Chapter 9
Nik
The steakhouse in the dead center of the city of Mistletoe Falls is too loud, too pretentious, and too full of people who think they know me.
After signing some autographs for the staff, Dane and I are escorted to the second floor.
We sit at a corner booth in the back, away from prying eyes, and I try to breathe like everything is normal.
Rhett, the dropped pass, Noelle … it’s all at the forefront of my mind.
The last thing I want to do is be out in public, but I convinced myself to be the saint.
This is what we’d do in between game days, so keep doing it.
Dane Beckett has been my agent since I signed on draft night, but before that, he was a friend.
He and my sister knew each other from college, and now he works for Coach Gage’s wife, Francesca, at Love PR.
It only made sense that he’d be the one to represent me.
Even though he loved to party with Coach Gage back in the day and ended up with an injury before he ever got his big break, he still made out pretty good.
His wife, Mariella, coaches an all-girls team back in Christmas, Texas.
And he flies back and forth during the season to be with me.
He’s the one who got me through college, kept me on the straight and narrow, and helped bury the mess of sophomore year, even though he didn’t know what he was burying.
I’ve been lying to everyone around me for years, and the weight of it is beginning to crush me.
“I screwed up,” I say.
Dane sips his drink. “Yeah.”
I scoff. “That’s the part where you say, ‘No, man, it happens to everyone.’”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t happen to you. Not like this.”
The words “not since that game” linger in the air but aren’t spoken. I cut my steak like it’s the one who dropped two passes the other day. Sure, I made the one that counted, but I can’t get those other two off my mind. “This reporter is getting under my skin.”
Dane chuckles. “In my professional opinion, you should take her to dinner and feed her some lines. Let her get her story and move on.”
“And dare I ask for your unprofessional opinion?”
He takes a bite, eyeing me with laughter as he chews before saying, “Fuck her until she can’t remember why she was writing about you to begin with.”
I roll my eyes. “She’d probably have that damn voice recorder on to document the whole thing.” I lean back and sigh. “I don’t know, there’s just something about her. She’s just too,” close to uncovering something and sexy and tempting, “nosey.”
“That’s what reporters do. They nose around. Is this your first day? We’ve gone over how to handle this, Nik. She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.”
I grunt. My appetite’s dead, though, so I move the food around the plate more than I eat it. I need to get out of here. I want to check in with Dante and see how the spreads did. Rage won but didn’t cover, just like I said, so I want to see the final numbers.
But then I hear a familiar voice. It has a different tone, warm and fun, not the business tone she uses with me, but I’d still know it anywhere.
Noelle.
She doesn’t see me at first. She’s walking with a junior producer I vaguely recognize from the network.
He’s tall, and she’s leaning into him as they walk up the stairs, approaching the floor where Dane and I sit.
As she approaches and walks by my table, I take note of her black heels, slim legs, and dark green dress coat, making it look like she’s got nothing underneath.
Fuck, stop it. She turns her head slightly, and her smile falters just the slightest bit as she recognizes me. My heart skips a beat.
Why is this woman affecting me?
Instead of stopping, saying hello, or even giving a slight wave, she lifts her head and walks right past our table.
I don’t say a word, and she doesn’t either.
Our eyes meet for half a second, and then she’s gone.
She’s not the woman who found me at my worst the other night in the hotel.
No, despite her laughing and having fun a moment ago, seeing me put her shield back, and now she’s back in reporter mode.
Dane whistles low. “Isn’t that–”
“Yep,” I cut him off and stab a piece of my steak.
“Damn. That was cold.” Dane chuckles and waves me off with a brush of his hand. “Maybe you’re right, sex won’t work with the ice queen.”
I give him a dry look and shake my head. “You heard PR. They told her to do a legacy piece. That means pull some old footage from the pee-wee team, talk to my high school coach, get a couple of non-usable quotes from the Nicks, and move on.”
He puts his fork down, wipes his mouth, and takes a sip of his beer. “You're worried she’s going to bring up sophomore year.”
I close my eyes but ignore him.
“Nik, everyone has a bad game. You can’t let that game dictate every article or press conference you do. It will fade and—”
“It’s never going to fade,” I bite out.
Dane doesn’t know what I did, so he doesn’t understand why I get so mad or upset when someone mentions it.
For him, it’s just a question to get under my skin, or a way for reporters to get insight as to how I rallied past a downfall.
For me, someone bringing it up could bring the whole damn thing down.
I’ve done my due diligence in making sure the name Nik Papas stays clean, but if someone is smart enough, they could tie the club to me, the game, my dad, that night …
all of it. And it's not just me who would be hurt. There are so many people who don’t even know they’re relying on me to keep this and my double life buried.
I let out a breath. “I just don’t like that she’s digging. She thinks I’m hiding something.”
“Then give her a fake story. Let her sniff out something that isn’t there.
” He eyes me. “You’re too bothered by her, and by the looks of your last game, you know it, too.
As your agent, I’ll tell you to be professional, but as your friend?
Drop her. Stop playing with fire. I’ll request someone else to be assigned to your article. ”
“No,” I answer a little too quickly. I clear my throat. “I’ll be professional. Give her what she wants and move on.”
I can’t let her go because I’m already burning. Because when Noelle looks at me, she doesn’t see Saint Nik. She doesn’t see the brand, or the press-made version of myself that I’ve sold for years.
As scary as it is, she sees me. The real Nik. The broken player, the scared kid, the only son. And for one single stupid second, I want to let her keep looking. Because maybe she’s the one who can save me from the darkness.
~~
Dane and I finished our meal, and he left for the night.
I hung back, scanning the second-floor crowd until I saw she was still here, eating with that junior producer.
Deciding to push a bit more tonight, because I might as well make it worse for myself, I grab a seat at the bar, in the corner, and wait.
Thirty minutes later, I see her head for the door, and when she stops on the sidewalk, I follow her out.
“So what? You can’t say hello?” She’s as cool as ever, not even flinching when I come up behind her.
“You were eating. I wasn’t going to interrupt.”
“Mm. Interrupting would be you pulling a chair from the table next to us, sitting down, and helping yourself to my mashed potatoes. A friendly acknowledgment would be a wave or a smile as you walk by.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is there a reason you’re following me?”
“Do you want there to be a reason?”
“You answer every question with a question?”
I chuckle. “Seriously, though. You saw me. You chose not to say anything. Why?”
She shrugs. “You got a taste of your own medicine, and now you don’t like it. Kind of like how we’re supposed to be doing an article and you’re either late or not saying a word.”
“Maybe I just don’t like your questions.”
She steps back from me, and I take in her legs. I dream about them being wrapped around my head. “Oh, yes. That’s my fault. I’m not sticking to the script.”
I raise a brow. “There’s a script for a reason, Moreno.”
“Maybe the world deserves to see the real Nik and not the Saint Nik you’ve created.”
I hold her stare. The tension between us crackles, and I’ve yet to figure out why it just gets stronger.
She’s looking at me like she knows something, or thinks she does, but all I can picture is stripping her naked and having my way with her in the backseat of my truck.
Seeing her that night in the hotel hasn’t left my mind.
I was too broken by the game and too willing and trusting to let her in. I had to walk away.
“It’s been a pleasure, as always, but you don’t get to follow me out into the street and throw your charm at me like a lasso, trying to pull me in.”
“No one’s ever complained about my charm before.”
“It’s not charm I’m looking for.” She raises a brow and takes two steps until she’s in front of me. She runs her finger along my shoulder. “Don’t chase me down again, Nik. Not unless you’re ready to talk.”
The tension grows even thicker, and when a car horn blares in the distance, it breaks the connection. She taps my chest, spins on her heels, and begins to walk down the sidewalk away from me, leaving me standing there watching.
I close my eyes and sigh, realizing I'm standing out in the open.
I quickly walk back through the restaurant and out the back to my truck, shedding my tie and jacket and throwing on my oversized hoodie and hat.
I check my watch, realizing I need to get to the club and see Dante, putting the game and her behind me.
Focus, Nik.
I pull out, and the engine hums beneath me as I idle at the curb, window cracked, one hand draped over the steering wheel. The city's quiet tonight, but it never stays that way for long.