Page 4 of Mr. Charming

“Just fucking tell me,” I grit out.

The rideshare driver pulls to the curb, and I give him a nod of thanks, grab my bag, and get out. On the curb, the cold wind of Chicago seeps into my bones. Fuck, Florida and Nashville definitely had better weather compared to this frozen tundra.

“No one’s reached out to you yet?” he asks.

“Fucking hell, Shamrock, just tell me already.” I linger outside, not wanting anyone else to see my reaction to whatever he’s about to tell me.

“Okay. Okay. Well, you know this new program with the league and how she heads it. Actually, did you know that? Shit, man, I should’ve told you, but things got crazy around here?—”

“I know. Jagger told me,” I interrupt. My agent sent me a text message the night we all went camping before the season started, and it was a gut punch I wasn’t prepared for. I was on fucking pins and needles until Gill Gregory showed up to our campaign. I thanked the universe for small favors that day.

“Okay, good, so you know she got that job and is in charge of the entire program?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Unlike you sitting in the warm sun, I’m freezing my nuts off, so just tell me whatever you have to.”

He laughs. “Shit, man, as a Wisconsin boy, I can’t even imagine being back in those cold-ass winters.”

“Fuck you and your sun and your palm trees and your shorts in February.”

“My blood has thinned out?—”

“I don’t give a shit, why are you calling me?”

He laughs but sobers quickly. “I’m sorry, man, but your guy isn’t cutting it there, so she’s coming up to handle the Falcons’ campaign herself. She’s hopping on a plane tonight.”

My mouth opens, my bag sliding off my shoulder to the crook of my arm. “Meaning?”

“Sorry, babe, I’m coming. Just got a call quick. Yeah, I know…” Aiden continues talking to Saige in the background while I process what he just told me.

I thought I was in the clear. I thought I wouldn’t have to see her.

“You there?” Aiden asks, whispering again.

Saige is going to kick his ass if he keeps acting all secretive like he is now.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me know.”

“That’s it? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah, it was ages ago. Surely we can coexist. We’re adults, right?”

“Sure.” The doubt in his tone matches what I’m feeling right now. “But?—”

“Thanks, Shamrock. Knock ’em dead tonight.”

“Hell, I’m going up against Cory, I need all the luck I can get, but seriously, Tweetie, if?—”

“I’m good. Go.”

He lingers on the line for a second. “Let’s get together after the season. A bunch of us are thinking about going tropical?—”

“Maybe. We’ll see. I gotta get inside, I think there’s an icicle hanging off my ball sac.” I open the door to the arena and step inside.

He laughs. “God, I miss you.”

I don’t say anything because I still have hurt feelings about my trade so many years ago. “Of course you do. Now go fuck your wife so good she’s not worried about how cagey you’re being by whispering in the closet.”

“Kids are home.”

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