Chapter 8
It amazes me how quickly my opinion of Jamie is changing. I called him the golden boy. Perfect in every way. And while things I learn about him aren’t necessarily taking away from that persona, I realize he seems to be a genuinely nice person. He doesn’t give off a fuck-boy vibe.
As he peers into the massive cage Jax sent over, he sheepishly grips the back of his neck with a lopsided smile. “I told Jax to get a medium-sized cage.”
“If he thinks this is medium, I’m afraid of what he thinks is large,” I comment.
Jamie whips out his phone. “I have a picture of his pig setup. It’s pretty elaborate. I guess I should have been more specific.”
He scrolls for a moment, then turns his phone toward me. I gasp when I see the wall of cages, tunnels, and enclosed staircases that eclipse an entire wall. “So I guess this is a medium-sized cage.”
“When I saw the charge, I vaguely thought about asking him for clarification. In today’s economy, you never know how expensive things are, and clearly I’ve never bought a critter cage before. So I didn’t ask.”
“Wait a minute. You bought this?” I stare at him, mouth agape in shock.
“Uh, yeah. I did.”
“He told me he had one lying around.”
“I told him I’d cover whatever you needed. Evidently, he felt he could stretch the truth a little.”
“I should reimburse you,” I say hastily, pulling my phone from my pocket. “I can send you some money.”
“It’s not necessary. I like helping out, and being able to give a home for a box of guinea pigs is a reward in itself.”
“Tell me how much I owe you.”
“No.”
“Jamie!”
“I don’t want your money, Audrey. I have an entire charity devoted to helping animals in need. Now I’ve helped five of the smallest animals,” he says with a shrug.
I shake my head, going to Google. “No. I don’t like that. I’m at least going to donate to your charity then. I’m sure I can find the cost of this hutch — one thousand dollars? Why the heck is this so expensive?”
“Jax has expensive taste, and he very much loves to spend his money on the people around him. You should see how many shoes and cowboy hats he has.”
I look up at Jamie. “That’s just the cost of the cage. A huge box of supplies showed up too.”
“I know, Aud. I paid for that as well,” he says with a hint of a smile. Oh boy. Why did my heart just jump when he shortened my name?
“I don’t feel comfortable taking all of this. It feels odd, and I don’t like it.”
His gaze is intense as he studies me. “Can you elaborate?”
“I —” I close my eyes, struggling to find the words.
I’m not sure how to express that my family’s money has changed how I view relationships, both on a personal and professional level.
“My family has money. It’s impacted every relationship I’ve had my entire life, even just friendships.
I don’t like feeling as if power has shifted. I don’t want this held over my head.”
I wait for Jamie to reply, nervously tapping my fingers to my thighs.
“Have you experienced someone holding a similar situation over your head?” he asks quietly.
I sigh. “Not exactly the same, but yes. And my parents always bring up money. ‘You have to do this, because we donated to this charity, Audrey.’ Or ‘why did we bother to pay for your undergrad if you won’t even do such-and-such, Audrey?’ I don’t like feeling beneath someone because of money.”
“I can understand that. I guess I feel something pretty similar. I hate it when I realize someone is taking advantage of me because of my money. Pretty hard to determine who truly wants to know me for me, and who wants access to my bank account.”
I open my eyes to see Jamie staring into the distance, his blue eyes stormy. “You must get that a lot.”
“I used to. My first few years in the league really toughened me up. It was trial-by-fire figuring out who I wanted in my circle. Every year it feels like it gets a little smaller.”
As I’m about to ask more questions, Jamie’s stomach quite audibly growls, making us both laugh. “Is that a sign you can eat now?”
“I’d say so. Where’s your dog? I want to meet Flash.”
“I’ll grab her and meet you in the kitchen.”
Two hours later, after a quick introduction and a great meal, Jamie and I settle onto my couch to discuss the event.
Flash is on her favorite dog bed, completely passed out courtesy of some intense pain medication.
Jamie asked a lot of questions about Flash’s wheelchair, and seemed genuinely interested in her recovery, as well as her chance at regaining feeling and function in her hind legs.
Ready to get down to business, I pull out my favorite notebook and pen. Yes, I have favorites, and no, I won’t share them.
“Every year, we’ve chosen the name of the event depending on the overall theme.
Since last year was a black tie gala, it was Tails and Tuxedos.
The year before that was a silent auction, and we titled the event Paws and Proceeds.
With this year being a win-a-date, I’m really drawing a blank on what to call it,” Jamie explains.
Excuse me? “Did you just say win-a-date?”
“Oh, shit. I forgot to explain that. Yeah, the board decided it’ll be a bachelor auction. They plan on having each guy feature an adoptable pet, and while they definitely want the pets to be adopted, the main draw will be the men.”
“How many men?” I ask.
“A minimum of twelve, but they’d like twenty-four.”
“That’s a random number,” I muse.
Jamie scratches his neck. I’m beginning to recognize he reaches for his neck when he gets uncomfortable. “There may have been talks of a calendar, so I assume they’ll want bachelors in units of twelve.”
“How do they intend to pick bachelors?”
“They’re asking all the major sports teams in town, plus some local influencers, content creators, and some guys who are pretty well-known. The shortlist I saw included a few realtors, a CEO of a bank, and a couple chefs. It’s a random group for the most part.”
Before I can think otherwise, I blurt out, “Will you be auctioned off?”
Jamie’s eyes widen comically. “What? No! I told them no. That’s how I’ve ended up as the MC.”
“Oh, okay. I didn’t know that you’re in a relationship.”
“I’m not. I don’t want to be in the auction regardless.”
“Why not?” I ask, thoroughly confused. The man is gorgeous, he’s an NFL quarterback, and he’d no doubt get the most donations. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“I don’t want to be the center of attention.”
“Aren’t you the focus whenever you’re on the football field?” I ask.
“I know. It sounds ridiculous. I get it. But I’ve spent my entire life learning how to be on the field.
I know exactly what I’m supposed to do, and I’m surrounded by a bunch of guys who will protect me at all costs.
You slap me on a stage in front of a thousand strangers, where I’m supposed to strut around?
And then some random person wins, getting access to me?
Absolutely not. I’m incredibly careful about who I let into my private life. ”
“I figure if you were in it, you’d get the most money. But I don’t know who else is attending. Do men actually like doing this kind of thing?” I wonder aloud.
Jamie shrugs. “I assume some do. Jax would have been fine with it before he met Becca. Occasionally a coach will participate, but I don’t think my coach will. He’s kind of a stick-in-the-mud. One of the wide receivers on my team is doing it, and my center is as well.”
“Oh, the center will get a lot of attention.”
“You think so?”
I nod. “He’s extroverted and has a dad bod. My best friend explained how similar he is to Jason Kelce. Same position and all.”
Jamie chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t wait to tell him that. He’ll hate it. He’s from Cleveland, and knew the Kelce brothers growing up. He never played against Jason, but did play against Travis right before Travis graduated.”
“How odd it must be to still hate someone after all these years,” I comment.
“Oh, he doesn’t hate Kelce. It grates on his nerves to constantly be compared. I get it all the time with Tom Brady. It’s exhausting feeling like you have to live up to the best that ever played your position.”
I’m silent for a moment, thinking about my high school days.
I mostly kept to myself. Sure, there were some individuals who were more likely to harass and bully me those years, but I didn’t hate them.
But I certainly haven’t been compared to them as an adult.
I was, however, almost always compared to my sister.
It never mattered that I was smarter, worked harder, and got way better grades.
All my parents ever cared about was connections.
Paige married into another wealthy Denver family, thus making her so much better than me in my parents eyes.
“What about calling the event ‘The Paw-suit of Love?’” Jamie asks suddenly, jolting me from my trip down memory lane.
“Paw-suit? I bet people think it’s a misspelling.”
Jamie frowns, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“There are so many neat names I’m thinking of that my teammates will completely destroy.
I can’t use anything with the word ‘ball’ or ‘balls’ in the title.
I thought using the word ‘collar’ could be neat, but then at least one guy will comment about BDSM, so that’s out. ”
“What about just calling it ‘The Perfect Catch?’ I ask. “It implies finding a romantic love interest, but also a play-on-words with a game of fetch. I don’t think there are any euphemisms your childish adult teammates could run with.”
“For the most part, they’re incredibly professional and respectful. But the locker room talk can get a little out of control.”
“That would make me so uncomfortable,” I confess. When Jamie’s eyebrow lifts, his blue eyes locked on mine, I continue. “I think there’s a time and place for discussions like that. At work isn’t where I’d choose to chat about BDSM.”
A hint of a smile ghosts across Jamie’s face. “I don’t think there are many places where I’d feel comfortable talking about that.”
Oh, thank God. For a moment, I worried I’d stepped in a metaphorical landmine. “Let’s move on.”
Jamie’s breath whooshes from his lungs. “Good call. So we’ll call the event ‘The Perfect Catch,’ and add a subtitle about it benefiting the charity.”
“Sounds good. What else do we need to do?” I ask.
Jamie pulls out his phone, opening his notes app.
“The board already approved the location, but they’d like us to finalize a menu.
A DJ has signed on, waiving his normal fee if we allow him to leave flyers and business cards around the room, and the board agreed.
They have asked us to look through a long list of songs the DJ typically plays at events and veto some of the ones our more esteemed guests may disapprove of. ”
“So anything with foul language or raunchy lyrics? I guess no BDSM talk then,” I joke.
“Such a shame. I fully intended to offer up collars to each winning woman.”
“How have I never noticed a woman wearing a collar in public? If they’re so popular, why don’t I notice any?” Before I have time to feel embarrassment at my innocent question, Jamie answers.
“A guy I went to college with was big on the BDSM scene, and he collared his college girlfriend. I couldn’t get it out of my head, so I did some research.
I don’t know about you, but once a topic gets imbedded in my brain, it’s incredibly hard for me to move past it without some kind of closure or redirection. ”
Wow. He’s pretty much describing me. “I’m the same way. I suddenly remembered a vacation to New England years ago, where I had the best clam chowder of my life. I couldn’t sleep because I didn’t know the recipe. I stayed up all night trying to find it.”
“Did you find it?”
I shake my head. “Not the exact one, but I found a good substitute. I always make it on the first snow of the year.”
“I bet it was good.”
“It was. I’ll send you the recipe, if you want it.”
“I’m actually allergic to shellfish, but thank you for the thought.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah. Typically my reactions aren’t too bad, but I have an EpiPen just in case.”
“I’m so sorry. You’ve accidentally ingested some seafood?
That’s awful.” Without thinking, I reach over to rest my hand on his forearm.
The movement stuns me, and my eyes drop to stare at where my hand meets his skin.
While I’m not averse to physical touch, I never make the first move.
I don’t reach out to hold a man’s hand, or initiate a hug.
I’ve never leaned in to kiss someone, and I’ve certainly never felt sparks just by touching a forearm.
Until today.
By Jamie’s quick intake of breath, I wonder if he’s as shocked as I am. I quickly glance up, finding his gaze locked on my hand as well. Did he feel the sparks too?
But then the anxious side of my brain takes root.
Maybe he wants to recoil. Or throw up again.
What if I truly offended him? Perhaps I invaded his personal bubble, and I should apologize.
Would this be considered flirting? When is physical touch okay in a neutral setting?
While we are alone, this isn’t a date, and I’m not touching anything that could be called an erogenous zone.
Reading social cues has always been a challenge for me, no matter what I do.
And then Jamie’s hand covers mine, and it’s like a million bees are buzzing against my skin. His eyes are intense as he watches me. “Thank you, Audrey.”
He shifts slightly, lessening the distance between us, and for a euphoric moment, I wonder if he’s leaning in to kiss me. His eyes dart down to my lips, and butterflies erupt in my stomach.
We both jump when Jamie’s phone rings. “Shit. It’s my coach. I need to take this.”
“Of course,” I reply, watching as he stands from the couch, quickly striding across the room to exit my townhouse. Flash whimpers in her sleep, then sighs loudly. I feel the same way, girl.