LA traffic was a nightmare, as per usual, and I wasn’t the only one in a rush. Horns honked and people yelled, and giving the finger was practically as normal as using a turn signal.
I’d only been back home for a couple of days since leaving Dallas, and everything about my home city of San Diego had felt entirely more foreign than ever.
The faces weren’t familiar, the sun didn’t warm me as deeply, and the breeze that blew through from the ocean didn’t feel anything but cold.
I knew my stint with the Mavericks was intended to be short-lived from the beginning, but I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that it would all be ending soon.
The time with the guys during shoots, the raucous parties celebrating their victories with them, and perhaps most of all, the pseudo-relationship I’d formed with Sean Phillips.
I pinched at my skin as a force of habit, something I’d been doing over the last several weeks every time I thought of his name and my own in the same vicinity.
We’d been well acquainted with each other in ways I’d never imagined—emotionally, personally, and physically—but he was still a professional football player, and I was just a YouCam video blogger.
More than the whole life on opposite sides of the tracks factor, we’d still yet to say anything about our relationship to anyone. We snuck around and lied and fell into each other in the strangest of locations. Bathrooms and hotel beds and secret guest bedrooms and random closets, it was all the same to us, as long as we found a way inside each other.
My phone buzzed in the vent mount, and despite being behind the wheel, I couldn’t stop myself from looking.
I took solace in the fact that the traffic was stopped at the moment, but I still knew it wasn’t right.
No man’s text was worth my life or the life of someone else behind the wheel, but…Sean.
Giving in to temptation, I touched the phone and lit up the screen to read the message. It was short and sweet, but the context made me smile.
Sean: I just watched an hour of news about a building fire in LA just hoping I’d get to see you drive by. What time is the conference?
I tapped out a quick response, occasionally glancing to find traffic doing absolutely nothing.
Me: In like five minutes, actually. But I’m in bumper-to-bumper traffic trying like hell to get there. I’m hoping being fashionably late qualifies as a topic in fashion.
Sean: Why exactly are you going to a fashion blog conference? You don’t blog about fashion.
Me: I do. Occasionally. Okay…once. But I have a good friend who does. I met her online, but she seems to think it’s worth my time. They do a lot of topics on branding and general audience marketing that’s relevant no matter who my audience is.
Sean: Why don’t they have one of these in New York?
Me: They probably do.
Sean: Okay. Why aren’t you at that one? ☹
Me: Because I live in California.
Sean: Don’t remind me.
Brake lights up ahead faded as the gridlock started to move, so I typed quicker to be ready to roll.
Me: Traffic is moving. I’ll talk to you later, okay?
Sean: I’m pouting.
I rolled my eyes and smiled at the same time.
I wanted to text him back.
I wanted to call him.
Hell, I kind of wanted to skip this conference and head back to New York early.
But rationality, reality, and the now empty space in front of my vehicle demanded my attention.
I clicked off my phone and shifted back into drive.
My little Toyota Camry wasn’t fancy, but it’d never done me any wrong no matter how many times I’d unknowingly tried to sabotage it. I guessed the Japanese could build one hell of an energizer motor.
And, apparently, there’d been something blocking the road because we were sailing now. I used my hand to fan myself, did a quick smell of my pits, and put my foot to the floor. With any input from the Toyota gods, I’d be there in no time.
But even with my eyes focused on the road, I couldn’t deny the urge to text him back was still strong. And more than that, even though I wasn’t able to respond to his last message, my eyes kept glancing toward my stupid phone, hoping for another notification from him.
My heart felt like it was in a vise inside my chest.
And for the rest of my drive to the conference, all my brain fixated on was Sean. Memories of Sean. Fantasies of Sean. His perfect mouth. His laugh. The way his eyes looked when that sexy smile of his consumed his face.
Oh, sweet summer child, I was heading toward dangerous territory when it came to him, and if I weren’t careful, I’d let myself fall straight past the point of no return.
Mary Jane was shaking her head before my ass even hit the chair as I snuck my way into the first seminar. She’d at least saved me a seat, even if it was in the middle of the row.
Doesn’t she know notoriously late-arrivers preferred back row seats?
“Excuse me,” I muttered, tripping over a lady’s bag and landing on another woman’s foot. She shot me a venomous glare, and I shrugged. It’s not like I could take the stumble back.
“Always late and always in trouble,” Mary Jane, or MJ as I called her, remarked softly while looking down at her notebook and taking a quick note about website pixels.
I rolled my eyes and took out an old envelope from my back pocket. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”
MJ stopped writing, turned her head with a swirl and a twist, and I balked. Her eyes looked possessed, and I feared I’d poked the wrong bear.
“I can ask someone else,” I mumbled, but her grumble was louder as she bent down to her purse.
It didn’t take her long to find what she was after—she was a hell of a lot more organized than I was—and hand me a pen.
“Here. Now shut up and listen.”
Somewhat childishly, I had to fight the urge to defy her, just because. I was proud to say I managed it, though.
When the talk finally ended and a round of applause broke out, I took my first full breath.
“Thank God,” I muttered and silently prayed the speaker took the stick she’d had up her ass with her as she left.
MJ laughed. “Why do you come to these things if you hate them?”
“Because you’re always telling me it’s good for business. And I’m nothing if not interested in money. I want to make it. I want to spend it. I want to fucking bathe in it.”
“You’re ridiculous. But I’ll admit it’s good to see you.”
“Obvi,” I remarked. “I’m always a good time.”
Her head’s shake had to be permanent at this point as she led us out of the meeting room and down the hall of the hotel. We were headed for the lobby—and the lobby bar if I was really lucky—and the possibility of any of the above sounded amazing.
I needed a drink, and I needed to dish.
I had to spill to someone about all of the secret things I’d been filming with the Mavericks. It wasn’t a condition of the contract to keep my mouth closed, but it was good practice. I didn’t want to go blabbing to just anyone for fear they’d scoop my goddamn story.
But I trusted MJ. She was a fellow vlogger, a guru of fashion and makeup on the YouCam circuit, and she was a good person to her core. When you told MJ something and asked her to keep it to herself, she locked that shit up and threw away the key.
And, in this industry, that was a fucking rarity.
The vlogging community was notorious for being cutthroat and competitive.
With only bar-height tables available in the crowded lobby space, I hoisted myself up to a seat. Christmas was just around the corner, and the room looked like a pack of tiny elves had vomited up holiday cheer.
Lights and trees and tinsel and ornaments galore.
I sighed. “They take our drink orders at the table, right?”
MJ nodded. “Yes, relax. You’ll be able to get drunk with as little effort expended as possible.”
“Oh good,” I breathed. “That’s just how I like it.”
“So what have you been working on lately? I saw a couple of episodes post about the Mavericks.” She whistled. “That’s a big fucking score. Are you planning to do any more with them?”
My mind soared and my mouth curled as I thought about the deal I’d gotten. MJ had actually been the one to encourage me to go after something with them in the first place.
She’d known I was an avid Mavericks fan, and she had just happened to be one of the lucky bitches on the Birmingham to New York flights that brought Quinn Bailey and his lady love Cat together.
“Yes! After you called me a few months ago and told me about all of the stuff that went down on the plane with Cat and Quinn and Sean and the spectacle the whole thing had made, I felt the need to go after it. I basically hounded their director of marketing until she got back to me.”
MJ’s nod was approving. “Good girl. And?”
“And they signed me for eight episodes! I have one more left to film before it’s all over. I can’t believe how fast it all went.”
“They’re having a pretty good season, though. Maybe they’ll sign you for something postseason as a bonus?”
I thought about Wes and how much his head seemed to spin every time I was there. I didn’t do anything, per se, but I had a feeling he’d be happy when I was finally gone.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “The owner seems pretty stressed with me there. I think this is going to be it.”
“Well, that’s a bummer.”
“I know,” I agreed. “But it’s been great. All of the guys have been so much fun.”
“All of the guys, huh? Any side business going on?”
My heart kicked and flipped in my chest as panic took hold. Had she seen something about Sean and me in a tabloid? I didn’t think I was ready for that.
“No, why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because Cam Mitchell is hot. Because I’d totally jump into bed with him if I got the chance.”
I laughed. “Cam is nice.”
“Boringggg.”
I shrugged.
“Well, at least you didn’t get caught up in Sean.”
My throat constricted, and my chest got tight.
Is it hot in here, or are my hands just clammy?
“Sean?” I asked, throat thick and drier than the Sahara.
“Yeah. Sean Phillips. Total dog. Sleeps with anything that moves.”
I rubbed my hands together, picked at the tablecloth, and tried for nonchalant. “I thought I’d heard that he changed.”
“Oh, he changed all right,” she said through a huge laugh. “Changed women. Whoever the poor girl is he’s hooked on his line now is in trouble. Because there’s another fish out there lurking, and it won’t take much bait to convince him to throw her back.”
Stomach nauseous and putrid, I did my best to keep a straight face.
But if I made it through the rest of the day, it wouldn’t be without consequences.
The vast ocean seemed so appealing in all its colorful blue glory. Life ebbed and flowed, and new adventures were born. But there’d been one too many bad fishes in this conversation with MJ and me, and no matter how much my stupid heart longed for Sean, I had a feeling I’d never eat seafood again.
A server stopped by our table, and I ordered a glass of wine as a means of distraction.
And while MJ dove into what her current vlog plans were, I couldn’t stop thinking about Sean and us and his reputation and my true feelings for him.
I was deeper than I should be; I knew that much. And soon, I’d be taking my last trip to New York to film the final episode of the Mavs series.
The reality of it all became more and more apparent.
When I boarded my flight to Newark, I needed to have a clear head and an expectation-less heart.