Chapter 6
NADINE
Only two weeks after my school year ended, I’m already thinking of ways to help another child.
Even if he is attractive.
Since I’m alone and no one will be able to tell what I’m looking at besides Russian spies, I enlarge the photo on my cell phone.
The one from a few years ago, when he graced the cover of a men’s magazine, a football in his right hand and his left holding the knot of a towel that hangs precariously low on his waist, moisture beading all over his golden skin.
His mouth is tipped up in that dumbass smirk, his eyebrows raised playfully over his dark eyes.
Like all tight ends, he’s tall. Freakishly tall. And muscular. Like, could lift a car, muscular. With those long arms able to catch a pass, strong enough to block a defender.
Each position in football calls for certain traits: offensive linemen are big in height and width, running backs tend to be a bit shorter—which is still taller than the average human—and low to the ground so they can withstand all those tackles when gaining rushing yards, wide receivers are tall and lithe, meant to outmaneuver the defense.
The most important physical attribute of a quarterback is their brain.
Aside from having an arm, they need to be able to read the entire field and remember hundreds of plays.
I used to help Erik study his playbook, which is how I understand the game and the positions so well.
It’s also how I know Camden Long is 6’5”, 243 pounds, averaged fourteen yards per game last season, scored eight touchdowns, and signed the biggest contract in the league for his position right before the previous season, a four-year extension for a little over $76 million.
But, whatever.
It’s not like I keep track.
It’s merely difficult to avoid information about him when my brother is his quarterback. I’m proud of all the work Erik has put into his career, and occasionally dealing with his asshole friend is a minor hassle in the grand scheme of watching my brother live out his dream.
But since I officially received the You’re hired text two hours ago, I figured I might as well do some more research on the minor hassle that has the potential to become a major one when we’ll be around each other all the time.
I began with the videos from the championship game in February. When the Founders were down by three with seconds to score, and Erik threw a slant to Camden.
Too bad that fool didn’t pay attention to where his toes were—just outside of the goal line.
Camden had always been known for dancing on the field, but he got too excited about scoring the winning touchdown, I guess, because he started in on his now-infamous dance, swinging his arms, the ball still in his big hand, only to be tackled, and pushed outside the boundary.
The buzzer went off, and the refs called it.
No touchdown.
The Flounders lost.
All because the King of Football, as some other article crowned him two years ago, fucked up. I didn’t have any pity for him. He deserved all the scorn he received.
Not to mention, the video of him being arrested for illegal drag racing, grinning at whoever captured it, saying he’d be out in a few hours. Then he turned to the cop and actually asked, “You know who I am?”
I scrolled through old photos of him with some young country star, who had one hit years ago and started dating him shortly after he was drafted.
I think they were still together when we met at Erik’s engagement party.
She wrote a breakup song about him. I don’t listen to country, but that line about a strong jaw and weak words really hits.
Then came videos of him sauntering out of bars and clubs, eyes glassy. Celebrity gossip articles about how he was the “right amount” of bad boy. All charm and good looks without the hard drugs or assault charges. Seriously. That’s the bar?
Now are the photos of him with his current girlfriend, Valerie Blondeau, a lingerie model turned B-list actress.
She’s tall with curves in all the right places, and I try not to linger on the picture of his hand on her hip, his fingers curled possessively.
Or the one of them on a yacht, her perfectly big and round breasts nearly falling out of her top, him leaning back on his elbows, watching as she danced, holding a bottle of champagne.
“Haven’t you ever had a fantasy about fucking one of your teachers?”
“Not ones who look like her.”
So what if I don’t have big boobs or toned thighs? At least I’ve never let Camden Long inside me. I growl, angry at myself for being so insecure. Or worse, jealous.
I’m not jealous of her. He’s a jackass with a penchant for making bad decisions, and I’m glad I’ve never had sexual fantasies about him.
There were those couple of dreams, but I can’t control what my brain does subconsciously, and I’ve never wanted to have sex with him in real life.
Ever.
Not even when Paisley relayed to me how Camden slept on the floor of her bedroom every day he was home. Said it was to make sure she was all right, even after Paisley told him she was fine.
I didn’t find that sweet at all.
And spending the summer helping a grieving girl find her footing again will be fine. As long as her brother keeps his stupid mouth shut.
Three knocks sound on my semi-open door before Molly pops her head inside my bedroom. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I toss my phone aside and push up to lounge against the pillows.
She smiles, hopping onto the edge of the mattress, pulling a laugh from me. My friend is pure sunshine, from the color of her hair to her persistently optimistic personality. She’s in a T-shirt and cotton shorts, her hair wet, and since it’s about Kai’s bedtime, I ask, “Where’s the baby?”
“Your brother’s putting him down, so I thought I’d come check in with you. See how it went today.”
When we returned home after visiting Camden’s pristine penthouse that was more museum than home—cold and devoid of emotion—I grabbed a pack of peanut M that is it.
Yet I am unable to draw the line there. I shouldn’t want to save every child who crosses my path, but there is something inside me that makes me incapable of saying no.
Not when I know they need help.
It doesn’t matter how long or heavy it weighs on my shoulders and heart.
“What’s Paisley like?” Molly asks, and I bend my legs up to curl my arms around them.
“She’s small…fine-boned. Like she’s breakable.
” She looks a little younger than fourteen, on the shorter side and scrawny.
On the drive to Center City, Erik gave me a quick rundown of what he knew about her: that she was a preemie and spent a lot of time in the NICU because of different infections, one of which caused her hearing loss.
But she’s healthy now. At least, physically.
According to my brother, the Longs had a hard time learning how to communicate with Paisley, but once Camden was signed to Philadelphia out of college, he paid for tutoring for his parents and himself and footed the bill for anything else they needed.
ASL is a complicated language, and without anyone for Paisley to communicate with, they ended up traveling to workshops and camps so they could all participate more fully in the Deaf community. Now, she has to start all over.
“She seemed fine when I was with her,” I explain, “but it feels like it’s just under the surface.” I fist my hands by my chest, imagining that elephant on the lungs sensation, the fear of breaking down at any moment.
Molly wrinkles her nose. “Gosh, I feel so bad.”
“Gosh,” I repeat with a laugh. My friend and her good, pure heart.
She smacks me with a decorative pillow before using it to prop up her head when she lies down next to me. “So you think you’ll be all right with Camden for the next few weeks?”
I lift my shoulder. “I don’t know. As long as he stays out of my hair, it’ll be fine.”
Or maybe not.
Molly settles her folded hands on her stomach. “It’ll kinda be impossible for him to stay out of your hair when you’re the one working for him.”
“Can we stop talking about him like he’s my boss? He’s not my boss. I am not his employee.”
“He’s paying you.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t some power-trip situation.” I flick my hand in the air, imagining how he’d probably love to hold it over my head. “He is not above me in any way whatsoever.”
She huffs a laugh. “You two are so alike. You just hate to admit it.”
I jerk back at the insult. “Excuse me?”
She ticks off our so-called similar attributes on her fingers. “You’re both stubborn. You can both be quick-tempered and quick-witted. But you both have a lot of layers to peel back. I think you misjudged each other. A real Pride and Prejudice situation.”
“I’ve never read it,” I say as haughtily as possible, still annoyed that she’d lump Camden and me together.
“Me either, but you had to have seen the Keira Knightley version, right?” When I shake my head, she’s the one who jerks back. “You’ve never seen it?” She grabs hold of my hand with both of hers. “Nadine no middle name Rivera! How?”
I’m not sure if the question is rhetorical, but I frown. “Not much for historical stuff.”
She slides off the bed like I’ve killed her, though she doesn’t let go of my hand when she speaks to me from the floor. “We are watching it. Tonight.”
I roll to the edge of the mattress. “How much you wanna bet you fall asleep five minutes into it?”
She shakes her head. “No. No, I won’t. It’s one of my favorite movies ever. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it. Even Erik loves it.”
“Really?” I laugh, though my brother loves anything Molly loves.
“Yeah, come on.” She finally lets go of me to push herself up off the floor, only to take my hand again once I’m standing. “But seriously? I think you’re going to be great for Paisley. And maybe for Camden too.”
I snort. “Doubt it.”
She tosses me a mischievous grin before leading the way down the hall. “You might actually start to like him.”
“Not happening.”
Molly should know me well enough by now; I don’t suffer fools.
Like how I knew she’d fall asleep early. Though, she lasted twenty minutes instead of five.
Me? I was too busy scrolling more videos of a fool to pay attention to the movie.