SUTTON

 

 

I’m playing hooky. I’ve never done that before. I feel like a criminal when I sneak out of the studio with Shane. Luckily, there’s no one around to see it.

“I’ll drive,” I offer, pulling my keys from my bag.

Shane laughs. “There’s no way in hell I can fit into your car. I’ll drive.”

I look at his Jeep glistening in the sun next to my Fiat. His car looks like a skyscraper in comparison, but he’s right. Even with the seat all the way back, his knees would be in his face inside my car. His is missing the doors and the roof again, and I can’t think of a single reason why he would keep it like that. Inside, the seats are black leather that have been roasting in the afternoon sun. They’ll be murderously hot against my bare legs, a feeling I’ll find divine. I can wedge my fingers between the seat and my legs and maybe, for once, they’ll feel warm.

Assuming I can get up inside the damn thing.

I stand at the passenger side looking everywhere for a handle or a step or some kind of purchase to help launch me up into this beast, but there’s nothing. This is a car built for a man Shane’s size. Not a woman little enough to fit inside the glove compartment.

“Let me help you,” he says from behind me.

Before I can argue, his hands are on my hips. His fingers wrap around me securely as he lifts me into the air and gently sets me down on the passenger seat. It’s as hot as I imagined, but not nearly as hot as the searing feel of his hands on me.

Shane touches me a thousand times a day when we’re dancing, but this feels different. It feels intimate as he helps me into his car. He’s not my partner right now. He’s not even the guy I made out with on the night of the first filming. Right now, he’s a man and I’m a woman, and I’m painfully aware of how large his hands are. How capable he is in everything he does.

I compartmentalize my entire life into easy to identify boxes. Work is the biggest, fullest one. But Shane barely fits inside that box. I can’t even think of how to build one large enough for him outside that context. And what would I name it? Guys I’ve made out with? Men I’d like to see naked?

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he steps up into the lifted vehicle like it’s nothing. The Jeep jostles under his weight, tossing me toward him.

“Do you have one of those...” He opens and closes his hand rapidly, like he’s trying to mime the words into existence. “A thing?”

I frown, assuming for some reason that he’s asking if I have a condom. “A thing?”

“You know, a hair thing.” He gestures to my hair hanging down over my shoulders. “A rubber band. It’s gonna get windy once we hit the road.”

“No,” I laugh with relief. “I don’t have a ‘thing’.”

“Don’t worry. I got you.”

Shane reaches over to pop the glove compartment at my knees. From inside, he pulls out a bright yellow baseball hat with a big, black bear on the front.

I shake my head when he offers it to me. “Shane, I’ll be fine. Really. I’ve been in a convertible before.”

“Not like this you haven’t. Here,” he shakes it insistently. “You’ll need it.”

“I doubt it.” I take it anyway, if just to stop the discussion.

Shane sees me set it in my lap, but he doesn’t push any further. He brings the Jeep to growling life before putting his hand on the back of my seat to see behind us. “Eric’s here,” he comments as we pull out of the parking spot. “Or is that golf cart always here?”

“It’s always here, but so is he,” I answer stiffly.

“I bet his wife loves that.”

My heart skips a beat. “How’d you know he was married?”

“He wears a wedding ring.”

“Right,” I mutter, feeling paranoid. “Of course.”

“Have you ever met her?”

“No. Never.”

“I wonder if she’s anything like him.”

“What do you think he’s like?”

Shane shrugs, driving us slowly through the lot toward the gate. “I don’t know. Phony, mostly.”

“A lot of people in television are phony,” I agree.

“Including you?”

I frown at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a question, Sutton. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

“You’re asking if I think I’m fake?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you’re getting pissed off and I liked it better when you were in a good mood.” He glances at my hands even though he knows exactly what’s in them. “Did you bring that sheet with you? Look at the sheet. It’ll perk you up.”

“I don’t need ‘perking’,” I bristle. “I need…”

He waits through my sudden silence before prodding, “What? What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” I answer softly.

“You know what I think?”

“Rarely.”

He grins. “I think you need this day off as much as I do. Maybe more.”

I don’t reply because I don’t know if he’s wrong or right. I felt bad, that’s what got me here. That’s what I know for sure. I can see how burned out he is. I’ve seen it for the last couple of days, but I’ve ignored it. I’ve been selfish because that’s what I am. I’m not phony. I’m not Hollywood. I’m a New Yorker. I’m driven and tireless. I’m selfish and angry. I’m East Coast and so lonely and homesick I can hardly stand it, and when he gave me those wounded puppy dog eyes as he apologized for calling me out on my own shit, I felt like the worst version of myself imaginable. I felt real guilt constricting my chest until it ached.

Shane takes us west – toward the ocean. I’m disappointed in a way. For a second, I thought he was going to take me to the stadium where he plays. I thought since we were taking a day off from my turf he’d take me to his, evening the imaginary score that I know we’re both keeping between us. Today is definitely a point for him. He got me to ditch. He could have scored another point by taking me somewhere I’ve never been before to learn about a game I’ve never watched, but he’s not pushing his advantage.

I’m struck again by the fact that Shane Lowry is a bigger person than I am, in more ways than one.

“Why’d you choose red for your Jeep?!” I shout over the wind and the world rushing around us. It’s whipping my hair into my face, over my eyes, in my mouth, but I refuse to admit I was wrong. The hat sits untouched in my lap.

“It’s my favorite color!”

“Mine too!”

He glances at me with a surprised smile. “Really?! We have something in common?!”

“It’s a color, Shane,” I tell him coolly, looking away. “Don’t get excited.”

He laughs, nodding slowly. “Alright, fine! Can I tell you a secret, though?”

“Sure.”

“Red is one of the reasons I decided to play ball for Nebraska. Their colors are red and white.”

“That’s a stupid reason to choose a college,” I laugh.

He’s not offended. He’s laughing with me. “I know.”

“Was it worth it? Going to Nebraska?”

“Yeah. If I hadn’t played for the Huskers I wouldn’t be in the NFL.”

I sputter, spitting out a lock of hair that’s blown between my lips. “And you love to hit people.”

“I love playing the game.”

“Are you good at it?”

“No.” He glances at me, grinning mildly. “I’m fucking great at it.”

I blush, feeling instantly embarrassed by it. Of course, that makes me blush even harder.

It’s not what he said or even the way he said it. It’s the fact that somewhere in the discussion, we leaned in closer to hear each other. Both of us have an elbow on the center console. His skin is pressed up against mine. It’s warm. Almost hot, like the black leather against my thighs. His face is only a foot away when he tells me how talented he is. I can see myself in the reflection of his bright orange sunglasses. I see me as he’s seeing me, and it leaves me deshelled, the way his smile does.

“Hitting people can’t be that hard,” I say to be a bitch, but there’s no bite to it.

“It is if you’re doing it right. You gotta make sure you don’t murder them or yourself. But you also can’t let them through the line. My job is to protect my family at all costs but keep my head enough to not mess a guy up doing it. There’s a thin line and I toe it on every play.” He casts me another quick glance. Another penetrating smile. “You should watch a game.”

“You should watch an episode.”

He laughs, smacking his hand against the steering wheel. “I knew you’d say that.”

“If you know I’m going to say it, why don’t you do it?”

“Because some sick part of me likes making you mad, Sutton. It’s sexy.”

I hold my breath and count to five. Then I do it again. I’m not containing anger. I’m holding onto something else. Something liquid and light that runs through me like cool water. His simple words do something sinuous to me. They make me want things I shouldn’t want with a man I can’t have. The waters around us are muddied and confusing, and I don’t like confusing. I like clarity. Simplicity. I like black and white when I can get it, and Shane looks like every color of the rainbow to me.

I lean back into my seat, sliding his hat on low over my eyes to hide them. “We’ll see how sexy it is when I lose my shit and stab you in the face with one of my heels!”

Shane chuckles. “Damn! That was weirdly specific!”

“Tell me you haven’t fantasized about ways you’d end me!”

“Never once!”

“You’re a liar! Or not very creative!”

“What if I’m just a nice guy?!”

I shake my head stubbornly, looking away. “No one is a nice guy.”

Forty minutes later, Shane pulls us into the parking lot at the Santa Monica Pier. In that time, we said very little to each other. I don’t like yelling and I didn’t dare lean in close to him again. Eventually he gave up on conversation and just cranked the stereo. His speakers are impressive. I could hear them clearly over the wind and traffic on the 405. He listens to a lot of classic rock. It surprised me that his taste in music isn’t that bad. I expected to be subjected to country or death metal. Definitely something more abrasive than Tom Petty and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

I drop down out of the Jeep like I’m freefalling from a cliff. I’ve never been to the pier before. It’s a gorgeous day and the place is flooded with tourists on the beach, at the amusement park, and strolling along the pier that reaches out over the sparkling blue water of the Pacific Ocean. It rolls in gently, sending a breeze up the beach that tickles along my neck and my naked shoulders. I’m still wearing my workout gear – Shane promised me before we left that it would be fine – and the bare skin on my arms and legs is greedily lapping up the sunlight.

“You a fan of the beach?” he asks from across the hood of the Jeep.

“I don’t know. I never come here.”

“You should. It’s good for you.”

I cast him a wry grin. “You say that about carbs too.”

“It’s true.”

“Maybe for you.”

“Sometimes you just have to let things be good for you, Boss. Whether they are or they aren’t, it doesn’t kill you to imagine they could be.” He steps toward the pier, motioning for me to follow him. “Come on. Lunch is this way.”

I follow obediently after him. I let him take my hand as we thread our way through the crowd, something that’s surprisingly easy to do with a man Shane’s size. They move aside for him. People stare as he walks by, and I’m not sure if it’s because they recognize him from the team or because of how large he is. Or how handsome. He looks shockingly beautiful in the sunshine with those stupid glasses on and a swagger to his walk that says he knows exactly where he’s going. I’m holding his hand so we don’t get separated in the crowd – that’s what I tell myself. It’s not because I like the warm feel of him pressed against my cold fingers or the way my shoulder brushes against the solid stone of his bicep. It has nothing to do with the possessive pull I feel in my stomach when other women turn to look at him.

“What’s your stance on rollercoasters?” he asks me.

I look up at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. He is. “Um, I don’t know. They exist?”

“Are we riding one today?”

“No,” I laugh, shaking my head hard. “I’m not riding a rollercoaster.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not ten.”

“You couldn’t ride one if you were ten. You’d be too small.” He looks down at me with a smug smile. “You might be too small now.”

“Eat shit.”

“Eat meat,” he fires back.

I laugh at how lame and yet accurate that insult is for me. “Well played, Lowry.”

“I’m just getting started, Boss,” he promises.

His mood was recovering the second we decided to blow off rehearsal, but he’s absolutely buoyant now that we’re at the pier. The shift in him is amazing and I silently chastise myself for working him so hard. Yes, I want to win, but maybe I can find a way to do it without destroying him.

He takes me to a food cart that’s selling hotdogs. Hotdogs. I almost punch him in the stomach for even suggesting it, but he’s quick to point out that they have a vegetarian option and I can get it without the bun. No meat. No carbs. He’s following all of my rules while still managing to make himself happy with two massive hotdogs for himself, both piled high with relish, ketchup, and more mustard than any human being should consume in one sitting.

We grab a tall bistro style table because he has trouble fitting in a picnic table. I’m starting to notice that he struggles with the world the same way I do, but in the opposite direction. While everything feels like it was built too big for me, it all feels too small for him.

We eat in silence. Shane seems content with his massive meat tubes and I’m happy with the smell of the ocean and the mist in the air as waves break against the pilons underneath us. It feels good. Peaceful. The silence between us is comfortable in a familiar way, like we’re used to being like this. Like a pair of friends with nothing to prove or an old married couple who already knows each others’ everything.

“Can I ask you something?” Shane asks suddenly.

I shrug. “It’s a free country.”

“You and Jace Ryker,” he begins tentatively, “there wasn’t anything there, was there? It was all for show.”

I lick my lips slowly. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I can’t see you hooking up with him.”

“You’ve been picturing it?”

“Maybe. Or I’ve been trying to. But it doesn’t make sense. He’s into his girlfriend and you’re just not the type.”

“The homewrecker type?”

He flinches, a look of guilt clouding his eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business. Sorry.”

I chew slowly. My eyes are on the ocean but my mind is on the past. On the sins I’ve committed and the ones I haven’t. I didn’t wreck Jace’s home, but that doesn’t make me innocent because there’s still Eric. There’s always Eric.

I clear my throat roughly. “I didn’t sleep with Jace,” I confess because it feels good to be able to deny it. “You’re right. It was all for show. I didn’t want to sleep with him. He wasn’t my type. Not by a long shot.”

“Too pretty, right?” Shane jokes. He grins playfully. “I’ve always thought he’s too pretty for his own good.”

I snicker. “You like your men rugged, huh?”

“I like anyone that’s a little rough around the edges. And you, Boss, are all edges. You’re jagged as a steak knife.”

“Are you saying you like me?”

“Yeah, I am,” he answers without embarrassment. “Do you like me?”

“I don’t dislike you,” I hold out, feeling like a coward.

Shane laughs because he knows I’m lying. “We’ll get there,” he promises.

I roll my eyes like he’s being annoying, but he’s not. He’s right. We’re already there. I already like him, but to tell him that would be to give up ground and I never give up anything without a fight. I wouldn’t know how if I tried.

“So if Jace isn’t your type,” Shane presses, “what is?”

“Trouble,” I answer immediately and honestly. “My type is definitely trouble.”

“You mean badasses, like me.”

I grin. “I thought you were a nice guy, Shane.”

“You told me no one is a nice guy.”

“I think you might be.”

“Dammit,” he laments dramatically. “I guess I’m out then, huh?”

“I guess so. What about you? What’s your type?”

He looks at me for a long time. Long enough to draw my eyes to his. Long enough to make my stomach churn and my heart stutter painfully in my chest.

“I’m still figuring that out,” he answers softly.

I take an unsteady breath. I try to hold onto it, try to count it out the way I did in the Jeep, but I can’t. I can’t hold onto it with him looking at me like that; like I mean something.