in Jared Jacobson’s office. Which means she must have known who I was all along.
My eyes narrow, suspicion quickly settling in my head.
“Ruth Avery, is it?” I question, although we never exchanged names. She asked, but I never answered. “Why aren’t you Ruth Jacobson?” Why doesn’t she have her husband’s name? Then again, nepotism runs in this industry and maybe the name keeps the vultures away from her. Gives her a little anonymity. After all, my little flower is tempting.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” The strength of her words and her tone surprises me, and I startle further when she hastily snatches the fallen mug from my hand .
She’s so fucking pretty despite her hair being pulled severely back in a bun and red framed glasses that hide her rich brown eyes, that are soulful and bottomless. A man could get lost in those eyes. Or be found.
Ruthie fumbles with the collection of coffee mugs on the banquet table before pouring a cup of the steamy liquid.
“What are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
I lower my gaze, shaking my head. Incredible. “So, you knew who I was?” She fucking knew .
And because I’m terrible at keeping first thoughts in my head and ruminating over them a moment, I blurt, “Did you fucking play me?”
Her head swings quickly in my direction. Those dark eyes narrowing to slits behind those red frames. Glasses that make me want to be a bad boy, sent to the principal’s office. She’s the principal. And that glare does nothing but stir my insides and pump my dick.
Fuck .
“Why would I play you ?” She continues to stare at me until snapping her attention back to the coffee bar. “Shit.”
Hot liquid has dribbled over the edge of the mug and onto her fingers, and she lifts one to suck at it.
Those red-rimmed lips wrap around her burnt digit and my thoughts race with visions of her placing those lips on a body part of mine.
She’d wanted to do it the other night. I sensed her eagerness. Saw the hunger in her dark eyes.
I’d been the one too hyped up and wanting inside her, skipping over her mouth on my dick for my dick inside her.
I slip my hand into my suit coat pocket and pull something out. “Here.”
Ruthie glances down at the item and scoffs. Then those chocolate eyes flick back up to mine. “What do you think you are doing?”
In my hand are her panties from the other night. The ones I removed from her lush legs and tucked into my suit pocket, forgetting that I had them stored there until I was checking my pockets earlier. I’d decided to leave them tucked in the pocket, like a good luck talisman. I hadn’t intended to make them a souvenir of our night but I’m happy to have them, especially when I recall how I removed them down those lush thighs. How I tugged them from her ankles. How taking them off gave me a clear view of her pretty, pink?—
I clear my throat. “You burned yourself.” Although a napkin would really be more appropriate, I want her to know I’m not going to forget our night together and I’m not going to forget her.
I’m especially not going to forget that she knew me and acted like she didn’t.
She glances around my bulky form at Floyd Everest, my attorney, seated at the conference table. Then she looks back at me.
“ You burned me,” she whispers, dragging her gaze away from me and lowering her eyes to the coffee mug on the sidebar. Despite her quiet tone, her statement stings.
“And you fucking knew who I was, didn’t you?”
Her head snaps upright again and those dark wells widen as she stares at me. “I?—”
A loud clap makes both of us turn our heads in the direction of the conference room doorway where Jared Jacobson enters like a strong breeze. The early-sixty-something man is silver-haired and smooth-faced with a powerful smile.
“Excellent. I see we are all present.” He crosses the room to me and holds out a hand to shake mine. Quickly, I slip Ruthie’s underwear back into my pocket.
“Bolan.” Despite being a slightly smaller man, Jared has a firm handshake. After greeting me, he addresses Ruthie. “Ruth.”
The formal nod might appear curt if it weren’t for the admiration in this man’s eyes for his daughter-in-law. My late cousin’s wife. A widow.
Goddammit .
I don’t want to feel sympathy for her. She had to have known who I was when she saw me. I’m Imperial Sports Management’s newest client. I’m her late husband’s cousin. Surely, she’s heard of me.
But something about the way her shoulders fall, and her head lowers tells me the moment Ruthie and I shared wasn’t about recognition. Wasn’t about fame or a claim to have slept with Bolan Adler.
“You should take a seat,” she mutters, heading toward the conference room exit.
Suddenly, I want her to stay, like I’d asked her to the other night. When I wanted her to give me a chance to prove myself. I’m not a bad guy. Maybe a bit impulsive. Definitely reckless. But I’m open to change.
I want to do better.
The strange vibe that she’s familiar spirals around me. I could chalk it up to how familiar I now am with her body, but this sensation isn’t about her body. Something tells me I need Ruthie to remain present.
“Why don’t you—” I’m cut off when Jared addresses Ruthie.
“Ruth, if you could close the door, please, and then join us.” He rounds the room near the windows, claps Floyd on the shoulder and stops near the head of the conference table.
“What?” Ruth and I say in unison, then share a look with one another.
“I have a few things I’d like to discuss with both of you,” Jared clarifies.
Does he know what we did? Fuck .
I glance at Ruthie again, but her head hangs low, as if unable to look at either Jared or me, and I don’t like it. Especially the not looking at me part. I never want her to feel like she can’t look me in the eye.
I made a mistake. Not her.
But like most of my impulsive decisions, I don’t know how to rectify them.
I don’t know how to make things right.
I can never catch a fucking break.