Christ, she smelled good.
“You look nice.” Understatement of the century.
She barked a dry laugh. “That sounded painful. Is it really so hard for you to give me a compliment?”
“No,” I mumbled.
She had no idea how beautiful she was. How much I wanted her. Craved her. She had no clue that she’d ruined me for other women.
Before Nellie, there’d been women. Casual flings. Random hookups. My third year in the league, I’d attempted the girlfriend thing, but it had fizzled in weeks thanks to my demanding travel and practice schedule.
Then there’d been that night in Charlotte and Nellie had fucked up my life. Every other woman paled in comparison.
No one was as beautiful. No one had that fire. No one made my pulse race, whether we were fighting or fucking.
Maybe I’d been comparing other women to Nellie since high school and hadn’t even realized it.
There was an entry in her diary about how I hadn’t looked at her in the hallways. Yeah, I’d never looked at Nellie back then. I’d done my best to pretend she hadn’t existed.
It had been easier that way. The last thing I’d wanted was for one of the guys to catch me checking her out as she stood at her locker, loading up her arms with books. If any of the other girls had caught me watching Nellie, they would have made her life miserable, just because I’d failed to keep my eyes away.
I never should have looked at her. I never should have broken my focus.
But then . . . Charlotte. Fucking Charlotte.
Having her as my non-date tonight was a horrible idea. No question.
I’d asked Harry if she’d go with me, but they’d had some stupid family night planned. Pierce would have been the better choice, and even with the new baby, he would have tagged along. That would have been the smarter choice because there was no way I’d want to reach across the cab and squeeze his thigh.
My fingers tightened on the wheel as I drove. I stayed quiet. Nellie stayed quiet. What was there to say? We didn’t share personal details, preferring to torment each other instead. Except at the moment, the silence felt . . . lonely.
God, I was sick of being lonely. “I miss football.”
“Then take the sportscasting job.”
I shook my head. “It’s not for me.”
“You could play.”
“Nah. It was time to get out.”
She hummed, and as the soothing sound faded, the silence returned.
I shifted, leaning an elbow on the console as I drove with one hand. “Tell me what you hate about me.”
“You drive like an old man.”
I chuckled. “No hesitation?”
“Not tonight.” She smirked, then nodded to the speedometer. “You’re going five miles under the speed limit.”
“I don’t like to drive fast.”
She studied my profile, leaning her elbow on the console too. We were close. Too close. All I had to do was lean in and kiss that red off her lips. So I shifted in the opposite direction.
“Why don’t you like to drive fast?” she asked. “It seems . . . I don’t know. Shy?”
“I’m not shy.”
“Exactly.”
I sighed, not wanting to share this story, but talking was better than the silence. “When I was sixteen, my grandfather died in a car accident.”
“Oh.” She gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“He was my dad’s father. We were close.” Grandpa Stark had loved football, and whenever we’d play catch or goof around, it had always been a game. When I’d played with Dad, it had always been practice.
“It was a three-car collision,” I told her. “Grandpa’s fault. The insurance companies did an extensive investigation. They found that he was speeding, going at least twenty miles per hour over the limit. He must not have been paying attention. Maybe he swerved to avoid an animal or something. But he overcorrected and flew into the oncoming lane.”
“Cal, I had no idea.”
Not many knew. It wasn’t something I’d wanted to talk about, especially at school. “One of the cars was totaled, but the driver walked away with a few scrapes and bruises. But the other car . . . the guy was a father of four. He died on impact. So did Grandpa.”
Nellie reached across the cab, her hand almost settling on my shoulder before she pulled it back in exchange for a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hassled you about it.”
“You’re not the first person to razz me about my driving. It doesn’t bother me.” Most people who knew the story would drive slower too, at least when I was in the car.
“I’m still sorry.”
“Thanks.”
The remainder of the drive was quiet, though the silence wasn’t as unsettling. The tension was gone. Sad stories had their way of sobering the mood. But as the restaurant neared, a different emotion made my hands strangle the wheel—annoyance.
This visit of Wade’s was pointless. I’d told him as much the last time we’d talked, but he seemed certain that if we sat down and talked it through, I’d change my mind. He was about to be disappointed.
I pulled into the steakhouse’s parking lot, taking the last spot available. Then we both climbed out and made our way to the door. Together. Like a couple. Like we’d done this a hundred times.
Was that strange? There weren’t many people I felt comfortable with but Nellie was one. When it came to her, I knew exactly what to expect. She had no hidden agendas. She didn’t fake her way through life. She was the real deal.
Not many people would tell you to your face what they hated about you.
Which was why I’d only ask her.
“Hey.” I slowed my steps as we approached the door. “Thanks for doing this.”
She nodded. “I’m not doing this to help you. It’s because you’re buying dinner and a steak sounded better than leftover pizza.”
I chuckled. “It’s always brutal honesty with you, isn’t it?”
“It’s kind of my style.”
“Yes, it is.” I held the door open for her to step inside the darkened space. Then I followed, giving my eyes a moment to adjust. When they did, the first face I spotted was Wade’s.
“Cal! There’s my guy.” He clapped his hands together, the crack too loud for the small space beside the hostess station. But that was Wade. He was unapologetically boisterous and crass.
I’d opted for a pair of dark jeans and a button-down white shirt. But Wade, as always, was decked out in a tailored three-piece suit. This one navy and likely from Italy, paid for by the commission he’d earned from my contracts.
“Wade.” I shook his hand, not adding a good to see you or thanks for coming all this way. It would only be bullshit.
“Looking good, buddy.”
God, I hated it when he called me buddy. “Thanks.”
“And who is this?” His gaze raked up and down Nellie like she was a lollipop and he was licking her head to toe.
I shot him a warning glare, putting my hand on the small of her back. “Nellie Rivera.”
Wade held out his hand for a shake.
Nellie raised her chin and extended her hand. But instead of shaking it like a normal fucking person, Wade tried to lift her knuckles to his lips.