Page 17 of The Decoy

Brody: Are you still at the stadium?

Ellis: Standing near the VIP elevator bank on the ground floor. I’m waiting for my driver to clear through the police escort.

I don’t bother typing back. I shove my phone into my coat pocket and move quickly down the corridor. I pass stadium security, press packing up their gear, and cleanup crews, taking the back hallway straight toward the private entrance used by celebrities and CEOs.

My heart feels like it’s doing jumping jacks against my ribs, nearly faster than it should, considering I just ran twenty miles on a football field.

When I round the corner near the private bank, I see her.

Ellis is leaning against a marble pillar, looking so ridiculously sexy that it nearly stops me for a second. In a stadium filled with thousands of drunk fans in jerseys, looking rumpled after hours of football in the winter, she looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine. She’s wearing a camel-colored trench coat, a black turtleneck peeking out, dark jeans, and polished brown boots. Her dark curly hair falls over her shoulder in waves.

She turns her head as my boots clack against the floor. Her hazel eyes find mine, and a slow, genuine grin spreads across her face, softening the tired lines around her eyes.

“You’re alive,” she murmurs as I close the distance between us. “I thought for sure that strong safety broke two of your ribs on that last touchdown catch.”

“Takes a lot more than a hit from a guy who weighs two-ten to break me, Princess,” I say, stopping a few feet in front of her. I let my duffel fall to the floor with a thud.

Up close, I can smell the warm scent of her perfume.

“I didn’t know you’d be here. You should have told me you were coming to the game,” I add, leaning down slightly so I’m closer to her eye level.

“And distract you right before a divisional rivalry matchup?” she counters, tilting her head up to look at me, a playful spark in her eyes. “I have professional standards. I can’t risk you getting hurt. I need you to sell my product. Besides, I was stuck talking about five-year distribution rights with six corporate executives in seventy-thousand-dollar suits. Trust me, you had more fun on the field than I did in that box.”

“Hmm, not so sure about that,” I chuckle, resting a hand on my chest. “I was getting tackled into the frozen ground while you were probably sitting in velvet chairs and drinking champagne.”

“It was sliders and sparkling water, actually,” she corrects, laughing, and placing her hand on her belly as a reminder she can’t be drinking. “Though, I did yell loud enough to shock the president of the network, Eva’s dad, when you caught that last pass in the end zone.”

“Did you now?” I ask, my voice dropping into a flirty tone. “You actually cheered for a football game, Renwick? I thought you were a strict hockey fan who minimized the level of our athleticism.”

“I never said I didn’t like it. Besides, I made an exception,” she says, stepping closer, although I don’t think she realizes it. “Just for my favorite tight end.”

Her tight end.

Those words hang in the hallway between us, sweet and definitely deliberate. An electric pulse shoots down my spine, and my dick twitches in my jeans. Far more potent than any hit I took tonight.

“Careful, Ellis,” I murmur, my gaze drops to her lips for a second before rising back to hold her stare. “Keep saying things like that, and I might start to think you really do like football more than you let on.”

“Don’t push your luck, Vaughn,” she teases. She reaches out and pats my chest, letting her hand linger for a second, and I can feel the warmth of it through all my layers. “It’s still ninety seconds of action strung out over three hours. But…you did make it look good.”

Okay, but is she really flirting with me? I don’t want to misread this here.

Before I can say another word, headlights sweep across the glass doors. A sleek black town car idles at the curb near the doorway.

“That’s me,” she says, her hand dropping back to her side, though her eyes stay on mine for a beat longer.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say instantly. I grab my bag with one hand and place my other hand gently on the small of her back, leading her through the automatic glass doors into the bitter night air. I swear it’s even colder than it was an hour ago.

As the driver steps out to hold the door open, Ellis turns to face me, pulls a scarf from the collar of her coat, and tightens it around her neck.

“Get some rest tonight,” she says, looking at me sweetly. “Take another ice bath. You look like you need it.”

“I think I’m pretty iced out,” I smile down at her. “I’ll be fine. So I guess I’ll see you Tuesday morning for your appointment. Eight-thirty sharp.”

“Yes, eight-thirty,” she echoes quietly. A small smile lights up her face, erasing the fatigue from her night. “Goodnight, Brody.”

“Night, Ellis. Get home safe.”

She steps into the back of the car, and the driver clicks the door shut. I stand on the curb in the freezing cold, my duffel slung over my shoulder, watching the red taillights blend into traffic heading back into the city—completely oblivious to the freezing wind, and unable to wipe the smirk off my face.