2. Cassandra
I carefully pulledthe diploma off the wall of my sister’s office. Her former office. Daylight glinted off the frame, and I pursed my lips, setting it with the other diplomas in a cardboard box.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I asked for about the millionth time. “Squatting in your apartment for the next couple of months, I mean.”
“Absolutely,” Becca said from underneath the sturdy oak desk, disentangling a bundle of cords. “Cal tried to sweet talk the property manager into letting us break the lease. Since that didn’t work, we’re paying for the next few months, regardless. Besides, the Patriots are putting us up in a furnished apartment. You’re saving us storage fees.”
I wasn’t saving Becca anything. She had her entire life in order: hot boyfriend, amazing job, two apartments. My older sister was a model of success while I rambled around the country, taking odd jobs, and moving from state to state, depending on my mood. Which I loved, but made my family believe that I’d end up in a van under a bridge by my thirties.
What future did a twenty-four-year-old with no degree and no career actually have? Not much of one, at least according to them.
“I’m taking up space, but I appreciate it.”
“We’ll come back for the rest of my stuff before Thanksgiving, so if you plan on staying through the end of the year, you’ll need furniture and a job. I can call a couple of people that I know. I can get you some interviews…” I winced, and she paused. “Isn’t that your plan?”
Bumming around my sister’s former apartment until the lease ran out in a brand-new city seemed like a complete plan with or without furniture. Becca disagreed.
I shrugged. “My plan was to pick up some odd jobs so I can buy groceries and cover the electric bill and hope I have my shit in order by the new year.”
She bit her lip, her exasperation palpable. “Okay. Just, you can call me if you need anything.”
After losing my apartment in Boston, I’d had the “time to grow up chat” with my parents. I didn’t need Becca piling on.
“Other than an apartment?”
“Money, groceries, someone to talk to?”
My eyes misted. My older sister wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type but an apartment, money, conversation? She may as well have wrapped me in a bear hug.
To prevent myself from actually wrapping her in a bear hug, I fought back tears and rolled my eyes.
“Gross. I’m taking this box out to the car before you try to hug me.” I interlocked the flaps of the box I’d filled with physical therapy books, diplomas, and various desk accessories and hefted it up.
“Are you sure you can find your way back to the car?” Becca asked, eyebrows raised.
“Absolutely,” I lied.
The Norwalk Breakers’ training building was a maze. We’d gone down no less than five hallways and taken two elevators before reaching Becca’s office. But I wasn’t about to admit I couldn’t find my way out of there. Sure, I might be a half-formed adult who made the bulk of her money pretending to be a witch in Salem for Halloween, but I could get myself out of a building.
I fled the office before she could stop me, retracing my steps down the hallway and taking more than a few wrong turns. I tried not to gawk at the muscled men working out in the weight room, my eyes flitting around, looking for one muscled man in particular.
He wasn’t there, of course. Even if he was, he wouldn’t remember me. Diego Salazar had met me once five years ago. Sure, we’d made out in a tree house after a night of flirting, but then I told him who my sister was, and we never talked again. Still, I hadn’t shaken the memory of that night or his disappointed look when I told him we couldn’t see each other again.
I made my way outside and easily found Becca’s car on the second level of the parking garage. I loaded the box inside, locking the car behind me.
“Fuck!”
I jumped at the loud roar in the otherwise quiet parking garage. Five cars away, a man kicked the wheel of a Range Rover, raking a hand through his black hair. From behind, I could only make out broad shoulders and height. Distinguishing features in any place besides the staff and player parking garage at the Norwalk Breaker’s training facility.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the man growled as he tilted his head back.
The garage lighting illuminated his profile.
I knew him.
I’d traced that jawline. I’d kissed those lips. I’d had those arms around me.
“That’s a pretty rude way to greet an old friend.” The words escaped before I thought better of them, my feet already carrying me closer to him.
He froze.
A wave of embarrassment washed over me. Of course, he wouldn’t remember me. We shared an evening and a PG-rated make-out session years ago. In between now and then, he’d dated A-list darlings and pop stars. Meanwhile, I’d couch surfed and held a million low-wage, part-time jobs including Santa’s elf, human billboard, and Ren Fair wench. The chances of him matching the hot party girl he’d met in college with the wreck standing before him neared zero.
His dark brown eyes raked down my body appreciatively before resting on my eyes. My cheeks burned, and an unfamiliar twinge of lust that had been missing way too long formed in the pit of my stomach.
“Cassandra?” He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “What are you—why are you?—”
At least he remembered my name.
I grinned. “I’m helping Bec move out of her office.”
He shook his head. “She’s been with the team for two years and you’re only now coming to the stadium.”
“I made a game in New England,” I said, fighting off a blush.
“You didn’t come to Franklin Notch, this summer or last.” The shock fell away from his face, replaced with the confident smile that had infiltrated my dreams over the past five years.
“I was traveling.”
“Or avoiding me?”
“Now, why would I do something like that?” I lied. That was exactly what I’d done. The minute Becca said that Diego was coming to my hometown, I jetted away to a friend in Boston with a second bedroom.
“You look great,” he breathed.
“Thanks.” I shrugged, even though the compliment warmed my entire body. Then again, when a living Apollo said you looked good, it was impossible not to have a reaction. “I heard you’re still posting thirst traps.”
He grinned, soft brown eyes sparkling. “Still stalking me, I see.”
“Absolutely not. You know, it was hard enough to avoid your desperate pics when you were a college player. Now they’re plastered everywhere.”
“And I’m getting paid for them.” Diego winked.
Why did he wink? Did he have any clue what that did to a woman? Of course he did. He had a cocky streak a mile wide, and I couldn’t imagine a first-round draft pick and a successful NFL career as a starting quarterback had tempered that cockiness.
“Lucky you.”
He sighed, his lips tugging up in a wry grin. “So, what are you doing here, Cassandra?”
I’d forgotten how much I liked my name on his lips. I’d been called Cassie since birth and before Diego, people only pulled out Cassandra when I’d gotten in trouble. But Cassandra rolled off Diego’s tongue like honey. Like a warm hug. Like a morning in bed.
“Um...” I tucked my hands in my pockets. “I’m actually moving to Norwalk for a bit. I’m helping Becca pack and then taking over her apartment for the next couple of months.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“And were you going to tell me if we didn’t run into each other?”
“I’m honestly surprised you remember me at all.”
“Of course I remember you.” His voice dropped an octave, eyes fixed on mine.
No wonder his face was plastered on every magazine in the Northern hemisphere. How could you not look into those eyes and feel anything but the center of his world?
Feel.
I stressed the word to myself. Not that Diego had done anything besides provide a fun night of distraction, but I’d read the papers. He was a player. A charming one, sure, but a player.
“I’m flattered. Truly. I’ve made out with the guy who made out with Delaney Grimms, Eve Craft, and Zoey Meyer.” His lips flattened at the last name, and I regretted talking about his most recent ex.
“Yeah. Well, you’re the only one in that group still on speaking terms with me.” He shrugged, but the tension in his shoulders returned. “I’m assuming you already know about the whole Zoey thing?”
“‘Finally free?’” I grimaced. “What was that about?”
“It was directed at your sister. A teammate’s idea of a joke.”
Any other person and I would have assumed the excuse was a flat out lie. But Diego wasn’t a good liar. The mix of shame and embarrassment on his face gave the words a ring of truth.
“Oh,” I sucked my teeth. “Wow. Bad choice of words.”
“My teammate is a moron, and I’m a moron for giving him my phone,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. An “aw shucks” laugh that made me forget that this was Diego Salazar, multi-million dollar NFL quarterback. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes jetting to his car and back to me. “Let me get your number.”
“No offense, Diego.” I scanned the garage, lowering my voice. “According to the press, you’re a real awful boyfriend.”
“No,” he laughed, and I hated myself for feeling disappointed at how easily he dismissed the idea. “I meant to show you around, seeing as you’re new in town. It’s the least I can do for Becca’s little sister.”
I hated how he said that even more. Becca’s little sister. I loved my sister. I didn’t like her shadow.
“Wasn’t I a perfect gentleman the last time we hung out?” He dipped his shoulder, bouncing it off mine with a grin.
“You were something.” Charming. Irresistible. Fun. Too much fun. I couldn’t admit any of that. Not in an empty parking lot to a guy I hadn’t seen anywhere but the TV for over five years. I sighed loudly, pursing my lips as if considering the offer before I said yes. “I guess I could use a tour guide.”