5. Brent
I Think You Forgot Something
Thanks to my crazy ass game schedule, Berkley and I weren’t able to make plans for a date until nearly a month later, and I honestly thought I’d go insane if I didn’t see her soon.
Since Halloween, we’d been texting nonstop—though I was a little miffed she hadn’t told me her birthday came the following week until after it had already passed—but it wasn’t enough. I wanted her up close and personal, where I could touch her, gauge her reactions to our conversations.
The day before, she’d texted me again, still trying to get me to divulge where I was taking her.
Berkley: Where are we going? What should I wear?
Me: Where we’re going is a surprise, but wear something nice.
Berkley: Nice like…nice jeans and a cute top, or nice like a dress?
Me: A dress.
I’d be damned if I missed the opportunity to see this girl really dressed up. The glimpses I’d gotten of her legs on Halloween had haunted me. I wanted to run my eyes—and hands and lips—across her bare skin, wanted those legs wrapped around my waist while I…
My phone pinging again pulled me out of my dirty thoughts, and not a moment too soon. I had to be out the door for practice in ten minutes, and I didn’t have time to deal with a spontaneous boner.
Although, thoughts of her ass in my lap as we grinded on the dance floor at the loft still plagued me, had me taking my cock in my fist on more than one occasion, her name on my lips as I spilled my release.
Berkley: A dress it is. Can’t wait ??
Me: Me either! See you tomorrow ??
The following evening, I pulled my truck into a spot marked VISITOR out front of Berkley’s building and made my way to her floor, a bouquet of flowers in my hand.
On the drive over, I’d had to regularly remind myself to breathe, and I hadn’t been able to stop nervously drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. I genuinely couldn’t believe I was about to take Berkley on our first date. If somebody would’ve told me a few months ago that this was going to happen, I would’ve told them they were crazy. I wasn’t a shy person, and I wasn’t afraid to be singled out in front of large groups of people. I was, after all, a professional athlete; showmanship was my bread and butter. But something about Berkley tripped me up, turned me back into that awkward thirteen-year-old boy about to ask the girl I had a crush on to be my date to a dance for the first time.
When I reached Berkley’s door, I paused to collect myself, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress pants and inhaling a steadying breath before knocking. A loud bang sounded from the other side, and a few seconds later, Amelia opened the door. Kimber was sprawled out on the floor behind her.
“Hi, Brent,” Amelia said, sounding out of breath. She moved aside to let me in.
“Hi…” I said slowly, taking in the scene. Since I knew Berkley lived alone, being confronted with the cavalry was unexpected. Either she was nervous about our date, or her friends invited themselves over to see her off. I didn’t know her well enough to decide which.
Kimber rose off the floor, rubbing her right side. “Bitch hip-checked me to get to the door first,” she said by way of explanation.
I raised a brow at Amelia, who merely shrugged in response.
“Are those for Berk?” Kimber asked, motioning to the flowers.
“Oh, yes.” In the commotion of coming inside, I’d forgotten I held them. “Will she like them?”
Both of her friends offered me soft smiles. “They’re beautiful, and she’ll love them. She should be down any second.”
Amelia moved down the hall and yelled, “Berkley, your gentleman caller has arrived! Do come down and greet him!” in a terrible British accent.
I couldn’t help laughing. These girls were crazy, but the comfortability they had around each other reminded me of me and my teammates.
A moment later, heels clicked on the floor above, the sound getting closer as she moved down the stairs. All thoughts left my brain the second she rounded the corner.
I thought Berkley was beautiful in general—in short shorts on a hot summer night at the bar, in the jeans and sweaters she’d worn in her recent Instagram photos, in her sexy little Halloween costume.
But Berkley in this dress? It was tight, black, and fell just above her knees, with long, sheer sleeves and a square neckline that left her collarbones exposed, a tiny charm on a gold chain resting in the hollow between them. My brain short-circuited at the sight of her.
She walked toward me in strappy black heels that were pointy enough to be weaponized if needed. And even with the added height, she was still tiny enough that I could easily pull her in and tuck her head under my chin.
“Hi, Brent,” she said.
It took my brain several long seconds to formulate a response, and when it did—urged on by a sharp elbow to my ribs from Kimber—I blurted, “You’re fucking stunning.”
She beamed at me, her cheeks turning pink. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“The boy does have a good suit game,” Amelia said appreciatively, walking up behind Berkley with her coat. Berkley slipped it on, though her eyes never left mine.
“These are for you,” I said, at last passing the bouquet of flowers over to her.
She accepted them and immediately stuck her nose in the blooms, inhaling deeply.
“Peonies are my favorite,” she said, a small smile tilting up the corners of her lips. “Thank you.”
I beamed, pleased to have gotten at least one thing right. Once she’d handed them off to Kimber with instructions to put them in water and bring them to her bedroom, I asked, “You ready?”
“Definitely. Lead the way.”
I turned around and opened the door, and Berkley hugged her friends goodbye before walking out ahead of me.
“Don’t bring her home too late!” Kimber called after me.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Amelia yelled at Berkley.
“You don’t even live here!” Berkley shouted back, and her friends’ laughter followed us to the elevator.
“Your friends are fun,” I said when we reached my truck and I helped her inside. “Although, I’m surprised Lexie isn’t here, too.”
Berkley rolled her eyes and settled back into the seat. “They’re certainly something. And Lexie would’ve been, but she’s out of town for work.”
Once I slid behind the wheel, I took a deep breath and started the engine. “Are you ready?”
Berkley turned her face toward mine, and our gazes locked and held. “You’ve already asked me that,” she said with a giggle. “And the answer is yes. I’ve been really looking forward to this.”
“So you’re excited, huh?” I said, cutting her with a smirk as I navigated us out of the parking lot.
She tugged her coat tighter around her and burrowed deeper in the seat. I liked having her there. “Yes. Although, I’d be even more excited if you told me where we’re going!”
“Not a chance.”
“Am I at least dressed okay?”
“You’re perfect,” I told her.
I couldn’t be sure in the barely-there glow of the dash lights, but I guessed by the shy smile she wore that her cheeks had once again blushed.
That blush was becoming my favorite thing.
“You don’t mind a short walk, do you?” I asked once I’d pulled into a parking garage up the street from the restaurant, eyeing her shoes nervously.
“Not at all,” she said. “Although, I’d have worn pants if I’d known an outdoor stroll was involved. It’s not even December yet! It shouldn’t be this cold.”
“I told you to wear a dress,” I reminded her. “As for the rest of it…this is Michigan. What’d you expect?”
When I helped her from the truck, I nearly burst with joy when she grabbed my proffered hand and didn’t let go once her feet were on the ground. We walked hand in hand down the small staircase to street level and up the sidewalk to our destination.
“Clink?” Berkley asked, incredulous. “You’re taking me to Clink? This place is impossible to get into! How did you manage this?”
I shrugged, displaying a swagger I didn’t quite feel comfortable with. “I’m Brent Jean.”
Some of the excitement in her eyes dimmed as she said, “So you are.”
Fuck, that had been the wrong thing to say.
The ma?tre d’ opened the door for us, spreading his arms wide as we stepped inside, as though he were a king showing off his kingdom. “Welcome to Clink!” he said as he moved behind a sleek mahogany stand where an iPad sat. “What’s the name on your reservation?”
I gave my name, and the man’s eyes widened.
“Of course. Welcome, Mr. Jean and guest. Your table is right this way.” He retrieved two menus and led us through the restaurant toward the back, where a semi-secluded table sat ready for us.
I’d chosen Clink for this first date with Berkley for a few reasons.
First, it was easily one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. At the time I was planning everything, I’d felt compelled to flex my fame and wealth a bit for Berkley’s sake. If previous relationships had taught me anything, it was that women liked it when I tossed my money around, that they enjoyed being wined and dined. It made them feel special, and I definitely wanted Berkley to feel special.
Although now, I wasn’t entirely sure that had been the right move.
The second—and more important—reason I’d chosen Clink was because of its exclusivity. Nobody here was going to slyly take photos of me and Berkley enjoying a candlelit dinner and send them to tabloids or post them on social media sites. It was our first date, and I wasn’t about to throw Berkley to the wolves before we had a chance to see where this thing would lead.
“So what do you think?” I asked her once we were seated and had ordered a bottle of wine to share.
“It’s incredible,” she said, her blue eyes darting around the room, taking it all in.
“I’m glad you like it,” I told her. “I’ve never actually been here, but the owner is a big Warriors fan, and the chef has been begging management to send one of us here forever. Our first date seemed like the perfect time to use that invitation.”
Berkley’s responding smile seemed strained, and she said, “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble for little old me.”
Before I could protest, our waiter appeared with our wine and to take our orders, so I let the subject drop.
We were just getting to know each other, right? I couldn’t be held accountable if this wasn’t the perfect date—though I desperately wanted it to be.
To calm my nerves and the roiling in my gut, I reached for a piece of bread at the same time Berkley did, and the brush of her fingers against mine sent a jolt up my arm. I quickly pulled away and gave her a sheepish smile.
“So,” I said, wiping a clammy palm on my thighs under the table, “tell me about yourself.”
Berkley huffed out a laugh. “Really? Could you be more vague?”
I frowned. “What? I want to know everything.”
“So let’s start with something specific and work our way up to everything,” she said with a sly smile.
As I thought of something, she dipped a piece of bread into oil and popped it into her mouth. I watched her jaw move, her throat bob as she swallowed, the way she brushed a stray drop of oil that landed on the table away with her thumb.
Everything about this girl fascinated me, and I wasn’t lying when I told her I wanted to know it all.
“Where are you from?” I asked at last.
“Traverse City.”
Damn. Too easy.
“I’m from New York, near Albany.”
Berkley giggled. “I know,” she said.
“You do?” I asked, my brows drawing together.
Berkley put her elbows on the table and leaned toward me, dropping her voice. “Let’s just say I’m a big fan.”
“How big?” I asked as I mirrored her pose, unable to stop myself.
“Big enough that I could rattle off ninety percent of your pro and college stats if asked.”
My eyes widened, but I leaned back in my chair, the picture of cool, calm, collected. “Let’s see how good you are then, Daniels.”
“Bring it on, Jean.”
I grinned. I liked this game. I liked this girl.
“2015,” I said.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” she said. “Since that was the end of your senior season of college but the start of your rookie year in the pros.”
God, that was so sexy, my dick actually twitched.
“College.”
“In thirty-five games, you had nineteen goals, twelve assists, and finished second on the team in points. You also had, I think, sixteen penalty minutes.”
My jaw dropped, my mouth hanging open like a fish out of water as I searched for something to say.
“Oh, God,” Berkley said, smacking her palm against her forehead. “You probably think I’m a creepy stalker now.”
“Definitely not,” I said, then sat up and leaned forward, pulling her hand away from her face and clasping it in mine. “That was the hottest thing a girl has ever said to me.”
Now it was Berkley’s turn to gape. “You mean it?”
“Absolutely.” I gave her hand a squeeze then once again sat back in my chair, reaching for my wine glass lest I take her hand again. “You can do that for every year I’ve played?”
Her cheeks pinkened, her hair sliding over an eye as she dipped her head. “I mean, not anything before college, but…yeah.”
“Your mind is impressive,” I said honestly.
“It’s definitely something,” she said.
“I’m sure it’s helped a lot with school, right?”
“Oh, absolutely. I barely had to study in undergrad, and I’m the kind of person who can read something only a handful of times before I understand and remember it forever. Law school was a bit of a punch to the gut when things didn’t come that easily. It’s also a lot more information to retain, so I’ve had to work harder than ever before, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.”
“Why’d you want to become a lawyer, anyway?”
“To help people,” she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. To her, I supposed it was. “I can’t ever remember a time when I didn’t want to become a lawyer. But the moment I realized I was on the right path was during my junior year of college. I’d been working in the athletic department, so I’d gotten to be good friends with a lot of the athletes. I saw the struggle they encountered in navigating contracts and agents and having a thousand people breathing down their necks. I felt like they didn’t really have anyone looking out for them that cared about their well-being but also really understood the ins and outs of contracts and negotiations. So that was the day everything changed for me. The more I studied contracts, and dove deeper into all of the pieces involved in all different kinds, the more I loved it. Eventually, I’d like to open my own agency and be the one going to bat for these people—especially women and rookies—instead of just the one creating the language that encapsulates their contract terms.”
I stared at her, stunned.
“You continued to surprise me, Berkley Daniels.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asked, almost shyly.
“The best thing,” I confirmed.
“It’s weird to nerd out over what is essentially words on a page, but…those words are someone’s livelihood, you know?”
“I should have you look at my contract sometime,” I said. “I guarantee my agent is gouging me with his percentage.”
“Do you know who prepared it?”
“Davis Lippett.”
Berkley nodded. “Great guy. Hell of an attorney. You’re in good hands.”
“You know from experience?”
“He’s one of my professors, so I’d hope so.”
The waiter arrived with our food, but when he left again, I said, “So are you graduating in the spring? What’s your plan after?”
“I am, yes. Afterward, I’m not entirely sure. Working for Lippett’s firm would actually be a dream job for me. He’s been such a huge inspiration and mentor of mine during law school that I’d love to keep learning from him. But…a lot of my professors—Lippett included—are pushing me to seek employment opportunities out of state. You know, in bigger sports markets. New York, LA, Boston, Chicago. They feel I’d excel and really be able to cut my teeth before eventually switching gears to agenting.”
“Isn’t Detroit a fairly large market? I mean, all four professional sports have teams here.”
“Well, yeah, obviously,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. Her slender fingers tipped in red wrapped around the stem in a way that was very distracting. It had my mind taking off in a direction that was not appropriate for this romantic dinner. “They just want me to get out and experience the world. I’ve lived in Michigan my whole life. But…truthfully, I don’t want to leave.”
Once again, I reached across the table for her, and she set her wine down to meet me halfway, her smooth, dainty palm sliding into my big, rough one. I looked her straight in the eyes as I gave her my next words.
“Then don’t leave.”
Berkley released a long breath, and I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, my thumb brushing against her pulse point. “It really is that simple, isn’t it?”
“It really is,” I agreed.
“Everything was amazing,” Berkley said as we strode from the restaurant after dinner. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“Thank you for coming out with me.”
We walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, my mind drifting back over our dinner conversation and all that she shared with me. My thoughts snagged particularly on a moment during dessert, when she swirled her tongue around her fork, enjoying every last morsel of her strawberry cheesecake. I’d had to adjust my fly more than once, wondering what that tongue would feel like repeating that motion around my cock.
“I’ll admit,” she started. “I was a bit apprehensive. But I’m glad I came. Just…for the record, I don’t need all this fancy shit. I would’ve been happy in jeans and a t-shirt, eating ribs and drinking beer.”
“Marry me,” I groaned, and her answering laugh was music to my ears.
Fuck, I liked this girl—a lot more than I’d planned on.
But I wanted to take it slow with her, not push her into anything too fast. I wasn’t going to ask her for anything more than she was willing to give me. I knew the idea of dating me was a daunting undertaking given that I was always in the public eye. Not to mention, all of the boneheaded things I’d done when I was younger were well-documented as long as someone knew where to look. I’d bet good money Berkley did, and that had added to her apprehension.
“I’d like to do this again,” she said quietly when we reached the truck. “If that’s something you want.”
“God, yes,” I said, giving her a hand up into the cab. “More than anything.”
“Me, too.”
We were quiet on the drive back to her place, and when we arrived, I was loath to get out of the truck. I wasn’t quite ready for our time together to be over. Still, I could imagine Amelia and Kimber upstairs, waiting patiently for their girl to get home and download them on all the juicy details of our evening.
Not that there was anything juicy to share…yet.
“Soooo…when can we do this again?” I asked as we walked hand in hand into the lobby.
“I’m not sure.” My forehead scrunched in confusion, and she took a deep breath to continue. “I have exams all next week, and then I’m actually going to Traverse City for winter break.”
“Oh,” I said. “How long will you be gone?”
“Three weeks,” she said sheepishly, and I realized she was afraid of my reaction.
I wanted to kill whoever put that look on her face, whoever had made her wary to tell a man she was leaving for a while.
“Damn.” It was the only thing I could think to say. “Well, we’ll talk while you’re gone, right?”
“Of course!” she said, perking up. “I had a wonderful time tonight. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I shot her a wide grin, and she responded with a broad smile of her own. Caught up in the moment, I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll let you get inside, but I hope you have a safe trip home, and I’ll see you next year?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, it took everything in me not to punch myself in the face. God, I really had to stop saying stupid shit in front of this girl.
“Definitely,” she said, an amused smile playing on her lips. “Good night, Brent.”
“Good night, Berkley.”
My window of opportunity to give her more than just that lame ass kiss on the cheek and a “see ya next year” was closing rapidly. Just as I inched toward her to fix my mistake, readying to make my move, she dropped my hand and turned toward the elevator.
Okay, no big deal. Slow and steady, Jean. Slow and steady.
I spun on my heel and trudged toward the exit.
“Hey, Brent?”
My heart leapt as I turned toward Berkley once again.
“Yeah?”
She smiled and stepped toward me, standing on her tippy toes and placing her hands on my chest for balance. The citrusy blend of her perfume enveloped me, and I breathed in deeply, committing it to memory.
“I think you forgot something.”
Her mouth was inches away.
Waiting.
I grinned and closed the distance.
As first kisses went, it wasn’t like in the movies. There was no epic swell of music or pouring rain for ambiance, making it painfully obvious to anyone watching that this was a momentous occasion. It was a light press of our lips, once, twice, three times, sweet and perfect in its simplicity.
When Berkley pulled away, another one of her shy smiles played at the corners of her lips, and that beautiful flush once again graced her cheeks.
I clenched my hands at my sides to keep from reaching for her again.
“Good night,” she said, retreating toward the elevator. Once she stepped in, as the door closed, she brought her hand to her mouth, her smile growing bigger as she disappeared from view.
I couldn’t help my own grin as I practically skipped back out to my truck and floated all the way home. It remained glued in place until I fell asleep that night, where I dreamt of that kiss, of Berkley’s soft lips and the places on my body I’d like her to press them—and all the places on hers I wanted to put my own.
I was a man starved. After only morsels of information from Berkley throughout the evening, I wanted more. I wanted all she’d give me. But, even knowing next to nothing about her, there was one important thing I’d learned tonight.
Berkley Daniels was the kind of woman you wifed up, and I’d be an idiot if I let her slip away.