Page 22 of Mad Rivals

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“I like that song. What do you listen to?”

I shrug. “Everything. Whatever speaks to me. I like songs I can run to.”

“What’s on your pregame playlist?”

“Mostly rap. Some classic rock.” These questions feel too personal, and I’m not sure why. It’s like things just got intimate between us when it wasn’t supposed to be that way.

She navigates to her parking garage, and it turns out her office is only a few blocks from mine. I walk with her toward the elevator, but she’s going up and I’m going down.

It’s strange. I’m not quite sure how to say goodbye.

I want to lean in for a hug. Maybe press my lips to her cheek.

But this is business professional, and she’s already set a boundary telling me that she isn’t interested in my complications. So I will respect that boundary.

As we’re waiting, she glances at me. “Well, this has been fun,” she says awkwardly.

I nod. “We’ll need to touch base in the next few days about the project.”

“Of course. Call the office, and we’ll set something up.”

I pull my wallet out and grab a business card. It’s old school for football players to have business cards since everything is done via social media these days, but when I was a young player ready to take on sponsorships, I had about a thousand made. I’ve given out a little over a handful to actual potential sponsors over the course of my career, but I still keep them in my wallet since they make an easy way to give a woman my number.

“My personal number is on there,” I say, handing it over to her. “Don’t lose that. I don’t want to have to change my number and order new cards.”

She giggles as she flips it over in her hand, and then she grips it tightly. “I promise to use caution.”

Her elevator arrives, and as the doors open, she says, “Well, bye.”

I hold up a hand to wave, and I wish I wasn’t so goddamn excited for the moment she decides to actually use the number on the card.

CHAPTER 11: Madden Bradley

Shouldn’t Have Sent a Boy

The elevator is taking forever, so I end up hoofing it down the stairs.

I can’t seem to figure out why I’m so enamored by this woman as I walk the couple blocks back toward my office.

Is it because she wants to play the game?

Is it because she’s a challenge?

I’m inclined to think it’s neither of those because I was enamored with her the moment I first saw her at Starbucks. She was neither a game nor a challenge back then.

Bumping into her was a way to open the door. It was crowded enough that it worked. Only…it didn’t. She was flustered, and I wasn’t myself, and it all spiraled before I got the chance to score her number.

And now she has mine, but whether or not she’ll use it remains to be seen.

She’ll have to…right? I suppose she could have her assistant call my office to arrange a meeting, but I’d rather hear from her.

When I get back to the office, I head toward my father’s office. Darla, his assistant, greets me with a smile. “He’s free if you’d like to head on in,” she tells me, and I nod politely at her.

“How did it go with SCS?” he barks at me before I’ve even crossed the threshold into his office. “You were there a while, so I assume it’s ours.”

I draw in a deep breath through my nose, and I exhale with my words. “We were awarded the commercial half.”

His lip curls with disapproval. It’s not the first time he’s looked upon me with that same sort of derision, but typically it’s not because I lost half of a big deal for the company. “And the residential?”