Chapter 25
Vee
Present day
Getting out of my car in the garage in my building, I continued the internal argument I had been having with myself since Fin left my office.
Damn him. Damn his sexy grin and damn the kiss last night.
Damn the memories. I wasn’t a lovesick twenty-year-old.
I was the Coopers’ vice president of stadium operations and marketing and Reid Hubbard’s only child.
The Coopers had more important things happening than whether Griffin Graham made me hot and bothered.
Before I left Maker’s Mark, the training staff released the final injury report.
Troy Dennison was officially on the IR. That gave us space on the roster to bring on another quarterback.
It also meant Troy couldn’t practice for four weeks.
In all likelihood, he wouldn’t return to the playfield until after our bye, week seven.
Providing a keycard with the resident concierge was something I used to do for Preston. He asked for a permanent key, but I deflected. The key from the concierge was only good one time and only to access the resident floor. It didn’t allow entry to my condominium.
During the last few hours, I’d concocted completely rational reasons for not providing a keycard for Fin.
First and foremost, a relationship between Fin and me was wrong. During the last hour, I’d gone over the HR website, and while I couldn’t find a specific franchise rule that we would be violating, I felt in my soul it was a violation.
Owners and players—it was fundamentally wrong.
Second, my recent conversation with my father was nagging at the back of my thoughts. When he mentioned increased duties a few weeks ago, he asked if that would be a problem. He’d meant with Preston, as if a relationship was more of an issue for a woman than a man.
In hindsight, apparently my increased responsibilities were a problem for Preston.
The good news was that Preston was no longer a problem.
However, if in the future, Dad believed my attention was divided with Fin, that could possibly support his reasoning for dividing the Coopers in his will. Hell, he was married and so was Aunt Rachel. Owners could balance work and life.
While I understood his reasoning about our family’s stake in the team, I didn’t like it.
Lastly, there was Grant. If anyone was to make a deal out of Fin and me revisiting our relationship, it would be my cousin. Surely, he’d find an issue.
As with any argument, there were also counterarguments.
Allowing Fin entry into my condo didn’t mean that we would get back together.
He said we had shit to discuss. He was right.
Lip’s comment telling me to ask Fin why he didn’t call came to mind.
It wasn’t a question I wanted to pose at Maker’s Mark or on the sidelines.
I could see it now. “Hey, before you run that play, why didn’t you return my calls all those years ago? ”
That was definitely not the way I should present it.
Speaking in private was better.
I also knew me. If I made it all the way up to my apartment without stopping on the first floor and arranging for the keycard, I knew I wouldn’t come back down. I’d bury myself in my condo, make a lame excuse for dinner, and read a book or practice offensive plays.
Stepping into the elevator, I felt as if I was no closer to a decision.
As the elevator doors closed, I hesitated.
Decision made.
I’d leave it up to fate.
Yes. It was the perfect answer, just like the flip of the coin at the start of the game.
Flashing my keycard before the sensor, I hit the button for the seventh floor. If there were other people on the first floor and the elevator stopped, boom. Fate was telling me to leave the key. If there wasn’t anyone and the elevator didn’t stop, fate was saying no.
My breathing hitched as I watched the numbers on the screen.
The G disappeared.
The one illuminated.
Was it going to stop?
“Fuck it,” I mumbled, hitting the one. Fate hadn’t made the decision, I had.
The doors opened to an empty space. No one was waiting on the first floor to enter the elevator.
The decision was made. I wasn’t doubling back.
Lifting my chin, I walked toward the resident concierge desk.
The man behind the counter peered up as my shoes clipped the marble floor, my taps growing nearer.
“May I help you?” a young man with the name tag Jace asked.
“Yes. I’m Maeve Hubbard from number 706.”
“Hello, Ms. Hubbard. It’s nice to see you again.”
I feigned a smile. “I’d like to request a one-time entry keycard for a guest to visit me this evening.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Hubbard,” the man said, reaching for a tablet and pen. “Will this guest be Mr. Clark or Mr. Hubbard?”
I blinked.
Of course he’d think that. Preston and my father were two of my most frequent visitors. “No. Today’s visitor is Griffin Graham.”
The concierge’s lips curled. “Great game yesterday.”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded. “Yes, it was.”
I was about to remind Jace that we in the Vine paid for his discretion, but by the way his cheeks paled, I had the feeling he caught himself.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hubbard. I’ll have a keycard available for Mr. Graham. Do you know what time to expect him?”
“I believe close to seven.”
He nodded. “I’ll have it ready.” He looked at his watch. “In thirty minutes.”
Thirty minutes.
Shit.
“Thank you, Jace.”
My pulse kicked up as I made my way back to the elevator. As it began ascending to the seventh floor, I wasn’t convinced my debate was complete. I could always call back down and change my mind. I had a half hour. The hallway was empty as I made my way toward my condo.
Once inside, I looked out at Lexington’s skyline. The September sky was beginning to bring on the crimsons and purples as the sun continued its descent toward the horizon. With over an hour of sunlight, I had an idea.
First, I changed out of my skirt and blouse and into a casual sundress. Yes, my wrists were visible, but Fin already knew about them. My high heels were replaced with flat sandals, and I removed the hair tie from my ponytail, brushing my long hair and allowing it to flow over my shoulders.
“This isn’t a date,” I said audibly to my reflection as I applied mascara and blush to my recently washed and toned face. “Not a date, but I didn’t want to be the mess I’d been last night.”
I brushed my teeth and applied lip gloss.
Next, I found a bottle of Dangerous, a bourbon-barrel-aged semi-sweet red wine from a nearby winery in Versailles, Kentucky.
I opened the bottle, removed the cork, and replaced it with a wine stopper.
Then I took the bottle and two glasses out onto the balcony.
Standing back, I looked at the small bistro table and shook my head.
“Shit, food.” I went back to the kitchen and searched.
Within the refrigerator, I found a half a block of Colby cheese, a small block of Swiss cheese, and a little wheel of Brie.
I gathered some grapes, strawberries, and enough crackers to put together a small but adequate charcuterie board.
As I stared at it, I realized there wasn’t meat.
Since Fin and I parted ways, I’d stopped eating meat.
He could deal.
The clock on the microwave read 6:52 p.m.
I nibbled my lower lip.
What if he doesn’t come?
What if he set me up just like fourteen years ago?
I took the charcuterie board out to the balcony.
After placing it on the table with the wine, I lifted my face to the late summer sky and exhaled.
If Fin didn’t show, all this preparation was moot.
We didn’t have any shit to discuss or fences to mend.
If Fin didn’t show after he invited himself, I was done.
Removing the wine stopper, I poured red wine into one of the glasses.
Pinching the stem, I swirled the red liquid and inhaled the bouquet of sweetness and fruit.
I took a sip, enjoying the full-bodied and smooth texture combined with the flavors of strawberry, raspberry, cherry, and plum while allowing the slight amount of alcohol to calm my nerves.
I jumped at the echo of my doorbell.
“Shit,” I mumbled. “He did come.”