Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
ANNIKA
Polished marble and expensive mistakes. That’s the smell blanketing this hotel lobby.
I shift my weekender bag higher on my shoulder and walk up to the front desk, already tired from travel, from thinking and from coming here in the first place.
Away games aren’t included in my client fees or my routine. But Parker O’Ryan isn’t your run of the mill athlete—he descends from football royalty.
Not to mention his sister-in-law is the general manager of the team.
No one wants him to get rid of his yips as much as the people he’s closest to.
Sutton cleared every obstacle that I could have possibly objected to.
All expenses paid and a plea from her family.
Just turn in the receipts, and she’ll get me paid the following week.
As of now, no one knows I’m here. I was literally on the tarmac before I was sure I was coming.
Now that I’m here, I need to have a breakthrough with Parker because I can’t keep him as a patient with all the crazy and grossly inappropriate feelings I’m having.
“Hi,” I say, sliding my driver’s license across the counter. “Reservation under Morrow.”
The woman behind the desk strokes her keyboard, her smile polite and automatic. It seems a qualifying trait in the south. Then her smile falters, just enough that my stomach tightens.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, the way people sound before they drop a bomb on you. “It looks like we had an overbooking issue with one of our third-party platforms.”
Of course you have.
“What does that mean exactly?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
“Right now, it means we don’t currently have any rooms available, but we always have cancellations. If you don’t mind waiting a few hours, I feel sure we’ll have something soon.”
A few hours. I glance at the digital clock behind her and check the itinerary Sutton gave me in my head. It’s already late afternoon and walk-throughs will start soon. Team dinner after that. By the time a room might open, it will be late.
“That’s not ideal.”
“I completely understand. We can hold your luggage and prioritize your room as soon as something opens.”
Nodding, I fill out the bell desk tag for them to hold my bag. Internally I’m already calculating contingencies.
There are only a couple of options. I stay with someone from the team.
But I don’t know Sutton well enough and she’ll be sharing a room with number ten, her husband Greyson.
The other option is to find a hotel nearby.
But the team we’re playing is in first place in their division and the game is sold out so I’m not sure if there will be anything available within walking distance to the game.
“Thank you for holding my bag. I’ll check back later.”
I shouldn’t thank them because they sold me a hotel room and aren’t providing one. Stay calm.
By the time I make it to the stadium the sun is dipping low, casting long shadows of skyscrapers across the field. Even void of a crowd, there’s an energy here—an undeniable competitive spirit. A hum beneath the surface. Game day anticipation building higher.
Sutton finds me on the sideline. “You made it,” she says, pulling me into a brief, corporate hug.
“Yeah, but your hotel hates me.”
She winces. “They overbooked?”
“Yes, just my luck.”
“Ugh, I’ll make the call. I should have made Marlon bundle your reservation in with the team.”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s fine they said a room should open up by tonight.”
She studies me for a moment. “Okay, but if it doesn’t, you’re not sleeping in the lobby. Make sure to let me know.”
“I’ll figure it out, thanks.”
She gestures toward the field where players are filtering out after their meeting.
“Is Parker your favorite client?” she asks, and I can’t help hear the nuance in her tone.
“I’m here because you pleaded his case… for the team.”
She smirks, “Sure you are. That’s the appropriate answer.”
I ignore that.
We stand side by side, watching the team move into groups. Parker is easy to spot.
Always.
Even in a group of elite athletes, he draws attention.
Long strides.
Confident movement.
Except today, there’s a subtle hesitation. But it’s there.
Sutton tells me what each section of the walkthrough entails. Now we’re going over the defensive plan, and the second-string offense runs plays the staff feels the opponent will run against the Armadillos.
On the opposite end the second string defense does the same against our offense. Kickers, punters and special teams are in their own groups.
As I watch Parker drop a ball, Matt barks out his name and Parker’s head falls. I feel my mouth twists into a corkscrew and fold my arms over my waist.
“Is the staff harder on him than the others?” I ask.
Sutton turns toward me, eyes questioning. “You mean his brothers?”
“And Matt.”
“We’re all family. But no, if anything, they give him more room.”
“That’s not what it looks like.”
“That’s because you’re looking for pressure,” she says.
“Because Parker feels the pressure to be as great as his brothers. I’m not making it up.”
Sutton nods like she knows I’m right. “Anna, Parker’s been that way since I’ve known him. And from what Greyson’s family has said, he puts the pressure on himself before anyone else gets the chance.”
At just that moment, Parker’s talking with Greyson and they look over. With his helmet on, I can’t tell if he’s happy I’m here or not.
They line up a dozen times before the ball flies to Parker. He catches it clean.
No hesitation.
Interesting.
Now, can he be consistent and catch it sixty percent of the time, the league average last year?
Sutton is being pulled in a million directions, but she apologizes when the Armadillo communications team seems to have a problem.
As I walk back to the hotel by myself, the fandom is over-the-top in Atlanta. Face paint the day before the game, Atlanta sweatshirts and jerseys are everywhere but once I enter the hotel, it’s all Austin Armadillo fans.
I’m hoping at least one of those fans wasn't able to make the trip.
“I’m waiting for a room that I paid for to open.”
It’s a different person and the man says, “We’re fully booked. I’m so sorry.”
Is he? He’s not the one homeless for the night.
I close my eyes briefly thinking about my options.
“Okay,” I say, frustrated. “Is there another hotel nearby with…”
“Hey.”
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Parker. He slides up beside me like he belongs there, like this isn’t the worst possible timing for him to appear.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“They overbooked,” I say, flat and even. “And I’m the lucky non-recipient of a room.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Stay with me.”
We step back from the black marble counter. Lowering my voice, I contend, “That’s not appropriate.”
“Neither is sleeping in the lobby.”
“I’ll find another hotel.”
He lifts his hands and lets them fall. “Why do you fight me over everything?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he says, “Everything’s booked. Game weekend.”
I know he’s right. And I also hate that he’s right.
“I’ll take the couch,” he adds.
I let out a deep breath. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No. I was raised a gentleman.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
He flashes me his crooked smile where only one dimple pops wide open. “Probably.”
I look at him.
He looks at me like this isn’t a big deal.
On the outside his body language is calm and steady and I wonder if he thinks the same of me. Because on the inside, I’m anything but calm. My pulse is racing. Heart thumping against my chest. Heat rising over my skin.
“Fine. You’re on the couch.”
“I’ll order extra blankets and pillows.” The words slide out of his mouth with a touch of satisfaction. “Where are your bags?”
“The bell desk.” I pull out my ticket. He takes it from me and pays the bellman to bring it to his room. I’m sure the employee is used to bringing girls or their bags to an athletes’ room and I’m positive I can read his mind.
We don’t speak as we head to his room and when we get there, it’s a normal room with a king bed, a couch, a desk, and television. Not a suite for someone that gets paid millions. A space that feels too small once the door closes behind us.
He tosses my bag on the bed and says, “I’ll take the couch.”
“You already said that.”
“Just reinforcing the point so you don’t bolt.”
He has me pegged. I’m a runner.
“I’m considering it,” I tease.
“Noted.” He grins looking down at the floor, shaking his head. “I’ll be back after team dinner. Do you want to come?”
“No, I have some work to do for other clients. I’ll just go to the restaurant and grab a bite.”
He seems disappointed, but says, “I’ll text ya when I’m back.”
“Sutton shouldn’t have given you my cell number,” I say, raising a brow since I changed my number for a reason.
“She didn’t. I’m resourceful.”
God, he’s handsome and so much gentler than he was in college, so much that I’m having a hard time remembering why I hated him.
He changes into jeans and a cream-colored quarter zip sweater, a stark contrast with his dark brown hair. He grabs his key and wallet. “You walking down with me?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Umm… that’s a negative.”
He walks to the door and when he’s halfway out, he peeks inside the door. “Don’t want to be seen with me?”
“Go.”
And when the door shuts, I lean against the wall.
What the hell am I doing?
I gather my laptop, purse and head down to eat. The place is packed with Armadillo fans. After ordering dinner, I open my laptop and go over my notes on Parker, making sure his name is blacked out in case someone looks over my shoulder.
Once they bring my food, I shut my computer and take in my surroundings. Black exposed pipes make a puzzle of the tall ceiling. Wooden chairs. Glass tables. A selection of spirits that rivals any place in Texas I’ve been.
That’s when the television shows highlights of the last few Armadillo games and fans start muttering about Parker O’Ryan.
“He’s only here because his brother is the head coach.”
“No other reason except nepotism.”
One woman says, “He was decent last year. What happened?”
“So he caught a few big-time passes. Nothing another wide receiver couldn’t have done.”
“He is handsome though. No denying that,” an older lady shouts.
A guy stands up and says, “I played with him at Texas and that guy has the IT factor. Give him a break.”
I think about approaching his former teammate, wondering if he really played with Parker and or if he is piggybacking on Parker’s name. I don’t. But while I’m scratching down notes my phone buzzes.
Parker: I’m back.
I wait a while before taking the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. I will not have him believing that I can’t wait to be in a room with him alone.
All. Night. Long.