Chapter Four
Flynn
Hollie is scary over the phone, but it’s nothing compared to when she asks—no, demands—that we meet in person. The text came in this morning.
Hollie and her fucking periods. When I was a rookie, fresh out of college and the draft, Hollie’s periods in her texts and emails sent me through a tailspin.
She’s younger than me, she’s five-foot, and when I met her in the office for the first time, she seemed sweet.
Then, I signed with her. The sweetness disappeared, and she’s been busting my balls ever since.
Every time I get a text from the woman, it is in short, sharp sentences and full of periods.
She always sounds mad. She normally is. My teammates once caught the tail end of one of her infamous lectures, and they visibly recoiled as she walked past them.
Mind you, she’s gotten me some of the best advertising deals in the business, and I’m one of the highest-paid tight ends in the league, so whatever she does, it works.
Still, a summons text is never good.
At least I know Scott got the same text, and he’s done nothing wrong.
“I can’t believe I’m getting roped into this shit with you. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Scott tugs his cap further down his face. “Why is this place so busy for a fucking Monday anyway?”
“Monday night football, idiot,” I say.
“We’re not even playing,” he grumbles back. He glances over his shoulder at the door.
“Sports fans. They’ll watch anything.” Scott peers over his shoulder again, and I smirk. “You saw her this morning. In fact, you’ve been with her all weekend, bar the few hours you had to do your job on Sunday afternoon.”
“She’s going to be my wife. I’m allowed.”
“You’re obsessed.”
“Fine, I’m obsessed.” Scott shrugs and takes a sip of the beer in front of him. I’ve got to give it to Ivy because ever since she came into the picture, Scott has completely relaxed. Football used to be his sole focus. He didn’t date, he didn’t go out, he barely even liked bonding with the team.
Then Scott met Ivy. She caught his eye, and now he can’t take them off her.
Like, ever.
“You going to say hi to Doug?” I ask, my eyes scanning the bar and its patrons.
Scott’s right, it is busy here today. With the NFL, the NHL, and the NBA seasons in full swing, the bar only gets busier and busier the closer the leagues get to their playoffs.
This bar is only really ever quiet in the summer, and even then, they always have their regulars.
“Nah, but Ivy will likely drag me over later, after she gets here.”
I grunt in response, my eyes snagging on the blonde standing by the service window into the kitchen.
Katie leans in through the gap, arguing with one of the chefs.
Her jeans stretch deliciously over her round ass, and her shirt is coming untucked the further she leans over.
Her hair is loose and in curls. There’s a small sliver of exposed skin on her lower back, and my mouth goes dry.
Jesus Christ.
You’d think I’d just gotten a glimpse of her fucking tits, the way I’m acting.
Scott makes a sudden movement, jumping up from his side of the booth, and it draws my attention away.
He drops his cap to the table, and my eyes follow him as he walks towards the front door of the bar.
Ivy is shaking out her coat, a little wet from the light drizzle outside.
He takes her bag and leans down, catching her with a kiss hello.
My stomach twists with something foreign, and I tear my gaze away.
Right back to Katie.
She’s watching the pair too, with soft features and what I can tell, even from across the room, is a sad expression.
I saw the same one on her face many times in Italy.
Scott would do anything remotely romantic, and Katie would have this look in her eye as she stared at them.
It wasn’t jealousy or annoyance. It was longing.
Longing for something she wanted so badly for herself but had never experienced.
I hate her ex for that look.
For a minute there in Italy, I was the one to make that look disappear. For a minute, I thought maybe I could keep that look from ever crossing her face.
But no, I fucked that up too, somehow.
Scott steers Ivy back to the booth and slides in, her hand in his, tugging her to sit down with him.
“Hang on, let me just go say hi to Katie.” Ivy pulls her hand out of Scott’s, and the gesture makes him scowl. I can’t help my laughter.
“Careful, Ivy. He’s been on edge all day without his fix of you.”
“Shut up, Reed.”
Ivy just laughs, kisses her boyfriend, and then skips off to the bar where Katie is now waiting for her. The girls hug, and I watch as Ivy twirls a piece of Katie’s long hair around her finger. I scowl, jealousy coursing through me. I want to twirl her hair around my finger.
“What’s up with you?” Scott asks, and my attention shifts back to him.
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“You ever figure your shit out with Katie? Find out why she hates you?”
“No,” I grumble, sinking into my seat. I haven’t told Scott just how far Katie and I went.
I have no idea how much Katie told Ivy, either.
My guess is that they know something went down, but not the full extent.
Scott became protective over Katie after the breakup with Grant.
Like he took on the big brother role in her life without her asking.
“I think she’s still hurting after Grant. Or, at least, that’s what Ivy thinks.” He takes another sip of his beer, still half full, while my glass is empty. “I guess she probably hates all men at the moment.”
I only hum in response, my eyes flickering over to the girls again, sliding the empty pint glass on the table between my fingers. I’m about to get up and head for the bar, order another drink, and see if today is the day Katie may spare me a glance, when the door opens again.
Hollie is here.
“Goddamn, why does she always look angry?” I mumble under my breath as she makes her way over to us.
Scott turns his head and lifts a hand in greeting. “Because she is angry. With you.”
“Boys.” Hollie places her designer bag on the table and slides into the booth next to Scott, across from me. Her brown hair is tinted red, up in a slicked ponytail, and her fingers are covered in rings.
“I’m twenty-nine, Hollie. Stop calling me a boy,” I say, annoyed. I can’t help the way my gaze flickers to Katie, praying she wasn’t in earshot of that.
“When you fuck up the way you fucked up, you’re a boy,” she snaps. I press my lips together and hold a reply. It doesn’t do anyone any good to argue with this woman.
“I just came from a meeting across the road.” She pulls out an iPad and unlocks it. Across the screen, I can see a page full of detailed notes. I gulp.
“And?” I ask, glancing at Scott, who just shrugs and takes another sip of his beer.
“Good news first,” she says, scrolling down the page. “Scott, they want to make the captaincy official, so I will be doing a series of collaborative posts on your account this week. I need you to do a photoshoot tomorrow—”
“But I have to—”
“Whatever part of your house you’re renovating right now can wait. Tomorrow, the stadium, in a gameday suit, ten o’clock. Do not be late, and you will be done within the hour.” Hollie looks at Scott and frowns. “I promise. No longer than an hour.”
“Fine.” He sighs, giving in.
“Good. Now, you.” She points the iPad’s pencil at me. “They are royally pissed. I managed to convince them it was a one-off and you were having a moment. That the guy antagonized you, and you just snapped. You will apologize to the team at Wednesday’s practice and to the coaching staff. Yes?”
“Yes.” I nod.
An apology. Thank god. Since we’d spoken last week, I had been stressing over this whole fake girlfriend thing that Hollie had gotten into her head was a good idea.
It has been on my mind all weekend. It isn’t a good idea.
Not even in the slightest. I urge myself to stay facing forward and not seek out Katie wherever she is in the bar. An apology is easy and much deserved.
“And, I have five candidates for you to look over for your new girlfriend. I’ve gone for brunettes. You still prefer those, don’t you?”
“Something tells me he’s more interested in blondes these days.”
“Shut up, Harvey,” I hiss. “Hollie, no. I said I’m not doing the girlfriend thing.
It’s fucking weird, and while you say that these girls know what they’re getting themselves into, I don’t fucking believe you.
They will get attached, and when I break up with them, they’ll write a tell-all about it. ”
“Oh my god,” Ivy says as she slides into the seat next to me. Scott looks noticeably upset that he’s not closer to her, so to add insult to injury, I stretch my arm across the back of the booth and over Ivy’s shoulder. “You sound more dramatic than Scott.”
“He is being more dramatic. People do this all the time, Flynn.” Hollie locks her iPad and places it on the table again. “You would be so surprised how common this is. Justin and Hailey. Tom and Zendaya. Timothée and Kylie, although they are the real deal now, I believe. It’s common.”
“What the hell are you on about? They are all still together,” I say.
“Yes, well, their fuck ups were bigger than yours,” Hollie responds with a shrug. Her phone buzzes on the table, and she glances at it before sighing and flipping it over.
“I’m not doing it, Hollie.”
“Yes, you are, Flynn.” She slides the iPad across to me, a headshot of a girl illuminated. She’s pretty. Brown hair, brown eyes, cute smile.
“Now, once you pick a girl, I will arrange a meeting with her and her management team, and we can go over a contract. There is normally a non-disclosure put in place, and we set out the terms. How many dates, physical touch guidelines, housing arrangements—”
“Housing arrangements?” Scott asks, curious. I shoot him a glare.