Page 53 of The Groupie

“Have it your way. I’ll let you know when and where.”

I end the call and meet Rylee’s stare. Those damn eyes make my heart stutter. What else is new?

“I heard my name mentioned. Thank you for rejecting me.” She gives me an ironic smirk. “You’re going on a date with Sheila?”

“I had no choice. It’s not a real date. It’s nothing—”

She snort-laughs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“We said that while we’re together, we own each other.”

“True, but I was aware you could change your mind at any minute. Especially with all the women you have throwing themselves at you.”

“Like who? I’ve been with you every spare minute I have.”

She smiles. “Maybe I own you…for now. But I’m not forgetting that it’s temporary.” She focuses her amazing eyes on me, and I nearly stop breathing. “Are you?”

I swallow hard and give a reluctant shake of my head. Fuck. I haven’t forgotten that we’re temporary because it’s always lurking in a dark corner of my mind, making me uneasy because I dread the expiration date.

She bit her bottom lip. “Are you still going to call your agent for me?”

“Are you still willing to work with me on a promotional deal?” I wait for a beat for her to nod. “You must be desperate for money because I’m sure this breaks all your fucking rules.”

She lifts her chin, but the defiance fades, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Not before I see the heart-breaking desperation there. And maybe something else, maybe regret or something softer? Or maybe I’m fucking wishful thinking that she has feelings for me beyond a friendly sex partner.

“Make the call,” she says when she opens those eyes again.

All I see now is determination. The kind I’m familiar with, the kind that 99% of professional athletes—and Olympians—have in them in order to get where they are. I nod.

Then I stab the speed dial button with Jett’s icon because I want to help her, whether that makes me a fool or not. “Excuse me.” I step out of the room for privacy because I have no idea what his reaction will be or what I’ll need to promise him to do me this favor.

It takes only two seconds for him to answer his phone. It doesn’t take much more time than that to convince him to take Rylee as a client.

“You sure you don’t need a few minutes to think it over?” I pace up and down the hallway outside my bedroom, glancing at the closed door.

“No, I’m quick-minded that way. What I am thinking is that you two could make a great promotional duo—the ultimate winter sports power couple. I can think of a whole range of products you could promote together.”

He chuckles. I wince. But I don’t put a damper on his notion even though couple doesn’t exactly describe what we are because the deal could help Rylee. Though when she finds out about the power couple idea, I doubt she’ll like it.

“The catch is you’d be sharing the spotlight and the fee,” he says. “It won’t be as lucrative for you as a solo promo, but, hopefully, you’ll be getting more offers to offset that.”

“You know I only have so much time for promos.” In truth, I’m not a fan of televised promotions. I feel like an idiot reading from a script.

“True. It’s up to you. I don’t think I’ll be able to do much for her otherwise until after the Olympics. And then, we’re gambling on her medaling.”

I stop pacing. “Fine. Set something up. The sooner, the better. Whatever you can get for the biggest bucks.”

I can hear cash register bells ringing on his end of the phone, and I bet his eyes are lit up.

I should probably tell him that, to quote her ceaseless reminders, we don’t have a relationship. We aren’t a couple, and I doubt she’d be willing to play one on TV commercials. But that problem can wait for another day.

Pushing open my bedroom door, I find Rylee sitting on the bed, dressed and ready to go. My gut falls to my feet like I swallowed a cartoon anvil.

“The Jett Agency has agreed to take you as a client.” I toss my phone on the bed and approach her. “He’ll call you.”

“Thank you.” She stands inches from me, and with no pride, no sense of dignity or thought of waiting for her to thank me, I wrap my arms around her and pull her close until I feel every part of her against my body and lower my mouth toward hers.

“You going somewhere?” Because I’m a chickenshit bastard, I don’t wait for her answer. I cover her mouth and shamelessly do my best to change her mind about leaving the best way I know how. The only way I know might work. My gut knots up with this truth, but I plunge deeper into the kiss anyway.

Until a phone rings a minute later.

“It’s my phone.” Rylee separates from me and grabs her phone. “It’s Jett.”

Fucking Jett.

She looks stunned but stabs the call button and puts the phone to her ear with a relieved grin. A wave of pleasure trips through me, watching her.

That’s when I know I did the right thing no matter what else happens—or doesn’t happen—between us.