Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Tristan pounded his hand on the metal doorframe as he watched Cree sachet away.
Dammit. The woman was still as mean as a rattlesnake.
At least this time he wasn’t literally running down the street to catch her.
Doing that once a few weeks ago had been enough.
Not only had he run after her, but he had caught her just in time before she pulled away in her car.
Surprisingly, the passenger door had been unlocked, and he had hopped right into the front seat of her SUV.
Tristan still couldn’t believe he’d done that, but he was determined to talk to her after not having seen her in years. However, Cree, being Cree, hadn’t seemed phased. She’d kept driving, giving him the silent treatment in the process.
Most people would’ve pulled over and told him to get out. Not her. Instead, she drove to her office. Once there, she pulled into a parking spot and then told him to get the hell out. Not only that, but she’d also told him that if he came near her again, she’d file a restraining order against him.
“Excuse me,” a man, who was standing outside the coffee shop, said and jarred Tristan out of his thoughts. The guy frowned and pointed at him. “Aren’t you Tristan Whitmore?”
Suddenly not in the mood for fans, autographs, or anything else for that matter, Tristan stepped back into the building and turned abruptly. Unfortunately, when he did, he slammed into a woman, and her iced coffee landed on his chest and dripped down the front of his body.
He leaped back. “Oh, shit.” The coldness from the ice sent a violent shiver through his body, and he sucked in a breath. Her cup had landed on the floor while the front of his clothes was completely covered with her iced coffee.
“Oh, no!” the woman cried. “I’m so sorry.”
She used the napkins in her hands and feverishly wiped at the wet spots on his shirt, but when her hand absently went lower, he jerked away while gently grabbing her wrist.
“I got it,” he ground out and watched as her face turned beet red. He felt like a jerk and took some of the bite out of his tone when he added, “Thanks anyway.”
She covered her face with her hands. “God, I’m so embarrassed,” she said, then lowered her hands. “I feel awful, but I couldn’t get out of the way because you turned too quickly. I’ll take care of your dry cleaning if you want. I’m really sorry.”
“No, this is all on me,” Tristan said. “Literally,” he added and chuckled. “Let me replace your drink for you.”
“Thank you, but instead of the drink, can I have your autograph for my boyfriend? He’s a huge fan, and then you and I can call it even.”
“That works too,” Tristan said as the woman pulled a notepad and pen from her purse and handed it to him.
She flashed a grateful smile. “My boyfriend’s name is Stanley.”
Tristan hurried to scribble a quick message and signed his name. He handed back the notebook.
“Sorry about your coffee,” he said, trying to act cool despite his beige dress shirt having a big wet spot on it and his brown pants sticking to him.
“It’s okay. I’ve been trying to cut back on caffeine anyway. I just hate that your clothes are ruined,” she said, and again, he assured her that it was okay.
Once she left, and one of the servers started cleaning up the mess on the floor, Tristan was stopped by another woman.
“Essence, it’s been too long,” he said and gave her a side hug while she kissed his cheek.
She smiled at him and said, “It’s always good seeing you, Tristan, and I’m glad you’re up and moving around. As for Cree,” she nodded her head toward the door that Cree had left through, “don’t give up on her. You know how stubborn she is, but I think you two should talk.”
She backed toward the door as he nodded.
“I agree, and we will.”
“Great and good luck,” she tossed over her shoulder before leaving the building.
When he turned around, his brother, Quincy, was there.
“Are you done messing around?” Quincy asked with a wicked grin on his face.
Tristan was three years younger, but anyone could tell they were related despite their physical differences.
Both had the same skin tone with a similar eye color and stood at 6’3 with broad shoulders, but that’s where their similarities stopped.
Tristan was more muscular thanks to his rigorous workouts while playing football.
He also was clean-shaven and dressed more casually, while Quincy had a full beard and could almost always be found wearing a suit.
“You haven’t been here five minutes, yet you’ve managed to ruin the day of two women,” his brother cracked. “Cree looked as if she could murder you, and that other woman has to go without her afternoon coffee. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Man, shut up,” Tristan grumbled.
Laughing, Quincy held up a container that held two drinks, and in the other hand was a paper bag. “I ordered for you, and Jamal saved us a table. Are you staying or going home? You look like a wet dog.”
Tristan ignored his brother’s taunt. Yes, he looked a mess, but he didn’t have time to run home and then come back. Since he’d been the one to ask to meet up, it would be rude to bail on them.
“Nah, I’ll hang out,” he said.
Once he went home and changed, he planned to pay Cree a visit at work. She couldn’t get rid of him that easily. They were going to talk, and they were going to talk today. He wasn’t taking no for an answer no matter how much she threatened him.
Tristan unbuttoned his shirt, glad he had a T-shirt beneath it. Granted, the T-shirt was wet, but it was darker in color and didn’t look as bad.
As he followed Quincy to the dining area, a couple of people stopped him for an autograph.
He had to admit these days that the requests were a nice boost to his ego.
Months ago, he had learned the injury he had sustained during a football game shortly before Christmas was career-ending.
He’d been devastated. Playing in the NFL had been a dream come true, and he thought when he retired, it would be by choice.
Instead, he’d been forced to retire because despite his incredible recovery, he was no longer able to play at the same professional level.
“Man, you sure know how to make an entrance,” his best friend, Jamal, said when they joined him at the table.
“I guess some things never change,” Quincy added.
“Even as a kid, Tristan wanted to be the center of attention. I thought for sure when he moved back here from Philly that he’d be leaving his fans behind.
Apparently not. Chicago still loves him even though he abandoned them to go and play for another team. ”
It was true. Tristan had only played for Chicago during his first season in the NFL, but then Philly made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. For years, he lived his dream, even though it hadn’t been for the home team. He had hoped to one day play for Chicago again, but Philly had been good to him.
Now that he was no longer in the league, and had moved back to Chicago, he hadn’t known what type of reception he’d receive. But if he was honest, there was only one person whose opinion he cared about right now, and she wanted nothing to do with him.
As they talked and drank their coffees, Tristan couldn’t help but think about his interaction with Cree. It had been years since they’d had their disagreement, and clearly, she wasn’t over it. How the hell was he going to make things right with her if she wouldn’t even give him the time of day?
“I didn’t know Cree could get any more beautiful,” Jamal said. “I almost didn’t recognize her, and that sexy ass haircut only enhances her beauty.”
“Yeah, that was the only difference because that slamming body of hers was still as—”
“I suggest you shut up now if you want to keep your teeth,” Tristan growled.
Quincy chuckled. “Touchy, touchy.”
Tristan knew his brother was trying to get a rise out of him, but still, he didn’t like men noticing Cree’s body.
Especially since her sexy hourglass figure could be distracting enough to make a man walk into oncoming traffic without realizing it.
That definitely hadn’t changed. Add her sassy haircut, gorgeous face, and self-confidence that made people take notice, and you had the most alluring woman who ever existed.
Having played professional football for so many years, he’d had access to his share of women. Yet, they were no comparison to Cree Priestly. She was the complete package of brains and beauty with just the right amount of sass. The guys were right. She’d only gotten more gorgeous over the years.
“So, I guess Cree still wants nothing to do with you, huh?” Quincy said between bites of his ham and cheese sandwich. “You can’t much blame her, though. What you did was underhanded and downright inconsiderate.”
“Dude, it wasn’t underhanded at all,” Jamal defended. “Yes, our boy could’ve handled the situation differently, but he had to do what he had to do. And you of all people should be happy he did. Otherwise, you might not have that cushy CEO position at his nonprofit.”
As the two argued back and forth, Tristan sipped his black coffee while remembering his time with Cree.
He’d been twenty-one, she’d been twenty-four, and being with an older woman had been a fantasy come true.
Even back then, she hadn’t been easy to get along with, but he knew meeting her had been fate.
Especially when he’d learned she was a sports agent.
She ended up being his agent… as well as his lover.
Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose as the memories flooded his mind all at once.
They’d both been so young, thrown into a world with grown folks, but Cree could handle herself.
She’d been a badass even back then, and he knew she’d only gotten more incredible over the years.
She had always carried herself as a boss-lady, even when he unintentionally pulled the rug from under her.
Quincy was right. Tristan had done her wrong, but it had been for a good reason. Still, he messed up. If he could go back in time and make different choices, he would. He didn’t realize what he had until she was gone. Now, he wanted her back in every way possible.
Tristan jerked when he was hit in the face with a wadded-up napkin.
“Are you listening to anything we’re saying?” his brother asked, frowning.
“No, I wasn’t listening because I’m sure you two aren’t talking about shit.”
“Actually, I was saying Jamal’s uncle is selling one of his commercial properties located near downtown,” Quincy said. “We need more office space for the nonprofit, and I think his building could work. Not only is it a good size, but it’s also large enough to rent out part of it.”
The Whitmore Foundation held a special spot in Tristan’s heart.
He and Quincy had started the nonprofit years after Tristan had joined the NFL.
Growing up, their parents had struggled financially to keep them in various sports, and he had vowed that, once he had money, he’d give back to his community.
There were some talented kids out there who often didn’t get a chance to compete because of a lack of funds.
From registration fees to being able to buy uniforms, there was an expense for families.
Which was why he’d come up with the idea for their Foundation to provide financial assistance to underserved youth who play sports.
Quincy was doing a great job running the organization, and their younger sister oversaw fundraising efforts.
Thanks to them, the nonprofit was thriving.
So if Quincy, who was tight with the budget, felt they needed more space, Tristan would support his request. Although purchasing a property wouldn’t be his first choice, he trusted his brother’s judgment.
Tristan listened as they told him about the three-story brick building and surrounding small businesses. That included a spa on one side and a real estate office on the other. As for size, it sounded perfect for their needs. All he needed to do was make time to go and see it.
Suddenly hungry, he dug through the paper bag. Instead of grabbing the sandwich, he pulled out the blueberry muffin.
Eating the sweet treat reminded him that he no longer had to stick to a strict eating plan.
Had it not been for his injury last season, he’d be at practice right now, getting ready for the Philly’s season opener.
There were days Tristan still struggled with the fact that he couldn’t play football anymore.
He’d never get to hear the roar of the fans in the stands while he charged past some of the biggest, baddest defensive linemen in the game.
God, he already missed the life he’d once had. All of it, even the days where every part of his body hurt from all the tackles he endured.
“Your life isn’t over just because you’re not on the football field,” his best friend said as if reading his mind. “You’ll always be one of the world’s greatest running backs to play the game. Not as good as me, of course.” He laughed, and Tristan shook his head and snorted.
He and Jamal had grown up together and had even played peewee football together.
Though they attended different colleges, and their paths to the NFL had been slightly different, they made it.
They had both achieved their lifelong dream, but while Tristan was in the league for almost thirteen years, Jamal had only lasted six.
“The league loves you, man. I’m sure there’s a team out there that wants you in their camp in one capacity or another.”
Tristan nodded. He was at a crossroads in his life, constantly thinking about his future and trying to decide which direction to take. The guys didn’t know it yet, but he had already heard from two NFL teams. They wanted him to consider being their running back coach.
So far, it was being kept quiet that those teams were looking at him as part of their coaching search. However, it was only a matter of time before the news would hit the media. Assuming they didn’t already know about that, as well as a few other opportunities.
Tristan wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow or the next day because that’s when it would be announced he had fired his agent. A sought-after agent who never got fired and was usually the first to cut ties from clients.
All the more reason why Tristan needed to talk to Cree as soon as possible. He needed her help, and he already knew it wasn’t going to be easy to get it.