Page 32 of Most Likely to Score
“You’re a natural charmer,” Liam remarks with an easy smile.
“Smoky’s the one with all the moves.” As I stroke the critter’s soft head, it occurs to me I could take a clue from him in how to let go.
Be chill. Be cool. Liam is my new business partner, and I can’t be envious of him, especially since there’s no real reason to be. After I hand off Smoky to the humane society rep, I join Liam and Jillian at the outdoor table on the patio, sliding quickly into chatting about the partnership, upcoming plans, and the next steps with the deal. The entire time, I’m the casual, laid-back guy he hired, not the jealous asshat I was in my head a few minutes ago. As we segue away from business and riff on the toughest defenses in the league, Jillian’s phone rings.
She picks up and listens then says, “Well, that doesn’t sound very helpful, Dad.”
A pause comes next, and I eavesdrop on her conversation even while Liam asks a question about the Baltimore secondary.
“I know you’re terrible at putting things together,” Jillian says. “It’s not something you learned at journalism school.”
My ears prick with interest, though I still manage toshare my thoughts with Liam on that team’s new cornerback.
Jillian continues, “I’ll come do it.”
That gets my attention even more.
“Dad. Let me help you, or at least let me use TaskRabbit and send someone over.” A quick silence follows. “Dad. It’s what they do.”
I clear my throat, reach across the table to set a hand on her arm, and smile. “I’ll put your dad’s desk together.”
Her eyes light up. “You will? Are you sure?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Liam laughs and holds up his hands. “Better him than me. I am not handy.”
I puff up my chest. “Fortunately, I am.”
She tells her dad she has a better solution, and he seems to agree to it. I relax for the rest of the conversation dissecting the pass rush, because I have something Liam doesn’t have.
The chance to help Jillian where she needs it most right now.
I pat the top of the desk then knock it with a fist. “Sturdy as a three-hundred-fifty-pound lineman,” I say to Aaron Moore. “Wait—this desk is way sturdier.”
Jillian’s tall, gray-haired father smiles from behind his horn-rimmed glasses as he surveys the newly assembled oak desk in his office. “My, that’s some finework. And to think Jillian said you were just a pretty face.”
“Dad!”
I peer over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of red splashed across her cheeks, as she lounges in a leather chair in the corner of his office. But there’s no denial from either one of them, and I won’t deny, either, that I’m digging the fact that she told her dad she thinks I’m handsome.
Her dad winks at her then turns to me. “Thanks for doing this. Think it’s cool for me to tell all the guys at the wine bar tonight that the all-pro receiver put together my desk?”
I smile as I set the screwdrivers in the tool set. “I’d expect nothing less. But only if you mention my pretty face.”
“Jillian? You don’t mind if I mention to the other fellas that you think Jones Beckett is pretty?”
Her jaw drops. “Dad! Are you trying to hit a new record for embarrassing me? You do know I work with Jones? As inprofessionally?”
Aaron drops his voice to a stage whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell all the other widowers that she said you were a cutie-pie.”
With a shit-eating grin, I nod. “Deal.”
He extends a hand. “But seriously, I can’t thank you enough for helping. Ever since my Vivian passed away, I’ve had to tackle all this fixing stuff on my own, and I’m terrible at it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your wife was the handy one, sir?”
He nods proudly, gesturing to their home. “She was. She kicked my butt around the house. Knew how to fix a furnace, rewire a dryer, hang a door.”
