Page 40 of The Groupie
“I think he may have been snagged,” Nowicki says. “No more Bachelor of the Year. He’s been seeing a super-hot chick and—"
Alarmed, I elbow Nowicki in the gut. “Whether I’ve been seeing someone or not is no one’s business.”
Finn laughs. “Is this true, Zak?” He grins, not exactly believing Nowicki.
Jett and Candice both look on with interest, and I hope to God she hasn’t been filling Jett’s head with notions of publicity and promotional deals related to the B.O.Y. thing.
“Jett, I told you,” Candice says, “a follow-up article and event would be perfect.”
Shit. “She’s a fling with an expiration date. She’s leaving in two—one week and five days.”
“Why? Where’s she going?” Finn asks.
I’m not about to tell him she’s in the fucking Olympics. “It doesn’t matter. Gone is gone.” The words sink into my gut and don’t sit too well. Fucking hell.
“This is all very interesting,” Jett says, “but Zak and I have pressing business to discuss. I have reservations for dinner, Zak—unless you have other plans?” He grins, and Nowicki snickers. Candice stares at me with expectation—it’s her permanent expression, I think, and it unnerves me, and not in a good way.
“No other plans. Sounds fucking fabulous.”
As we walk away, Candice calls out, “Don’t forget to talk about my offer to do a follow-up article and photoshoot of you with your new girlfriend, whoever she is.”
I cringe. “Ignore her,” I say to Jett under my breath as we walk out the lobby door to the street.
“Don’t worry. Unless the article comes with a lucrative promotional sponsorship for something like…I don’t know…a cologne brand maybe, we’re not interested.”
“Cologne? Unless they pay north of a million, I’m still not interested. Her fucking award put a target on my back, and it’s ruined my previously happy love life. I had it all going on. I loved women and had no problems. Now, women are a pain in the ass because their expectations have been ruined by Candice and her whole Bachelor of the Year deal.”
“Oh? I thought you had a fling going on?”
“Yeah. There is that,” I admit as we walk. It’s a cold day, and there aren’t a lot of people on the streets in the fading light. “But I’m in hiding, and when she leaves…” I shrug, an uncomfortable clench in my chest.
Jett opens the door when we arrive at his usual dinner place near the Garden, West End Johnnie’s. We’re seated right away. The smells of rich Italian food permeate the air and soothe me better than meditation. Better than anything except maybe sex. No, definitely not better than sex. Especially not sex with Rylee. That’s a whole ’nother level of soothing.
“I have news for you that may help distract you from the woes of your love life.”
His casual use of the term love life shouldn’t strike a nerve. It’s an innocuous and commonplace phrase, right? But the words love life trumpet in my mind like a blaring alarm.
He puts down his menu and stares at me. “Aren’t you interested?”
“Yeah. Sure I am. What’s up?” I try to focus on the business at hand, namely my contract, which should be of more than mild interest since it’s everything. I need the Brawlers to renew because I fucking love playing for this team, and I love Boston; everything about this gig is perfect. My life here is perfect. Was perfect.
The waiter takes our order and brings a drink for Jett.
“You’re not drinking?” he asks.
“I’m a professional athlete, a well-oiled machine.”
“Sure. You only drink after games, right?”
“How would you know? You spying?”
He shrugs. “I know people in this city. It’s my home town. The owner of The Tea Party is a good friend.”
The server brings our steaks and a side of pasta for me because this well-oiled machine requires a massive amount of protein and calories to run efficiently. We start eating, and I’m glad for the reprieve from talking business, but it doesn’t last long.
“Brawlers management made an offer, but I want to hold out for more.” He names the number they want to pay. My eyes widen, and I blow out a breath.
“I’m impressed.” Thrilled like a teenager in a brothel is more like it, but I try to play it cool.
