90’s, Nostalgia & Moscow Mules
Chapter twelve
Eslin
His daughter.
I work with—for—Grant’s daughter.
It’s honestly one of the most hilarious and inconvenient things I’ve ever had to deal with. And keep in mind, I once had to share a bunkbed with my foster sister’s pet lizard, so that’s saying a lot.
Why does my love life insist on getting this complicated the moment I finally feel like I’m starting to get my footing?
I’ve got the dream job. The dream apartment.
My social calendar is slowly filling up with brunches and happy hours where I’m rubbing elbows with the rich Black folks my mama used to whisper about like they were royalty.
I should be coasting. Floating. Thriving.
Instead, I feel like I’m back in middle school trying not to say or do anything that might get me sent to the principal’s office. Only now the “principal” is my boss’s father. The man who, with one look, is able to pull me apart without touching me.
And what’s worse? I care.
I’ve never been the woman who lost sleep over what someone thought of me. Not in school. Not in foster care. Not in my career. But somehow, all of a sudden, I want him to know he was right about me. About the woman he saw that night. The woman who captivated him for one perfect evening.
When we left things in Vegas, it felt romantic. This mysterious, suspended moment in time—two strangers who shared the kind of night you carry with you forever. It was everything I promised him it would be at the start of the evening.
Now that we’re two people in the same city, breathing the same air, working in the same orbit, I keep catching myself wanting to preserve that mystery.
To let him hold on to that version of me.
The version he fell for. The one he said he was ready to upend his life for.
Even though, seeing him now, seeing the choice he’s made—I know those words weren’t entirely true.
They were beautiful in the moment. But like most beautiful things in Vegas, they were built for the night, not the daylight.
It’s Friday, and usually I only schedule one appointment since I reserve the day to catch up on paperwork, reports, and general housekeeping for the team. But Luca needed an emergency session and I needed the distraction. Anything to keep my mind off of Grant Mills.
So, I opened up a spot.
One hour. One crisis.
One temporary escape from the man who still lives rent-free in my head.
“What’s going on with you, Luca? You seem off.”
His eyes dart around, won’t settle, and his breathing’s uneven. He looks like a spring ready to snap.
“I saw her.”
“Saw who?”
“The girl!” he bursts out, voice sharp with frustration. “The one that’s been messing with my head and throwing me off my game!”
I sit up a little straighter. “Luca, that’s great! You said you couldn’t find her. That you had to find her, right?”
“No. You don’t get it. It couldn’t have been her. I was hallucinating or something.”
“Okay…” I say carefully, keeping my voice steady while trying to figure out where the hell he’s going with this. “Luca? Where are you going with this?”
Luca’s been seeing me ever since the emotional regulation issues started.
He’s always talked about this woman who’s been messing with his head, but he’s never quite said how or what exactly she’s done.
There’s always this wall he won’t let me past. And as much as I want to dig, I know forcing the pace would only betray the trust we’ve built.
Just as I’m mentally preparing my next question, my tablet lights up with a text—because of course, my phone syncs everything to the damn screen.
And I read it.
Marlow: “Drinks still on for tonight? :)”
“Shit!”
Luca jumps, eyebrows knitting together. “Coach Saunders?”
Did I say that out loud?
Shit.
“I—I'm sorry, Luca.” I scramble, trying to recover. “I saw a message that startled me. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. My bad. You were saying? About your feelings?”
But meanwhile, my brain has completely derailed because how am I supposed to go have drinks with Marlow like nothing’s happening?
What am I supposed to say? No, sorry! I don’t want to sit across from you while daydreaming about sitting on your daddy’s face... while calling him Daddy?
Double. Shit.
Luca continues, his voice dropping like he’s about to confess to murder. “You see, I feel like it’s a sign. That I should take some time off the game and go find her. I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Finally, I’ve had enough. I lean forward, dropping the clinical calm and slipping straight into my best big sister about to snatch you up voice.
“Okay. Luca. Pause. Right now.” I hold my hand up like a stop sign. “Can you please just start from the beginning and tell me what’s going on? It’s really hard to try to help you when you’re feeding me details like I’m playing a damn game of Clue.”
He lets out a breath like he’s been waiting for me to snap. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.”
“I’m beyond asking, Luca. I’m insisting.”
He grins like this is all so amusing. “I married her.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
I furrow my brow and sit back, trying to make sure my ears are still working. “One more time, please.”
“I was in Vegas,” he starts, “and some guy approached me to play on a modified version of that reality TV show SightUnseen, where—”
“The show where you sit in a pod for a week and get engaged afterward… sight unseen?”
“The very one.”
My brain short-circuits. Oh my God. I actually saw that guy when I was in Vegas. Grant and I literally walked right past him.
“Okay, so you’re telling me you signed up for this show, played it, and married someone?” My voice is calm but my blood pressure is sprinting for its life.
“Yeah.” He says it sheepishly, and his damn British accent makes it almost impossible to stay mad.
“Luca! How have the press not gotten ahold of this information?”
“I used a fake name. And dressed like a pimp to disguise myself when we got married.”
“You’re lying.”
“Not at all.”
“I’m laughing, Luca, but this is the most insane thing I have ever heard in my life.” I rub my temples, because my brain officially hurts. “Who else knows?”
“Just Coach, Will Huntley, Xavier Darcy, and Grant Mills. If I didn’t tell them, I probably would’ve been benched by now. Or traded.”
I frown. “And Marlow Mills? Does she know?”
He shakes his head. “I was advised not to tell Marlow just yet. Not until she gets her head around all the other scandals and we figure out a way out of this mess.”
Great. More secrets.
I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. I blink a few times, trying to gather my words and not sound as dumbfounded as he does flat-out stupid.
“So now, because you think you’ve seen her, you believe it’s some kind of sign to take time off work and go find her?”
“I do, Coach.” His voice is so sincere it almost hurts. “I just don’t think I’m going to be right until I find her.”
“Luca,” I take a deep breath. “Could this also be a manifestation of your fears?”
He frowns, confused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Justice Trager’s retiring sooner than later. His wife’s expecting, and you’re next in line for team captain. On top of that, there are talks of pulling you up for the World Cup to play with England. You step away now, Luca...you could risk everything.”
He pauses. I watch him actually process it. “Shit. I guess you might be onto something.”
I nod, folding my hands in my lap. “Maybe take a little time to really think about it before you make any decisions, okay? Evaluate your fears, your motivations...and your goals.”
“Okay. I can do that.” He nods like a student who’s finally accepted the lesson.
“And besides,” I add, raising a brow, “a marriage where you used your fake name isn’t exactly valid, is it?”
He chuckles, standing to leave, and reaches out to shake my hand. “You should see this woman, Coach. One night and she ruined me for anyone else.”
I know the feeling.
“Just don’t let her ruin your career too, huh?” I say, trying to lighten the moment.
He flashes me a grin and heads out the door, leaving me sitting there alone—mentally spinning as I stare down at the blinking message on my tablet from Marlow.
Now I just have to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of drinks with my boss while trying not to picture her father’s hands on me every time she says his name.
Marlow bursts into my office right as I’m mentally scrambling for a believable excuse to cancel our drinks.
The sad truth is I have absolutely nothing else to do tonight, but somehow “I want to avoid spending time with you because I can’t stop thinking about your father” doesn’t feel like a great option.
“There’s somewhere I want to take you tonight, and I’m not taking no for an answer,” she announces, full of pep and determination.
I hold up a finger, giving her my best serious Black woman stare. “I’m going to insist you tell me before we go. I don’t just go places with white people without full disclosure.”
She bursts out laughing. “Oh my goodness! Eslin, I will never get tired of you saying exactly what’s on your mind.”
I grin but level her with a look. “I’m joking, but I’m also serious! I do not know you like that!”
“That’s exactly why I want us to get drinks,” she says, still giggling. “So you can get to know me and find out that I would never surprise you with anything you’ve seen on Dateline.”
Dateline. Funny. I know your daddy watches that too. Joked about it the night we first met.
“Fine, but I’m still demanding you tell me where you’re dragging me,” I say, shutting down my computer, walking over to my wardrobe closet, and grabbing my purse.
“The Sanctuary,” she beams.
I blink. “Come again? Church?”
“No!” She’s laughing so hard now she’s practically wheezing. “It’s a lounge in the city! I heard it’s 90’s night!”
“You mean Sanctuary, no ‘The.’”
“Yes! That’s it. Have you been there?”
“I’ve heard about it, but no, not yet.” I cross my arms, stepping back on my heel, studying her suspiciously. “Are you taking me there because I’m Black and that’s the only Black establishment you know?”