Chapter 5
Shit.
Dr. A is a woman? And an absolutely gorgeous one at that? I’m truly screwed.
I saw her when I stepped in. We didn’t make eye contact, but I definitely looked.
Gorgeous dark brown locks, and a smattering of tattoos on her arms. Hair up in a thick bun, I wonder how long it is, and how it would feel wrapped around my fist. But most of all, I notice her curves.
Good God, I want to drag my tongue along every breathtaking inch of her.
It’s pretty rare for me to have such a visceral reaction to someone the instant I see them. I’ve always been more attracted to personality than looks, so I’m perplexed at my reaction here.
There was a time when I allowed my agent to find me women who could accompany me to big events.
Early on in my career, after really bad advice from an assistant coach from a previous team.
I was drafted to play in Nashville, and signed a four-year deal there, but it wasn’t a good fit.
The coaching staff disregarded my neurodiversity completely, instead choosing to tell me to “man up” whenever I had challenges.
Needless to say, I was thrilled when a trade to Denver was offered, and I’ve been happily playing here since.
My agent quickly realized hiring out arm candy was an even worse idea than me attending an event solo, as it made me so uncomfortable and awkward that the women typically snuck out at one point or another.
There was a five-year period where gossip rags were convinced I was in the closet, due to my lack of high-profile dates.
Not gay. Just hopeless, somewhat off-the-wall, and most definitely one hell of an unorthodox NFL quarterback.
Now I have to approach a woman. One that I find profoundly attractive.
A woman I’ll need to work somewhat closely with over the next few months and try not to frighten her away with my idiosyncrasies.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly rise from my table, the chair legs squeaking loudly as they scratch along the tile flooring.
I see multiple people in the restaurant glance at me out of my periphery, and I wince.
I’m trained to handle attention on the gridiron, and even with reporters before and after the game.
But this kind of situation makes me feel like I’m naked on stage at a middle school band performance, and my balls haven’t dropped yet.
Turning to walk behind me, I take a chance by looking through my lashes at Dr. A.
Assuming I’ll find an expression of realization, or excitement at the prospect of working closely with a professional athlete, I’m surprised to find what I can only describe as complete terror on her face. Well, that’s new.
“Uh, hi. Sorry I made the presumption you were a man,” I say sheepishly. “Is it okay if I join y —”
“Your name isn’t James!” she shouts, the sound reverberating off the walls. “It isn’t even Jamie! What kind of game are you playing?”
Her voice has risen comically, her eyes so wide I imagine they might completely pop out of their sockets like in old cartoons.
Instead of waiting for her to motion that I can join her, I slam down into the chair across from her, leaning over the table.
“Look. I’ll explain if you agree to listen, but I’m going to need you to lower your voice a little. Alright?”
She shakes her head frantically. “I knew this was your charity. I knew it! What’s with all the damn secrecy? And a fake name and email account? Does the board know you’re doing this?”
“Of course they know … wait.” I stare at her incredulously. “How did you know it’s my charity?”
“You mentioned the charity in an interview once, and I’ve seen you at different events. I put two-and-two together,” she whispers, her eyes darting around like she’s giving out state secrets, and she’s worried who might be listening. Well, part of that is correct.
“Y — you know who I am?” I ask uncertainly, my voice cracking.
She nods. “I do.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Audrey.”
Oh. “The A is for Audrey.”
Audrey blushes as she twists her hands together. “It’s the name I put out there for anything that involves me going into the community. I’m a really private person, and usually once people find out my last name, there are … questions.”
Now I’m intrigued. “That I completely understand. I won’t ask any questions if you don’t ask me anything.”
“Do you get asked a lot of questions by people you barely know?”
I laugh with a huff of breath. “Oh yeah. People have no shame, asking me the weirdest shit.”
Audrey cocks her head to the side. “Is it wrong of me to wonder what the most outlandish and off-the-wall question you’ve ever gotten is?”
I can’t help the smile that covers my face. “Typically it’s whenever a kid interviews me. They’ll ask questions like making me choose between uncooked Ramen noodles and a charred marshmallow, or ask me the last time I cried in a movie theater.”
“I’ll need answers to both.”
“Charred marshmallow and I believe I told the kid I’ve never cried in a movie theater. But I’m pretty sure I cried at the end of Marley and Me.”
Audrey gasps. “Anyone who didn’t is a heathen! Now tell me the weirdest question an adult has asked you.”
Tapping my chin I think for a moment. Probably eighty-five to ninety percent of questions reporters ask me are about football or dating.
A reporter down in Colorado Springs routinely asks me random things about my childhood, though.
“One guy asked me what my favorite subject was in elementary school, then wanted to know if I remembered what grade I got in it.”
“What subject?” Audrey asks.
“Science.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I like cause and effect. Manipulating one variable can change an entire experiment. I think that’s pretty cool. It’s messy, though. I’m not a big fan of mess.”
Audrey nods in agreement, her eyes sparkling beautifully. “There’s a time and a place for messiness. I don’t like getting different textures on my skin, so I have boxes of surgical gloves everywhere. It makes dealing with messes slightly less traumatic.”
Fucking hell, I think I just fell in love with her a little bit. “Alright, now it’s your turn. You don’t have to tell me your name, but give me one unhinged question you’ve been asked.”
I watch as her eyes dull slightly. “A new client asked why I was a veterinarian when I could just marry a friend of my father’s.”
My mouth drops open. “Jesus. Was the client male or female?”
Her nose scrunches up. “A woman.”
“That makes sense. I suppose a man would probably proposition you, or ask if he had a chance, whereas a woman will see you as competition.”
Audrey harrumphs. “This is why I don’t understand women. Why see me as competition? Why aren’t we building each other up, and celebrating our successes?”
I shrug. “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t understand women either.”
Audrey rolls her eyes. “Please. An NFL quarterback? Women are beating down your door. You don’t have to understand us because you have a line waiting to get their shot with you.”
“Not true,” I murmur, my eyes dropping to study the swirls of colors on the table. I love how colorful The Red Llama is. Except for the bathrooms. Red bathrooms actually weird me out.
“You don’t have a line of women?” Audrey asks.
I shrug again. “Maybe. But once they get to know me, truly know me, they’re not interested.”
I expect a look of sympathy, or even a somewhat fake answer about how she’d never do that to me.
Instead, Audrey surprises me again. “I totally get that. I have that issue too. It’s even worse with friendships because a lot of time, they’ll be so excited about our bond, and then they suddenly rip it away. It’s like friendship love bombing.”
Stunned, I stare at her incredulously. Who the hell is this woman? “I’ve never heard of love bombing.”
“A friend has experienced it. I haven’t.” She snorts. “No one would ever love bomb me. But it’s basically where someone showers you with gifts, words of affirmation, and anything else that makes you believe you’ve found the one.”
“Fascinating,” I murmur. “Why don’t you think anyone would love bomb you?”
“Oh,” she replies with a nervous giggle. “I’m too analytical. I have questions. Why all the gifts? Where are they coming from? Did you do something you feel the need to apologize for? Are you trying to buy affection, or cover up something dastardly?”
“Dastardly is such an underused word,” I muse, tapping my forefinger to my chin. “I love using old words that need to be revived again.”
“I have a word-a-day calendar. Two, actually. One at home and one at work,” Audrey says shyly.
“Nice! What were today’s words?” I ask.
“Jovial, which means good-humored, and fugacious, which means lasting a short time.”
“Huh. I’d never be called jovial.”
“Me neither. My best friend told me I’d be the grump in one of the romance books she reads,” Audrey tells me.
“There are romance books specifically about grumps?”
She nods. “Evidently, there’s an entire category about grumps falling for jovial people. I don’t read many romance books, so I’m taking her word for it.”
“So basically, it’s an opposites attract scenario.”
“I guess. She tries to get me to read some, but it’s not my cup of tea.”
“Why not?” I ask.
Audrey sighs, her eyes drifting off to look over my left shoulder. “Because I’m a realist, probably to a fault. Romance books aren’t realistic. The men are over-the-top. I prefer to keep my feet on the ground instead of living in the clouds.”
“I can understand that,” I tell her with an emphatic nod. “I’d say I’m also a realist, but anyone who knows me would probably say I’m a pessimist.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I can see a tentative layer of trust simmering in her gorgeous hazel eyes. It makes me wonder if certain colors bring out the green tones, and when she gets excited, if the speckles of gold I see might shine a little brighter. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. I understand. I’m pretty calculated in everything I do.
A lot of football is a game of numbers. Plays.
Go where you’re supposed to go. Don’t overthink things, and don’t deviate from the plan.
Granted, there are tons of times I make split-second decisions on the field, but the foundation of football is pretty black and white. ”
Audrey clears her throat. “Speaking of black and white, that was the color palette for last year’s gala. I don’t recall seeing you there.”
I scratch the back of my neck sheepishly as I feel heat creep onto my cheeks. “I, uh, try to keep a low profile. A black tie gala isn’t a good fit for me.”
“I don’t understand. Why found a charity if you don’t want to show your face?” Audrey asks quietly.
“Because I want people to donate because they’re good people, not because they want to get near me. This is about the animals, not the quarterback.”
“When did you establish the charity?” she asks.
“Ten years ago, but it’s been on my mind since I was a kid.”
Audrey hums, and I wait for the inevitable question. Why? Why did I want to have a charity for animals? I don’t want to get into that, and I see the moment Audrey realizes it. “You don’t want to tell me why. And that’s absolutely your right.”
“Seriously?” I blurt out.
She giggles as she nods. “It’s perfectly acceptable to establish boundaries, Jameson. People aren’t entitled to every piece of you.”
“Thank you. Most people don’t understand that. They seem to think since they cheer for me on the field, they’re entitled to all the details about me off the field too.”
Audrey shudders. “I could never. I’m way too private. I live over thirty minutes away from my clinic just to ensure I don’t run into clients anywhere. I can’t even imagine what you must go through.”
“Unfortunately, I’m used to it now. But I’ve learned how to deal with it. Can’t say I’m sad about how much can be delivered nowadays, but I also have an assistant who does a lot for me to guarantee I’m not in a compromising position in public.”
“Compromising position?”
I nod. “Believe it or not, I’ve been surrounded in a grocery store. Right up against the meat counter. And before you ask, no. They weren’t asking for autographs. They were all pissed at a shitty pass I’d thrown the prior weekend that was a pick-six, and that knocked us out of playoff contention.”
“Oh, that was five years ago. I remember that game. Baltimore, right?”
“Uh, yeah. It was Baltimore.”
Audrey’s lips twitch. “It was indeed a shitty pass.”
I throw back my head with a bark of laughter. “It was.”