Chapter Thirteen
“Men are notoriously fickle creatures. They may think we’re the unpredictable sex, but they’re sorely incorrect. And Cade Owens, the sweet guy, is not an exception.”
I watch a semi-truck whizz by. “I know one man who isn’t fickle.”
“Bullshit.” Mallory rubs the continuous glucose monitor on the back of her arm. “Who?”
“Kenneth Gray,” I announce, my voice rising like a game show host. “Boyfriend extraordinaire. The guy who spent three years waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and love him too.”
She tries to put up a brave fight against the lover-girl allegations, but one mention of his name has her melting into her seat. “He just knew a good thing when he saw it. Can you blame him?”
Soft rock flits through the speakers of her old Honda as we get closer to Charlotte.
Mallory’s meeting her graduate advisor, Dr. Martin, at an autoimmune disease conference to present her research on type 1 diabetes.
Carpooling was one of my favorite parts of living together, so I jumped at the opportunity when she offered.
“But you didn’t hear him, Mally. It wasn’t like trying to decide which flavor of ice cream to order.” I go silent, trying to find the right word to describe the hostility, fear, and exhaustion Cade revealed during our meeting last week.
I wasn’t expecting him to change his mind about filming for Loc & Key. His email wasn’t enthusiastic, but he agreed to miss today’s optional practice.
Prying information about Cade from Mallory isn’t something I do out of respect for our friendship. Especially because she’s a locked vault when it comes to things I tell her in confidence. Still, I can’t help myself.
“He hasn’t talked to you about anything?” I ask.
Grimacing, she clicks on the blinker and moves into the left lane.
“Honestly, not much. Kenneth might know more than I do, and we’ll keep trying, but that’s who Cade is: just smile, don’t make people worry, and it’ll all be okay.
Which historically ends in flames. But today will be good for him.
A day of pampering and baseball? That’s exactly what he needs. ”
I try to believe her as she pulls into the studio’s parking lot. Test calls from Garrett Blane don’t make me as jittery as spending an afternoon with Cade.
“I’m nervous,” I admit.
“I know, but you look cute. The sleek puff is peak professionalism.”
Opening the vanity mirror, I smooth my edges.
Hair loss is one of my many PCOS symptoms. It’s exacerbated by stress, which isn’t great because I’m constantly in a state of distress.
With the long days, late nights, and occasional travel, keeping my hair braided is best for my lifestyle.
Until I have a few hours to braid my hair this weekend, I’ll be curly and free.
“How’s the new medication?” she asks.
The bottle of Metformin rattles as I shake out a pill.
It’s the newest addition to my regimen to help with insulin resistance, whatever that means.
Sarabeth, my dietitian, and Mallory, my best friend who happens to be a dietitian, have explained it many times.
All I need to do is take it every morning and night, along with my Spironolactone every morning.
That one is for decreasing testosterone levels, which is supposed to help my acne and facial hair.
I shrug. “So far so good.”
She squeezes my knee with her free hand. “I know work’s a lot, but are you making any progress on lowering your stress?”
I’m running on fumes and hardly sleeping, but I really am trying. Sarabeth recommended a few life changes that are doable, like drinking two cups of spearmint tea a day and walking after meals, so I’ve added that.
“I can’t slow down, Mally. Getting this promotion would change everything, and I’m so close I can almost taste it.”
Signing Garrett would be icing on the cake for the promotion.
“You’re definitely going to get it.” Pulling to a stop, she presses our foreheads together. Freshman year, I did this to help her through an anxiety attack, and now it’s our thing. “Get in there and be the hottest, smartest, most capable agent the world has ever seen.”
Buoyed by her encouragement, I grab the handle and blow her a kiss. “Love you big, and good luck today!”
“Love you bigger, and back at you!”
As she drives away, I feel a flicker of validation. Someone else sees it too. Something is going on with Cade.
My fingertips barely brush the doorknob when I hear a gasp that stops me in my tracks.
“Do my eyes deceive me?”
When I turn around, Cade’s curiosity pins me like a spotlight. Crossed arms bulge, emphasizing the bulk of muscle that makes up his biceps. I bet they could hold me down—
Remember your rules, Shaylene.
Touching his arm at the player development meeting seemed harmless, but my hand tingled for the rest of the day. When I got home, I added new rules to our pink sticky note.
Number five: no touching him.
Number six: no time alone.
Number seven: no ogling him. Even if he looks devastating in his glasses.
I roll my eyes. “You’ve seen me without braids before, Cade.”
“Sure, but that was years ago.” Three confident steps close the space between us, and when he drops his head, those stupid glasses slide down his nose. “Just let me look at you for a moment. It’s been too long.”
Being the object of Cade’s attention is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. He studies me closely, eyes sweeping over my face with intense focus. They linger just a beat too long on my lips, and he sighs, brushing my skin with a cool bite of mint.
Before I can create a new six-feet-apart rule, cherry-red locs tied into Bantu knots peek around the door.
“You’re here! Hi! Cade! Ah! I’m Lula, the owner of Loc & Key.
We’re huge fans!” The skin-tight dress wrapped around her matches her hair.
She’s the epitome of an exclamation mark, limber, bold, and excitable.
“And Shay! Thank you for setting this up!” She grabs my hand for what I assume is a handshake, but she yanks me inside and keeps my hand captive until we reach the lobby.
“What can I get you two? Coffee? Coke? Tea? Mimosa?”
Cade grins. “Unsweet tea for me and Diet Coke for her, please.” When Lula scampers away, he chuckles. “She’s full of spirit.”
Which reminds me, I need an energy drink.
After digging through my bag, I hand a sheet of paper to Cade. “I prepared questions for the interview today, but I need your input before I give them to Lula. If there are any questions you don’t approve of, I’ll remove them.”
Cade’s eyes never leave mine. “You want my opinion?”
“Of course. You’re the one answering them.”
He blinks, and then blinks again. “Oh.”
God, I hate that word. I never know if it’s good or bad, and the weird look on his face makes me think it’s a bad one.
“I’ve never been asked to screen questions before,” he admits.
I pause. “Never?”
“Never.”
My vision narrows, fading everything except the fury inside. What kind of agent doesn’t let his client have autonomy over what they’re asked?
“No question will ever be publicized without your approval. Your comfort and consent will always come first.”
The crease between his brow eases. “Always?”
“Always,” I promise, tempted to lift my pinky in the air. “We should find Lula—”
“I have a confession,” tumbles out of his mouth before I can finish.
There’s a ferocity in his eyes as they hold mine, and it’s clear he’s not going to shoot this promo until he gets it off his chest, so I follow him back to the front door.
Putting an extra step of space between us, I keep my eyes on the parking lot through the large windows. “What’s going on?”
“This is going to sound weak, but bear with me.” A hand drags over his face.
“Missing practice scares me. I haven’t skipped a practice ever.
Optional or not. I’ve spent a lot of my life and pro career worrying about messing everything up.
With baseball. With my friends and family.
” He doesn’t say it, but I hear the with you in the pause. “And I can’t afford to lose baseball.”
It’s as if a piece of the armor that he meticulously covers himself with has fallen off, giving me a glimpse into the mind of Cade Owens.
My hand itches to pat his shoulder, but I refer to rule five and play with a string on my blouse. “Thanks for being honest. You’re safe with me, okay?” I don’t expect him to respond, so I continue, “There’s one more thing I need you to approve of before we start filming.”
At that moment, my surprise opens the door behind Cade. Emma, Cade’s longtime loctician, steps beside him and leans against his arm.
“Guess who gets to retwist your locs for Loc & Key?”
Pretty hazels dart to me. The moment he agreed to come, I called Lula and requested Cade’s loctician to make him feel more comfortable. He’s taking a day off, and I want to make sure today is worth the break.
“Surprise,” I sing.
Cade’s mouth gapes, but Lula reappears. “You guys ready?”
I look to my client. “Cade, are you all good with the questions?”
Handing the folded piece of paper to Lula, he nods. Without looking at them, he agreed to whatever I wrote. The realization makes my heart stutter, because it sort of feels like trust.
As we walk, Lula dives into the vision for the shoot.
Loc’d in. From the first inning to the last. Cade’s excitement grows as she talks, discussing the campaign’s focus on strength, moisture retention, and shine.
First, he’ll get the full spa experience in the studio they transformed to look like a locker room.
Emma will wash, retwist, and style his locs, and the day will end with an interview on top of the custom-built pitcher’s mound.
And I have work to do, of course.
I catch Lula’s eye and wave. “I’ll be in the lobby. Let me know if you need anything.”
“No!” she chirps, heels clicking as she sashays to me. “You’re part of the spa experience too! I hired an extra hairdresser for you.”
I shake my head in protest. “Today’s for Cade, but thanks—”