Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Brinkley
Don’t mind me. I’ve just boarded a private plane to head to New York on a work trip. #sorrynotsorry
Georgia
Yes! Maddox is thrilled that you’ve lifted the hate ban on Lincoln Hendrix.
Cage
Seeing as the guy tried to get you your job back and then offered you the story of a lifetime—I think it’s fair to say the ban is lifted.
Hugh
And he was worried about you getting home, and now he’s taking you on a trip? Yeah… time to pull out our Hendrix jerseys, boys.
Finn
Are you going to give us any insider news about where he’s playing?
No. He hasn’t actually told me where he’s going to play, so he could still screw me over if he wants to.
But he encouraged me to reach out to Football Live and Sports Today, which are two of the biggest magazines out there, and let them know I’d be breaking the story. I’m getting all sorts of offers now.
Cage
Sorry. Mr. Wigglestein knocked up Janey Lowery’s corgi, Louise, and the Lowerys did not want to breed “porgis”. So, it’s a real shit show over here. They think it should have been up to her to make that decision.
Up to Janey or the dog?
Georgia
Her body. Her decision.
Cage
Yep. We’ve heard it all already. She feels Louise, the two-year-old corgi who eats her own shit, should have had a say before Mr. Wigglestein went and humped her in their backyard. This is my life.
Hey, it’s a bitch’s world; we’re just living in it.
Hugh
Georgia
Damn straight.
Cage
So, is New York his top choice? Inquiring minds want to know.
If any of you mention where I’m going, I will shave off your eyebrows and cover your face in Sharpie graffiti while you’re sleeping. This is top secret. Nothing will ruin a reporter’s career faster than chatty siblings.
Finn
Damn. You are terrifying when you’re making threats, Brinks.
Hugh
Because you know she’ll follow through.
Georgia
Damn straight. I’ve told Maddox he can’t tell a soul anything you tell us. He wants to buy season tickets for all of us wherever Lincoln is going to play.
Don’t do anything yet. I will let you know right before I break the story.
Cage
How generous of you. What are you going to do, tell us a whole two minutes before you tell the whole world? You don’t think you can throw us a bone and tell us maybe a week early?
Hugh
Did you really go there? You’re a brave man. First, you’re fighting for the rights of a knocked-up corgi, and now you’re lecturing Brinks?
Sleep with one eye open, Dr. Puplovin’. And keep your mouths zipped.
Georgia
LOL! My lips are sealed.
Cage
Take it down a notch. Who am I going to tell?
I don’t like anyone enough to discuss this with them, and frankly, I’m not sure I like any of you today.
And Gracie doesn’t care about football. Mr. Wigglestein doesn’t give two fucks about where Lincoln is going to play; he just wants to be balls deep in Louise, and I’ve been forced to separate them while they’re both here with their owners, who are having meltdowns.
Finn
Where are you?
Cage
I’m in my office, taking a breather. It’s a fucking Jerry Springer show out there. And now, my sister is threatening me when I just asked a simple question.
The pilot came out to speak to us, and the flight attendant said she’d be bringing us pastries and mimosas shortly.
Sorry. I’ll have to plot your demise later. We’re taking off, and I was just offered a mimosa. No chatting about where I’m going. Love you guys.
Several emojis came flying across my screen, but I turned off my phone and looked up to see Lincoln watching me. He sat directly across from me, as the two rows faced one another. We were the only two people on this plane, aside from the two pilots and the flight attendant.
Lincoln had been more distant these last few days, since our long chat out at the cove. We’d gotten to know one another that night, but then he’d been more reserved the following morning.
All the flirty banter had halted.
It was my job to follow his lead. I wanted this story.
No. I needed this story.
So, he was in control when it came to how much he wanted to share.
We’d spent the last few days running, swimming, and in the gym. I’d never seen anyone work out as hard as he did. And I respected the hell out of it.
There were a lot of athletes out there who had a ton of natural talent, but they didn’t put in the work.
Then there were the athletes who worked hard and were committed.
And then there was Lincoln Hendrix.
The man was next level.
It was no wonder that he was the GOAT of the NFL.
He deserved the title, and that wasn’t always the case in professional sports.
The hardest worker didn’t always win, but this man—he’d earned it.
I hadn’t said those words to him yet because he spent most of our time together aggravating me.
But I’d softened a lot since we’d started working together.
It didn’t really matter that he was hot and cold and serving me up a hearty dose of whiplash day after day.
I was getting to see the day-to-day life of the best player in the NFL, so I was grateful.
“Is your family okay with you traveling with me?” he asked.
“I’m a grown-up. Of course, they are. And don’t worry, they won’t tell a soul that we’re going to New York. I’ve threatened them with their lives,” I said, just as the plane started moving.
He chuckled. “You don’t need to threaten anyone on my behalf. I’m not worried about people talking. I’m just not talking until I have something to share. But word will get out that I’m in New York because it’s inevitable. And everyone already suspects I’m leaning that way.”
“And would they be right?”
“Yes. I’m not ready to go on the record with that, but the story that you’re writing isn’t going to print until after I make the final decision, so you can include this conversation in your article if you want to.”
“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?” I asked. My gaze narrowed as I studied him.
He barked out a laugh. “Am I not usually nice to you? I thought we were past that.”
“Well, you’ve been a little weird since we were out at the cove last week.” My hands gripped the armchairs on each side of me as we left the runway and the ground behind us. My stomach dipped as we took off.
“Relax. We have the best pilots out there.” His eyes locked with mine. “How have I been weird? We’ve been working out every day, and I’ve answered your three questions each time you’ve asked them, haven’t I?”
Our flight attendant approached, handing us each a mimosa, but Lincoln requested a black coffee instead.
I ordered a chai tea latte and then stared awkwardly at my lovely champagne flute, unsure if it would be unprofessional to drink it.
This was work, after all. She set down two baskets of pastries in front of us and left to go get our hot drinks.
His lips turned up in the corners as he watched me. “Drink it. You’re fine. I just have a bunch of meetings and need to be on my game today.”
He was always on his game, wasn’t he?
I took a sip of the sweet citrus and bubbly. “Okay, then. It’s delicious.”
“Answer the question,” he demanded.
I paused when our hot drinks were set in front of us, and I thanked the flight attendant before she stepped away.
“Well, we were very chatty that night. You know, sharing things like normal friends do. But then the next day, you were all business again.”
“We have a working relationship.” He uncuffed his sleeves and rolled them up, exposing his muscled forearms. I’d never noticed a man’s forearms before, but Lincoln’s were—spectacular. Unfortunately, his voice was harsh, and it rubbed me wrong.
It was like a wrestling match with him. I’d go from being totally turned on to completely annoyed with him.
“Well, we also spend a lot of time together, and when you share things, there can be a friendship there. Or didn’t your alien leaders teach you that?” I raised a brow.
“You know, I think you forget that I’m the client. I’m doing you the favor.” His eyes landed on my mouth, and I quickly brushed my fingers there to make sure there was no powdered sugar lingering after taking an oversized bite of the pastry.
“Are you not going to eat these? They are so good,” I said over a mouthful of cake.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He smirked.
I finished chewing. “Don’t be so work-focused all the time. We could be friends who also work together.”
“You want to be friends, sweetheart?” he asked as he continued to stare at my mouth.
I pulled out my phone and turned my camera around to see what he was looking at, but it was just my lips.
I dropped my phone in the empty seat beside me and raised a brow.
“I don’t see why not. We work out together.
We spend hours a day together. We even eat several meals together.
Now we’re traveling together. So, friendship is the natural thing to happen, right? ”
“That’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” I huffed. “I shouldn’t have to beg for it. Everyone wants to be my friend. I’m a good time.”
He chuckled. “Has anyone ever told you about the number one rule in sales?”
“What are we talking about now?” I asked before leaning forward and digging in his basket for the other sugared donut. “I take it you aren’t going to eat this because your body is a national treasure or something?”
He smirked. “Go ahead and eat it.”
“So, what is this big sales tip you’re giving me?”
“You said that you wanted to be friends, and I agreed to your request. Stop arguing. You got what you wanted.”
“And that’s the number one rule in sales?”
“Yes. Stop talking when you get what you want. People talk themselves out of deals all the time.” He shrugged, reaching into the basket and taking out a blueberry muffin.
“Well, don’t make me sound desperate. I could take or leave this friendship,” I said, my voice all tease.
“Is that right?”
“Yep. But since you’re so willing, I’ll go with it.”
He popped part of the muffin into his mouth and brushed his hands together. “So, let’s talk about what you’ll be doing while we’re in New York.”
“I’ll be shadowing you, right?”
“Most of the time. You’ll meet my agent, Drew. We’ll be meeting with Coach Balboa and Jeff Robles alone, but you won’t sit in on that meeting. That’s not something that can be shared in the article.” His eyes were hard, and his shoulders were squared as if he were preparing for an argument.
Was I that difficult?
“Ah… the money talk. I get it. It’ll be public knowledge when it goes through, but I understand you want to protect your privacy for now.” I shrugged and reached for my tea and took a sip.
“I’ll tell you what happens after. But it’ll be off the record.”
“Wow. Thank you for trusting me.” I raised a brow.
“Well, we’re friends, right? That’s what friends do.”
“Do you need a lesson on that? It seems kind of foreign to you.” I used my hand to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.
“I have friends, but I keep my circle small. Just the guys I trust. I don’t really have female friends, if I’m being honest.”
“That’s right. You just sleep with them and then kick ‘em to the curb.” I meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out sounding like one, nor did he look like he found it even remotely humorous.
He leaned forward, not hiding his irritation.
“Have you seen me with a lot of women in the time that you’ve known me?” he hissed.
“No. But I don’t know what you do when we part ways at night.”
“Hmmm… let’s see, I’ve eaten dinner with you the last four nights. I’ve then met you before the sun comes up the following morning. Do you think I’m calling random women to meet me in Cottonwood Cove when the sun goes down?”
“Well, how would I know what you do? It’s not lost on me that your jersey number is sixty-nine.”
“You noticed that, huh?” He barked out a laugh.
“My mom’s birthday is June ninth, so when that number was available when I transferred to Alabama in college, she begged me to take it.
She thought it was good luck, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it means something different to anyone with a dirty fucking mind. ”
“So, you took one for the team,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“Sure. And once I started playing more, I wasn’t going to jinx myself and change it. So, long story short, I’m fucking exhausted when we finish for the day. I go to bed, just like you do.”
“Don’t be so cocky about it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “How do you know I’m not out dancing the night away with my endless male suitors?”
His laugh was loud, and it bellowed around the airplane. “Because you’re young, so the fact that you just called them male suitors tells me that it’s not happening.”
“Well, that’s only because my new client is running me into the ground. I’m too tired to date at the moment. But it’s not because of lack of interest,” I assured him.
“You don’t have to tell me that, sweetheart. I have no doubt you’ve got plenty of guys after you.” He sipped his coffee as his eyes scanned my face, like he was memorizing every line and every feature.
And then he leaned back and looked out the window like he was mad about something.
As I said…the man was giving me an endless case of whiplash.