Chapter 3
I’m driving down Broadway Street, debating how I’m going to make the first move in my quest to woo Maggie, when I stop at a stoplight and glance to the side. Hell, yes. I almost fist-bump the air when I see the universe is on my side. Her black SUV is in front of the Diamond in the Rough Salon. I make an illegal U-turn, pulling into the parking lot like a man on a mission.
I park next to Maggie's SUV and can’t help but notice how her black beast of a car makes my old truck look like a rusty hunk of junk. I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my buzzing nerves.
Damn it. I've never set foot in one of these overly feminine places before. Should I casually stroll in and pretend I'm bumping into her by chance? Hell no. She’d see right through that. Maybe it's best to just hang out here until she emerges. How long can a spa appointment possibly last, anyway? Turns out, it’s an excruciatingly long time. Two hours later, I'm kicking myself for choosing to wait in the truck, sweltering under the relentless Texas sun in the heat of spring. The air is thick and oppressive, sticking to my skin like a second layer, and the dashboard feels like it could fry an egg.
I’m about to head in when my phone buzzes. The name that pops up freezes me. Fucking hell. My coach. I can almost see his permanently pissed-off face staring at me from the screen.
Grouchy asshole
When are you heading back to San Francisco? Need to finalize.
Short and blunt, just like the bastard. I stare at the message, my thumb twitching over the screen. Someday soon, I’ll have to deal with both my coach and my agent, but today isn’t that day. That’s a worry for another day. There’s only one thing I care about now.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, brainstorming my next move. Spotting me outside a salon might be a surprise for her, almost like I'm some kind of obsessed fool. But I want Maggie. No, I need her more than I need my next breath. I spent the entire night restless, trying to plan my next move. Ultimately, I had to acknowledge I’m going to have to take things as they come.
Another fifteen minutes pass slowly. Then twenty. I rub my hand across my jaw, trying to get rid of the ghost of that night four years ago. My decision to walk away was supposed to make things easier for both of us. Instead, I ended up miserable with a championship ring that doesn’t mean a goddamn thing without her.
The door finally opens, and I feel the jolt of adrenaline shoot through my soul. Maggie steps out, and she's not alone. A tiny, elderly woman barely comes up to her shoulder, and the two of them are chattering away. I take a deep breath and slide out of the truck, my boots crunching on the blacktop. I tower over them as I approach, trying to look confident and casual and probably failing at both.
Maggie's eyes go wide, and she stops dead in her tracks, almost like she's just seen a ghost. Her expression makes me feel like a fucking giant in more ways than one. A moment of surprise, then she collects herself, and that familiar spark of defiance flashes in her bright blue eyes. I always did love how she never gave me the easy win.
"Hi, Maggie," I say, my voice sounding rougher than I mean it to. "Fancy running into you here."
Her mouth twitches, somewhere between a grin and a scowl. "Todd Sharp. Didn’t see you as the spa type." Her defiant words go straight to my cock and turn it to stone.
Before I can answer, the old woman gives Maggie a nudge, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, aren't you going to introduce us, dear? It isn't polite to keep such a strapping young man all to yourself."
Maggie's face flushes to the color of a stop sign, but she clears her throat and forces a smile. "Todd Sharp, this is my Great Aunt Matilda."
The old lady sizes me up, and I swear she gives me a once-over that would make a stripper blush. "My, my, Maggie, where have you been hiding this stud? It's not fair for you to keep him all to yourself," Aunt Matilda says, reaching out to squeeze my bicep with surprising strength. Despite her diminutive stature, Aunt Matilda carries an air of elegance with her bright white, perfectly styled hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through you. Her skin, remarkably smooth with only a few wrinkles, reflects a vitality that belies her age.
I'm torn between laughing and being absolutely stunned. I glance at Maggie, whose eyes are now rolling so hard they might get stuck, and decide to play along. "Pleasure to meet you, Aunt Matilda. I've been around, just waiting for the right time to surprise Maggie here. I’ve been trying to get her to have lunch with me, but she’s playing hard to get."
Aunt Matilda giggles like a schoolgirl, and Maggie looks like she wants to either crawl under a rock or toss me off a cliff. "Isn't he charming," the old lady coos, patting Maggie's arm. "Stop being difficult, dear. Men like this don’t come around very often."
Maggie tries to wrangle her away, her voice strained with the urge to strangle me. "Aunt Matilda, I don’t have time right now. I have to take you home and?—"
"Nonsense," Matilda interrupts, waving her off. "I can get home just fine. Don't you worry about me. You go enjoy your lunch with Todd." She winks at me and toddles off, leaving a trail of laughter in her wake.
I'm half-expecting Maggie to punch me in the gut, but she just crosses her arms and gives me that look, the one that says I'm about as welcome as a case of chickenpox. "You must be pretty desperate if you’ll use little old ladies to get your way."
I shrug, grinning like the fool I am. "Figured it was worth a shot. Now that you’re free, would you like to have lunch with me?"
She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she lets out a breath and uncrosses her arms, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read. "What are you doing here, Todd?"
"I'm trying to correct the worst mistake I ever made." I lean forward, determination etched on my face, refusing to mince words.
"I'm not one of your football groupies," she shoots back, her eyes narrowing in defiance. Damn it, I already knew that.
"I've never even glanced at another woman," I insist, my voice carrying the weight of a decade's worth of heartache. "You stole my heart ten years ago and ruined me for any other woman."
"Yeah, right," she replies, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, skepticism written all over her expression.
"It's the truth," I press on, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. "I'm known as the monk on the team." As humiliating as it is, it’s undeniably true.
Her lips curl slightly, and I brace myself for a sarcastic retort. But then, to my surprise, she shakes her head and lets out a laugh, soft and almost inviting. "Monk, my ass."
"We can talk about your ass once we have lunch," I counter, a small grin tugging at my lips as relief flows through me.
"You always did have balls," she acknowledges, a flicker of admiration playing in her eyes. "I'll give you that."
As I step closer, her familiar, delicate scent wraps around me. The woman in front of me is different from the girl I left behind. Stronger. More self-assured. But I'm not the same guy either. This time, I’m not going to be the fool who lets her go. "Where would you like to have lunch?"
She pauses, the moment stretching out like an eternity before she finally answers. "I'd love a big, juicy porterhouse steak from The Broadway Steakhouse." Wow. She couldn't be more perfect if she tried.
"A steak it is," I reply, already planning our future children.