Jocelyn

“Did you go to the spa?” Lindsay shrugs out of her jacket, resting it on her lap as she slides onto a bar stool. “You look refreshed.”

I accept a cocktail list from the bartender and shake my head. “No time for the spa.”

“Yoga?”

“Nope.”

“It’s not your birthday for another few weeks...” She frowns, sizing me up. “Are you on some diet you didn’t tell me about?”

“If I were on a diet, would I be ordering a margarita?” I set down the drink menu and put in my order with the bartender. Extra salt, blended. Two shots of tequila. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Oh, there’s something.” Lindsay picks up the menu, scans it over, and then duplicates my order. “I just can’t put my finger on what it is.”

“You ladies celebrating anything special?” The bartender is an older woman, her voice rocky and worn from a lifetime of over-the-counter conversations. “Birthdays?”

“We’re celebrating something,” Lindsay says. “But I haven’t figured out what yet.”

The woman nods. “Well, I’ll leave ya to it. Call me Elene.”

“We’re not celebrating anything,” I say, once we’re somewhat alone. “We’re drinking to forget.”

“Forget what?”

I sigh, scanning the dimly lit bar that used to be a local hangout. Over the years, newer, trendier bars have popped up in the area, stealing the clientele from this establishment and diverting them to the shinier ones. I’ve tried the other bars in an effort to impress clients, but the music is always too loud, the drinks too expensive, the food too bland. This place is a classic.

“Nothing,” I say. “Let’s just forget it.”

“What happened today?” Lindsay’s not giving up so easily. “I thought your outing with Boxer was going well. I could’ve saved you if something went wrong.”

“Oh, no, the park was phase one. Phase One went great. After the whole Barbie incident.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself. You couldn’t have guessed she wasn’t a Barbie lover. But wait one second, missy.” She swivels to face me. “Phase One?”

“Yep.”

“Why am I not aware of Phase Two?”

“Because I wasn’t aware. I’m still not sure what happened.”

“Start talking.”

“I’m waiting for my margarita.”

Lindsay squints at me. “Jocelyn Jones, you’re not afraid of anything. The last time I saw you order hard alcohol was when Donovan... oh, shit. You’re falling for Boxer.”

Thankfully, Elene, the bartender, plunks down our drinks at that very moment. “This is about a man?”

“No,” I say, at the same time Lindsay says, “Apparently.”

“What’s he like?” Elene leans against the counter. “Why are you still in denial?”

“I’m not in denial. I’m just not interested in him,” I argue weakly. “Except as a business prospect.”

“Right,” Elene snorts, rolling her eyes in Lindsay’s general direction. “Name?”

“Boxer,” I say, all too quickly.

Elene laughs. “He’s on your mind, sugar, whether you like it or not.”

I rest my head against the counter, eyes closed, the first sips of margarita swirling through my brain. Lindsay’s right—I’m a business drinks sort of woman. One or two glasses of wine, and that’s my maximum. I don’t get out of control.

Now and again, I’ll have three glasses of wine for a special occasion, like my horrendous date with Mr. Hot Shot the other night. But I feel as if that one deserves a pass—it was either the third glass of wine or suicide, and I choose to live.

To my surprise, Lindsay’s hand snakes out and rubs my back. “I should’ve seen this coming the second you ordered a margarita. Or before, when I saw your cheeks glowing without a facial peel.”

“I’m not glowing,” I say, sneaking a glance at her with one eyeball. “I’m terrified.”

Elene pours herself a margarita. “Bar’s empty, and I might as well be a counselor with all the tears I’ve wiped off the counter over the years. Spill your beans, ladies.”

“I’m Lindsay, this is Jocelyn,” Lindsay says. “Jocelyn’s the best sports agent around, and she’s out to rope in Boxer as her client. But, apparently, we’ve got a twist to this whole thing. Miss Jones wants more than Boxer’s signature.”

Elene wiggles her eyebrows. “I know who he is, and I don’t blame you, Miss Jones. That man’s packing a lot of...” she gives a raspy clear of her throat. “Charm.”

Lindsay laughs, pulling me into an upright position. “See? None of us blame you. It’s understandable. Boxer’s a catch.”

“I don’t like him, I just...” I pause, taking a lick of salt from the edge of my glass, washing it down with a crisp swig of cocktail. Instant brain freeze. “Ow. Ow.”

“Slow down, boss,” Lindsay says, “or you’re going to be spending the night on my couch while I hold your hair.”

“I’m not good at this.”

“The drinking, or the falling in love?” Elene asks. “Because if you want my honest to goodness opinion, you’re not good at either. You, my friend, are wound tighter than a spring.”

Lindsay nods enthusiastically. “Whenever she tries to deep breathe, she has a heart attack. Basically.”

“So? Why not jump in bed for a night with this guy, get the sexual tension out of the way, and then do business with a clear mind?”

“It’s not a horrible idea,” Lindsay agrees with Elene, which is surprising. Lindsay is a professional in all senses of the word, having never dated anyone in the realm of the sports world. “He really does seem like a great guy.”

“It’s not that simple.” I run my fingers along the bar, the alcohol melting away my previous arguments. “Even if I were interested in a one night stand, he’s not interested.”

“Good Lord, woman. Take a look at yourself,” Elene says. Then she turns to Lindsay and shakes her head. “Is she always this dense?”

Lindsay nods. “She’s the smartest woman I know, but sometimes I want to whack her over the head with her own stiletto.”

“Excuse me,” I say. “I’m right here.”

“What man doesn’t want a piece of you?” Elene asks, gesturing to me. “You’re clearly successful and smart, and you’re stunning. I highly doubt he’s not interested.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” I tell her. “I happen to carry a reputation.”

“Let me guess. Maneater.” Elene folds her arms across her chest. “You’re successful in the Boy’s Club, so all those men with the winky little wieners have some name they like to pin on you out of jealousy.”

“The Blonde Bitch. Ice Queen,” Lindsay starts listing them off. When I glare at her, she looks up. “What? It’s true. We both know it, and we both know they’re completely unfounded.”

“Of course they’re unfounded,” Elene scoffs. “But if this Boxer is a true man, he’ll embrace your success, not run away from it.”

“He’s a true man.” Lindsay fans herself. “He’s gorgeous, and he’s so sweet with his daughter.

“This is strictly business, ladies,” I say, though I have a feeling my argument is falling on deaf ears.

“Honey, you’ve gotta loosen up,” Elene interrupts. “I don’t know you that well, but I know your type. How long has it been?”

“Since?”

Lindsay and Elene laugh. When I still don’t answer, Lindsay gapes at me. “Since you’ve had sex, Jocelyn.”

“Oh, come on, ladies. I don’t know.”

“Sure you do,” Elene says. “Two months and four days for me.”

“Last week for me,” Lindsay says. “But only because it was my fifth date with a guy, and I think it’s going somewhere.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” I accuse her. “Is this Mark?”

“Yes! He might not last forever, but for now, he’s perfect.”

“Your turn,” Elene rounds on me. “How long?”

It’s no use arguing, so I sigh. “Fourteen months.”

Lindsay blinks and looks like she’s about to pass out. “Seriously?”

“Good God, woman,” Elene says. “Call Boxer right now. Screw business—literally. Your health and sanity are more important. Drinks are on me.”

“She’ll say she’s too busy.” Lindsay sighs. “She’s in a relationship with her job.”

“Right, but is your job going to cook you dinner on your birthday?” Elene asks. “Or hell, forget cooking. I just need the man to dial in for a pizza and make me feel nice. I’m simple.”

“No,” I say quietly. “I can’t.”

My tone must ring through to them, because both women quiet down, watching my face as I push my empty glass away from me. The margarita is buzzing in my head, and I take a second to gather my thoughts.

“You have to trust me when I tell you it’s not that simple,” I say. “I don’t have time for love from someone like Boxer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elene asks. “You deserve love as much as the rest of us. I don’t want to hear you saying that ever again, Miss Jones.”

“Jocelyn,” I correct automatically. “And I just mean...”

The thought is lost, somewhere between the back of my brain and my heart, struggling to surface, struggling to tease out the words I’m trying to say.

“I just have the feeling that when Boxer falls in love, it’s everything,” I say finally. “There’s no stepping slowly into the water, dipping a toe and testing the boundaries. He’s either all the way in, or he’s not.”

“Honey, that’s the sort of love everyone else is looking for,” Elene says. “Every woman wants—no, deserves—a man who loves with his whole heart. Otherwise, why not skip the love and go for the sex? It’s easier.”

“Not for someone like him,” I say. “I don’t know why, but I have the feeling Boxer isn’t the sort of guy who has sex without there being strings attached. He’s protective of his daughter, his family, and when he invites someone into his home, he’s going to make sure it’s worth it.”

“You are worth it, boss,” Lindsay says. “I still don’t understand the problem. You don’t need him as a client, do you? If you feel this strongly, let Rumpert take him.”

“No, I can’t do that,” I say, blinking back tears. “I just... I don’t have the sort of capacity for love that Boxer does.”

“What are you talking about?” Lindsay asks. “Sure you do.”

“He’ll do anything for his family, his daughter, his parents. I don’t have family, okay? I don’t know what that’s like. I haven’t for a long time.” I shake my head as my throat burns with tears. “I almost tore apart a couple in love recently. Because I didn’t recognize it was love. What sort of psycho does that?”

“Andi and Ryan?” Lindsay asks softly. “You didn’t know—”

“I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to Ryan when he told me he was falling in love. He called me...” I stop, swallow, a wave of shame washing over my body as I remember the night at my co-worker’s wedding. Lawrence Pierce, brother to Ryan Pierce. “I’d wanted to sign Ryan, and I pushed him too far.”

“You made a mistake,” Lindsay says. “When you realized it, you backed off. Did you apologize?”

“I tried to,” I say, my voice raspy with hate for what I’d done. “Ryan won’t return my calls, and I don’t blame him. I don’t dare talk to Andi after what I did.”

“Why did you try to break them up?” Elene asks. “I don’t understand.”

“Because I wanted to sign Ryan from the Minnesota Stars and bring him over to the LA Lightning. He deserves it—he’s a great player. But I wasn’t risking a young kid on my roster who’s can’t control his...” I clear my throat as Lindsay fills in ding-dong for me. “I’ve been burned before. I love the game. I’m loyal to my clients. But I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a sucker—I refuse to sign another player who runs off to South America at the drop of a hat because of a girl.”

“Things went south?”

“They were in love,” I say, looking away. “Ryan was willing to give up everything for Andi. I’d thought they were nothing more than a fling. I tried to get him to break things off so he could focus on his career, but I was wrong. Completely wrong.”

“Well, it ain’t too late to fix it.”

“Of course it is. I botched the deal.”

“Ryan got the girl, didn’t he?” Elene asks. “That sounds like it’s far more important to him than any money he might’ve gotten.”

“True,” I agree. “But I was horrible to them. I don’t know what came over me; it was like I morphed into someone else. All these old feelings came up, and I turned ugly.”

“Can you get her a meeting with this guy?” Elene asks Lindsay. “I’m guessing you run her life?”

“I do,” Lindsay says. “And I can.”

“No, I should leave them be,” I say. “Honestly, no good can come of it.”

“Think about it,” Elene says. “You can apologize to the couple, ask for their forgiveness or whatever makes you feel better, and then get their advice. Find out what sort of love they have because honestly, it sounds like something worth having.”

“I guess,” I say. “But I still can’t—”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Lindsay says. “You don’t get Boxer as a client?”

“No,” I say, near silent. Both women lean in, their eyes locked on mine. “That’s not the worst.”

Lindsay shakes her head. “What—”

Elene shushes her. “Let the woman speak.”

I swallow, breathe deeply. “The worst would be to screw things up so bad, pushing him so hard in one direction—my direction, that I lose him entirely.”

“Honey,” Elene says, “you have to push a little, or at least open yourself up. Otherwise, the opportunities will sail right past you whether you want them to or not.”

“And if he doesn’t like me?” I’ve blinked a hundred times, but a tear manages to slide onto my cheek. “What if he sees what’s inside, and it’s not enough?”

Elene looks down at the bar. “Love is a risk, honey. I can’t promise you anything. That’d be cruel of me, so I’m not going to do anything of the sort. But—” she raises a finger. “What I’m going to do is promise that you’ll regret it if you don’t try.”

“But—”

“Donovan,” Lindsay says, interrupting. “That’s what this is about. It’s not about Andi and Ryan.”

“It is.”

“No, it’s not. Sure, maybe you feel bad,” Lindsay agrees. “But this is about Donovan.”

I fall silent. It’s crossed my mind once or twice, but I’ve never let myself dwell on the past. I made one mistake, and it nearly ruined me. I try not to think about it.

“Sorry, but I need to get going.” I stand and toss enough money on the counter to cover the round of drinks, then turn to leave. “Thank you both for the advice.”

“Wait, boss—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “I’m going to call a cab home tonight. Lindsay, use the Uber account with my corporate card.”

They call goodbye after me, clearly sensing the end of the conversation. I’m thankful they give me my space because the second the taxi arrives, I crumple into the backseat. Another tear falls, and then a third. It’s been months since I’ve cried, but there’s too much at stake for me to hold it all inside.

The cabbie lets me off in front of my condo. I pay him, dry my eyes, and make it inside while keeping myself somewhat put together. Once inside, I change into my pajamas and grab a pint of ice cream from the fridge.

I ignore the texts from Lindsay asking if I made it home okay and plop down onto the couch. I’m sick of crying, so instead I’m going to blow my diet and dip into my emergency stash of sweets.

Emotions—I hate them. Yet, they still happen, so I’ve tried to keep myself prepared with Ben and Jerry.

I’m only two bites in when the knock sounds on the door. I stand up, carry myself through the kitchen and look through the peephole. My heart does a full-on line dance at the sight of a familiar face.

Landon Boxer.