Jake
My agent?
What. The. Fuck.
Because I didn’t know what else to do I ran a hand through my hair and pinched the bridge of my nose. Damn this hangover. None of this made sense.
I watched the beautiful blonde woman watching me. She had just ordered me into the shower like she was my goddamn coach. Was she kidding me?
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, her hands on her hips. “You need to hit the shower, have a shave, and get your shit together, Jake.”
“Who are you, my mother?”
“I think we’ve already established who I am. Damn it, Jake. You need to pull yourself together.”
Broken fragments from the previous night slowly pieced together in my brain. We had been sitting at the bar in Squire Tucks. This blonde had sat down next to me, offered to buy me a drink and . . . wait! Was this chick for real? Was she really my agent?
I grabbed my phone off the table by the front door and scrolled through looking for Hank’s number.
“What are you doing?” I’m-your-agent asked, looking at me as if she was irritated by the very thought of me drawing a breath.
“I’m ringing Hank. For all I know, you’re some crazy chick who likes to go around telling people she is their agent.”
“Why on Earth would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know. But I gave up being surprised by what people do and why they do it a long time ago.”
She didn’t get up or race for the door. Which was a good sign. Instead she flopped down on the couch and crossed her legs.
Her long legs.
“Sure. Go ahead,” she challenged.
Selecting Hank’s number, I hit CALL.
Within three rings he answered. “Jake? How you doin’, buddy?”
“Not good . . . listen I’ve got this woman here and she’s claiming to be my agent. Her name is Mandy or Mindy —”
“It’s Mackenzie, genius,” the cute blonde barked from the couch.
Cute blonde? Oh, hell no…
I made a face at her and she rolled her eyes back at me.
Hank’s distinctive voice brought me back to the present. “Mackenzie? Yeah, Jake, that’s my daughter. She’ll be looking after you for a spell.”
His what . . . ?
And she’d be doing what . . . ?
“Listen, I’m just on my way into a meeting. Can we talk about this later? I will call you as soon as I am free.”
Hank Eden was your quintessential sports agent. He knew how to talk the talk and bamboozle you by talking fast.
“But I—”
“I promise. We’ll talk soon. But in the meantime hang out with Mackenzie for a bit. Get to know your new agent.”
“Hank, I don’t need—”
“But watch out. She may be small in stature but she’s sure got some fire in that mouth of hers.”
I glanced at Mackenzie who was grinning victoriously at me.
“You don’t say,” I replied.
“Okay, I will talk to you soon, pal.” He rang off, leaving me more confused than before.
Hank had given my account to his daughter?
When I placed my phone on a nearby table, Mackenzie looked pleased with herself and smiled across at me, smugly.
“Everything okay?” she asked sweetly.
“Apparently, you are my new agent.”
Her sweetness vanished. “No shit, Sherlock.” She stood up and there were those long legs again. It was almost impossible not to notice them as she walked over to me and thrust her hands back on her slim hips. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“We?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, no. There is no we.” I backed away from her. “Just like there is no hockey. No sports career. No nothing. You understand me, lady? I ain’t interested.”
She straightened and by the look on her face, the chances of her letting this go were about the same as the sun not setting tonight. Impossible.
“Why are you being so difficult?” she asked.
“Why are you being so damn pushy?” I asked back.
She rummaged around her handbag for a moment before pulling out a crumpled picture and handing it to me.
It was a picture of me. A very unflattering picture of me, actually…leaving a bar late one night, obviously sozzled and looking worse for wear. I squinted and held it closer. Hell, not just sozzled—I looked like shit.
Sadness swept through me. Yeah, I remembered that night.
I also remembered how that image had been mercilessly plastered across magazines and other news media, and how they’d called me broken, washed up, and a drunk.
Without a word I handed it back to her.
Her face softened. “I want to help you, Jake.”
I studied her for a moment but said nothing and turned away. I wasn’t going to wait around to see the pity in her eyes. I’d seen more than my share of pity over the past nine months and I hated it.
“Look. We can make this work,” she said.
“Really?” I replied. “Because I’m pretty sure that we’re not going to do anything.”
“That’s because you’re being stubborn.”
I decided to ignore her. “I’m going to have a shower. Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.”
I started to walk away. But she followed.
All the way to the bathroom.
“You know, despite being a bit rough around the edges with the whole manners thing, you’re actually a pretty nice guy.”
I kept walking. “So are you.”
“And a comedian, too. Apparently.” She sighed. “Look, let’s just meet over dinner and talk about this.”
I turned around to face her. “I’m about to have a shower.”
But she ignored me. “You might like what I have to say.”
“Seriously. I’m about to get naked now.”
Again she ignored me. “How about I pick you up at seven?”
So I dropped my sweats to my ankles.
If I thought that was going to get a response, I was wrong.
She stalled but her eyes never left mine as she pressed her lips together. “You’re naked, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
She folded her arms. “Is that supposed to shock me?”
“I don’t know. Are you shocked?”
“Are you kidding me? After eight months with Ethan Valentine, not a lot shocks me anymore.”
I just looked at her blankly. Well, maybe not so blankly. There was probably a bit of smugness in my expression because I was pretty sure she was dying to look. But she was battling some kind of inner war taking place behind those beautiful brown eyes of hers. Pride versus curiosity. I could see it written all over her stiff face.
“I’m about to turn around and walk to the shower, and when I get there I am going to turn around again. That means you are going get an eyeful if you don’t leave.”
“Fine.” She unfolded her arms. “But this isn’t over.”
“Oh, I assure you, this is over.” And with those parting words I slid the bathroom door closed between us.
Was I being a douche? Probably. Did I care? Probably not. Although, I wasn’t usually one for being rude. It was kind of a pet peeve of mine. Yet this . . . this woman . . . ugh . . . she was acting as if I was one drink away from catching the train to Loserville and it pissed me off.
Seriously, one picture of me looking rough and the world thought I was drowning in a bottomless pit of alcohol and self-pity.
But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The picture she had shown me had been taken after I’d finished a fifth of liquor because it had been my father’s birthday and birthdays were always the worst for me. They were a constantly cruel reminder of what I had lost and every year I coped the same way—by getting nice and toasted with my good friend, Jack Daniel’s.
Last night would have been my sister Michelle’s twentieth birthday. If she had lived, she would’ve been a co-ed somewhere enjoying the highs and lows of college life, and damn if the swell of pain wasn’t excruciating every time I thought about the things she would never get to experience.
The last time I had taken a drink before that had been on what would have been my mom’s birthday. Otherwise, I didn’t drink. Unless I was out at the Moose Lake cabin. Being in Canada, it was so damn cold there that sometimes the alcoholic burn was the only thing to warm me up.
Otherwise, I tried not to turn to alcohol to get me through the despair of losing Tyler.
Not that the world believed it.
Or, apparently, my new agent.
* * *