Page 82 of Thoroughly Innocent Intent

“I’m not already?” I glare at him.

“On the field, yeah. Off the field…you’re the celebrity. The guy who’s always having fun. Show her you’re more than that.” He holds the helmet out to me.

“Already did that. Wasn’t enough.” I take it back and turn it over in my hands, looking at the logo I used to be so proud to wear.

“She thinks that was an act. Show her it wasn’t.” He gives a little nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, as if to say the answer is simple.

“She won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me. How can I convince her it wasn’t for show?”

“Don’t give up. Stop hiding out at the field and go to her.” He waves his hand toward the door.

“And how do I do that without becoming a stalker?” I stand up and spread my arms wide.

“Donate to her charity stuff, give the girls those cooking lessons,” he rattles off ideas, raising a finger to count each one.

“That’s throwing money at things. She says it’s better to be generous with your time than money.” I rub the back of my neck. I can’t take much more of this.

“So, give her your time. Volunteer at her charity stuff. Or any charity stuff.”

My hand freezes in place.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” I drop my arm to my side as the words sink in.

“Course not. I learned from the best.” He slaps me on the back with a proud grin.

I can’t stop myself from cracking a smile as I shake my head. I’ve got a bigger hill to climb than he did when he was trying to win Elliot back, but at least now I have hope it can be done.

That night, after practice, I leave a message on her work phone telling her I’d like to help out with any events she has coming up, starting immediately. Three weeks later, after losing the Super Bowl, she still hasn’t called back.

Samantha

“SamanthaGalen.”Ismileand extend my hand.

“Jen…Strait.”

“Please, come in.” I gesture to the room after we shake, and she walks in to take a seat.

“Thanks for seeing me. I wasn’t sure you’d agree to meet.”

“Why wouldn’t I agree to meet a new client?” I frown as I take a seat behind my desk.

Jen studies me thoughtfully, as if debating what to say next. “You don’t know who I am,” she concludes.

“Should I?” I rack my brain for some sort of reference, but come up empty.

“Maybe not. Colt isn’t the best communicator.” She gives me a sympathetic smile as she leans back in the chair.

“Colt?” I feel myself go rigid.

“I’m his ex-wife. Sawyer’s mom.” She pins me with a shrewd gaze, waiting for my response.

“He sent you?” I hold my breath, trying to stay calm.

“Nope. He has no idea I’m here.” She laces her fingers together on her lap.

“Why are you here?”

“It wasn’t that long ago Colt intervened to stop me from walking away from the man I’m marrying next week. I’m returning the favor.”

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