Page 2 of The Throwback

“Sooooo,” Isla says, drawing out the word. “I got a call today and I think you might be interested in what they’re offering.”

I smirk. “Is somebody finally going to pay me to sit on my ass and watch reruns ofFriday Night Lights?”

“No. Unfortunately, you will not be compensated for being a whore for Tim Riggins. That’ll continue costing you a monthly fee from Netflix. However,” she says, a wide grin blooming across her face, “you might be able to find a hot football player of your own if you take this job.”

I lean in, giving her my undivided attention. “I’m listening.”

“Well,” she begins, “I know you have your two-week staycation starting on Monday, but the Super Bowl is in Tampa this year, and one of the football player’s wives is looking for an esthetician. Hers cancelled at the last minute, so she asked around and we were recommended. She wants someone who would be available to do skin care and makeup for the whole week. You’d have access to all the events she’s going to, and she’s willing to pay double your normal rates for the short notice.”

I purse my lips, mulling it over. I’m obviously not going to say no, but I at least want tolook likeI’m putting an adequate amount of thought into it. I’ve been waiting for this two-week staycation for months, but double my regular rates sounds a lot like I could enjoy some time off next year. Besides, it’s only a week. I’ll still have time after to relax.

“What’s the client’s name?” I ask. One, because I want to see if I can determine her skin type and figure out what products I may need for her by looking at her photos. And two, because I’m nosy as fuck.

She types something on her computer, waiting for it to load before she answers. “Dia Davis. Her husband plays for the Boston Blizzard.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, even though I don’t know a damn thing about professional football. I binge-watchFriday Night Lightsat least once a year, but actual games? It’s just never been my thing. I couldn’t pick this woman’s husband out of a lineup, so I’ll have to do some research—I don’t want to make a fool out of myself next week. We’ll be spending time at Super Bowl-related events, so I at least need to know who she’s married to.

“Sooooo,” she implores. “Are you in?”

I look up at her, an excited grin slowly blooming over my face. “Hell yeah. Book it.”

TWO

JETT

“Here’s your key card,”the hotel clerk says, sliding it across the smooth wood. “You can also unlock the door to your room via the app on your phone. Just sign in with the email and password on your paperwork, and you’ll be good to go for the week. Enjoy your stay, and good luck on Sunday, Mr. Kingsley.”

I give him a tight nod. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I say, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder and heading to the elevator. We arrived in Tampa this afternoon and went straight to media training for hours, so I’m already exhausted.

Super Bowl week is a beast of its own. We made it last year, and no matter how prepared I thought I was, the lead-up to the actual game was still a shock. You don’t just get to focus on the battle ahead. There’s so much media, fanfare and a strict schedule that it’s almost impossible not to get sucked into the glitz and glamor of the event. If you’re not doing an interview or some kind of mandatory appearance, you’re studyinggame tape and repeating run-throughs until you feel like you’re going to collapse where you stand. That’s why we’re here for an entire week instead of just a day or two like any other away game.

I press the button to go up, looking down at my paperwork to double-check what floor I’m going to. My eyes feel like they’re going to close right here from how tired I am, and all I can think about is taking a hot shower and getting into bed. I have an interview with ESPN at eight in the morning, so if I play my cards right, I can get a full night of sleep before the craziness of the week sucks me in and spits me back out after the game.

The metal doors slide open and I step inside, pushing the number twenty-two on the illuminated display before backing up to the wall and resting my head against it. I close my eyes, exhaling a relaxed breath and enjoying the first moment of silence I’ve had all day. Just as the elevator begins to close, I’m startled by a loud, feminine voice.

“Hold the door!” a woman yells, her hands waving wildly above her head as she runs toward me with a giant rolling suitcase clattering behind her. Reaching forward, I wrap my fingers around the metal and force the doors back open as she sighs in relief. I step aside as she walks past me, blowing a strand of wild brown hair out of her eyes. Her fresh scent permeates the air around us and I can’t help but inhale deeply. She smells amazing.

“Oh my God, thank you,” she says, clearly out of breath from the way she rushed in here. “If I had towait for another elevator, I would’ve been late to meet my client.”

“No problem,” I reply, taking a step backward and rolling my neck from side to side with a tired sigh. The plane ride from Boston to Florida wasn’t super long, but the non-stop going since we touched down in Tampa has me feeling like I got hit by a bus. “What floor?” I say, since I’m closer to the buttons than she is. I may be exhausted, but I’m still a gentleman.

“Twenty-t—” she says, cutting herself off as she smiles my way. “Looks like we’re headed in the same direction.” I look up, finally locking eyes with her, and I’m almost knocked straight on my ass. Where I was ready to fall asleep on my feet just moments ago, I now feel adrenaline coursing through me as I stare into the most unforgettable pair of bright green eyes I’ve seen in my entire life. Memories of my childhood play like a highlight reel in my head, and I can barely even form words as I attempt to sputter out a reaction.

“B-Bailey?” I choke out as my mind tries to convince me I’m wrong. But I know I’m not. I may not have laid eyes on this girl in thirteen years, but Bailey Hart isn’t someone you just stop thinking about because she’s no longer in your life. In fact, she’s popped into my mind more times than I care to admit since the day I said goodbye to her for the last time. A day that still sits firmly as the worst one I’ve ever experienced.

She squints, looking at me as if she’s trying to figure out how I know her. I guess that’s fair. I was over a foot and a half shorter, with big teeth and gangly limbs the last time she saw me. At twenty-five years old, I’m six-foot-five, two hundred and fifty pounds, with a thick layer of stubble hiding my sharp jawline. The braces I wore from ages thirteen to fifteen straightened my crooked teeth, leaving the boy she gave her first kiss to in the past, along with every other perfect moment we shared during the summers my parents and I spent at our beach house—before life went to shit.

“Jett,” I say, unable to pull my gaze away from hers.

C’mon, Bay…remember me.Please.

She takes a few seconds to register, but I see the moment when realization dawns on her. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops in disbelief. “Jett James?” she whispers as though she can’t believe it’s me. Which…same, honestly. I’ve thought about her so many times over the years. I've scrolled social media for hours, looking at each and every profile picture for girls around our age named Bailey Hart, but unfortunately, I never found her. And obviously, she didn't know my full name either. My parents always called me by my first and middle name, and I never felt that it was important to share my last with her. I can't tell you how many times I’ve regretted that over the last thirteen years.

“Yeah,” I say, surprised by the conflicting emotions I'm experiencing right now. Shock is at the forefront, but I'm also feeling other things that I can’t really sort through at the moment. All I know is that I don’t want to stop looking at her. She’s fucking breathtaking. Long, thick lashes highlight her bright emerald eyes. The smattering of freckles that used to be so prominent across her nose when she was younger peeks out fromunder her makeup, and an adorable cupid’s bow leads down to her full, pouty lips.

I remember those lips.

“Holy shit,” she says on a laugh. “How are you?” She abandons her suitcase, walking my way and wrapping me in a tight hug. I'm stunned at first, but it doesn't take long for me to return the embrace. My heart hammers inside my rib cage, and I feel a missing piece of me snap right back into place as her warm body presses against mine. Although we only spent six summers together, Bailey was the best friend I’ve ever had, and I lost so much more than just my parents the day I left the beach house for the last time. She has no idea why I never got a chance to see her again, but I'll make damn sure I get the opportunity to explain everything. There is no way in hell I'll go without her now that she’s back in my arms again.

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