Page 20 of Sealing the Deal

She blinks once, deadpan. “That’d be a long drive to Buffalo.”

I pause. “Buffalo?”

She stares at me like she’s just realized she agreed to work with a toddler. “Wildcards don’t host. We’re playing the Buffalo Warbears. In Buffalo.”

I shrug easily. “Then we’ll take the jet. No problem.”

Her horror is instantaneous. “The rumors were right. You really don’t know a damn thing about football, do you?”

I can’t help but laugh. She’s got me there. “Guess we’d better throw teaching me about football into the deal.”

She mutters, “Unbelievable,” before lifting her chin. “Fine. But for that you’re paying the wage for the bartender I hire.”

“And for that,” I counter, leaning back with a grin I know will annoy her, “you’re going to have to smile when you’re in public with me.”

She groans, furious. “You’re impossible. But I’ll smile. Just don’t even think about telling me how to dress.”

“I like my balls far too much to risk doing that. I’ve seen the staple gun and your trophy wall, remember?”

“And don’t forget it.” Then she’s on her feet, striding toward the door, braid swinging behind her. “And you still owe me fifty bucks!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

Silence drops over the suite. I let out a slow breath and sink back into my chair, a reluctant smile tugging at my mouth.

I’m still in hot water. Still the most hated man in Denver. But with Flic agreeing to stand by my side, the fight ahead doesn’t feel impossible. It feels… interesting.

EIGHT

FLIC

I storm through the lobby of the overpriced hotel, which of course Grayson chooses to stay in. “Arrogant, smug jackass,” I mutter under my breath.

My boots hit the marble hard enough that the waiting guests practically shrink away from me, their faces suggesting I don’t belong here. Tell me something I don’t know.

Then we’ll take the jet.

Who even says that?

It’s not like I didn’t know people as wealthy as Grayson exist, but seeing it up close is a stark reminder that his world and my world are not the same.

From across the lobby, Kenny slips out from his desk and beelines for me, meeting me by the revolving glass doors.

“Tell me he’s alive,” Kenny asks, only half-joking. I think.

I hand over the key card he reluctantly gave me ten minutes ago that gave me access to the elevator and the penthouse floor because there was no way I was calling first and waiting for an invite. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Kenny exhales, looking relieved.

“Thanks,” I add. “I owe you one.”

“Just don’t ask me again, and we’ll call it even.” He smiles, and I remember how much I used to like that smile.

Kenny and I dated years back. A summer romance where everything felt gentle and simple. He’d swap shifts at the hotel so he could take me out on nights I wasn’t running the bar. There was no drama with Kenny. I liked him. He liked me. I even started to hope he’d be different. But then September and the start of the new season rolled around, and the bar got busy again just as Kenny wanted to see me more.

Our relationship fizzled the night he asked me to skip game day to meet his parents. A sweet gesture from a sweet man. I said no because the bar came first. Because it always will. And deep down, I knew Kenny was looking for a woman who’d run bake sales and have dinner waiting for him at the end of every shift.

We’re still friends. He’s married now. Two adorable kids who wear tiny Stormhawks jerseys and wave foam fingers at home games. He got the life he wanted. One that would never have fitted me.

I wave goodbye and stride out, firing a message to Jake and Chase.