Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (37 page)

“Can I just hire you to be
my
publicist?” Mike asks, which makes her laugh.

“Only if you can pay me more than the Saints pay me. Which I doubt you can,” she says with a wink, and then takes a call, walking away from us and heading outside.

Courtney

When we get to the hotel after a wonderful, fun dinner where I actually ate all of the half-sized portion of chicken parmesan, including the pasta, I am pleasantly stuffed and ready for bed. The guys are playing the early afternoon game tomorrow, which means that it’s going to be an early morning. More so for Adam and Jason, but for the rest of us, too. I’m supposed to meet the Kistlers in the hotel lobby at nine so that we can meet up with Mike and Ashton for breakfast, and then tailgate for a couple hours.

Because there’s no way Jerry Kistler isn’t going to tailgate.

“So, hey,” Adam says as we get into bed. “Nadia is going to be at the game tomorrow, in the Vikings box. She really wants to meet you. Would you be okay with that?”

Suddenly the food sits heavy in my stomach. Meeting Nadia Attenborough. I knew this would happen eventually. But that doesn’t stop me from being nervous about it.

“You don’t have to,” Adam says, interrupting my silence as reluctance. “Obviously, it’s weird timing considering everything that’s happened. So if you don’t want to yet, that’s fine. She’ll understand.”

I smile, glad that Adam is so supportive and understanding about all of this. Reintroducing food has not been going as well as it can, but the guilt about eating more than I have been is still gnawing at the back of my mind, even though I know that I’m eating small portions and very balanced meals. And that I
need
to eat more. I
need
to gain some weight back to be healthy.

“I’ll meet her,” I say finally.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I say. “If I say no, I’m going to look like a bitch, and I really don’t want a supermodel talking shit about me.”

Adam laughs, then says, “I’m pretty sure she’s not like that at all. But I’m glad you’re going to meet her. I think Jason is serious about her.”

“Whoa,” Courtney says. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “And apparently she loves football.”

“A model who loves football. That’s pretty much his dream woman.”

“I think she is,” Adam says. “She also organized a fantasy football league of—get this—her model friends.”

I laugh and say, “I would kill to see the team names of that league.”

Adam laughs along with me as the two of us try and come up with the most ridiculous team names we can think of, cracking each other up.

When the laughter dies down, I take a deep breath. I need to be completely open with him about everything going on with me. “So, remember how we’ve talked about how I’m not ready to have sex?”

Adam nods, and I say, “It’s more that I’m terrified of it. I don’t know why. I really don’t. I know that sex isn’t dirty or bad or something to be ashamed of. But for some reason, I’m really, deeply afraid of having sex. I think part of it stemmed from my self-esteem issues—me thinking that I didn’t look good enough for you. But another part of it is fear. Fear of being that vulnerable and intimate; fear of being that naked, both literally and figuratively.”

Adam nods and we’re both quiet for a while. I’m afraid that I’ve been too honest. That I shouldn’t have told him all of that. That maybe he now thinks that I’m never going to want to have sex.

“I promise that it’s something I’m working on. I
want
to have sex. I do.”

“I know you do,” Adam says, his eyes full of mischief, and I think back to that night in Kansas City, when I didn’t feel afraid. When I was completely ready. “I’m not ever going to force you to do something you don’t want to do. So, when you think you’re ready, just let me know. I promise to always be prepared.”

We both laugh at that, and I’m so grateful that I have a fiancé who is this understanding about my hang-ups with sex. I close the space between us and kiss him. The kiss quickly goes from a sweet thank you to a passionate firestorm, and as I’m thinking that maybe we should really heat things up and see how afraid I am now, Adam pulls back.

“Just so you know,” he says. “I promise to make our first time together all about you. It won’t be scary or impersonal or less than what you deserve. I’ll take my time, making you understand just how much I love you—all of you—and I’ll let you call the shots. If you don’t like something, or you want more of something, or you want something else completely, just tell me. I’ll do everything and anything you ask.”

I’m glad I’m laying down, because if I were standing, I’m pretty sure my knees would have buckled. I don’t really know how to play this moment. Do I kiss him? Do I say thank you? Do I immediately tell him that he better get started on all those promises?

He leans over and kisses me, sweetly and slowly, and when he pulls away he says, “So I have something to talk to you about.”

I’m both a little relieved and disappointed at the change of subject, but considering we’re being extremely honest right now, I think it’s better for me to listen than it is to distract him.

“Okay.”

“It’s something that Mike mentioned tonight, before you guys got off the plane. So it’s not like I’ve put a ton of thought into it yet, but I wanted to talk to you before really thinking about it.”

What in the world is he talking about?

“Mike said that it might be smart to buy a house in New Orleans.”

That is absolutely not what I expected him to say. At all.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Well, um. I mean. I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never really thought about buying a house.”

“I know,” Adam says. “But it makes sense. Even if I end up traded, a house isn’t a bad thing to have. We could sell it or rent it out. And it would be nicer to have a house than my barely furnished apartment for when you move down.”

“That’s true,” I say, seeing the sense in all of this, even though it sounds crazy.

“Do you think we should do it?”

“I think we should look into it,” I say. “Figure out what buying a house really entails. Then, if it all seems doable, we can start looking at places.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “That sounds like a plan.”

We’re both quiet for a couple moments and then what we just talked about really hits me.

“Holy crap. We’re buying a house.”

Adam laughs and says, “It seems like it. Maybe we’ll buy a house for Christmas.”

I shake my head, amazed at how my life has turned out this year. “If we do, that means we’ll have to have a housewarming party for Mardi Gras.”

“That would be killer,” he says. “Can you imagine?”

“Actually, I kind of can. Kate would probably win Mardi Gras. Can a person even win Mardi Gras?”

“No idea,” he says. “But if anyone could, I’m sure it’s Kate.”

We laugh, but Adam’s turns into a yawn. “I have to get some sleep if I’m going to be worth anything on the field tomorrow,” Adam says, leaning over and kissing me.

“Good night, Court.”

“Night, Adam.”

Adam’s alarm goes off seemingly just after I’ve closed my eyes. He jumps up immediately and starts getting dressed and I groggily ask, “What time is it?”

“Six thirty.”

“Blergh,” I say, rolling over and pulling the covers over my head.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, walking back over to the bed. I feel his weight sink into the mattress and I pull the covers back a bit. He leans down and kisses me on the forehead and says, “I need my good luck charm well rested.”

I smile at that and he says, “I’ve got to run. Have fun today. I’ll see you after the game.” He kisses me on the lips this time, and I lean into him, prolonging the kiss.

“Courtney,” he says between kisses. “I really have to go. Even though I don’t want to.”

“Fine,” I say. “Go do your football thing.”

“I love you,” he says.

“Love you, too. Turn the light off when you leave, please.”

When I get up a couple hours later, I feel much more rested. I change into workout clothes and head down to the gym to get thirty minutes in on the treadmill. After working out, showering, and getting ready for the game, I head to the lobby and laugh when I see Mr. and Mrs. Kistler. All of us are wearing Kistler jerseys—me in a Saints jersey, Jerry in a Vikings jersey that says “Kistler Dad,” and Vicki in a “Kistler Mom” Saints jersey.

“Good morning,” I say, walking over to them.

“Gorgeous day for football,” Jerry says, looking out the lobby windows and into the blue sky. I checked the weather and know that it isn’t warm out, but he’s right. It’s going to be a great day to play football.

“Yes, it is,” I say.

“Are we ready?” Vicki asks.

We all head to the car and when we arrive for brunch, I’m delighted to see that Mike and Ashton are also wearing jerseys. They’re both wearing their Texans jerseys, which I’m sure is going to get them a lot of attention and harassment from any of the fans who see them, but it’s still fun.

“Courtney!” Ashton says when she sees me, coming over to give me a hug. “I love those boots.”

“Thanks,” I say, glancing down at the probably-more-expensive-than-anything-I-own flat boots Kate lent me for the game. “They’re not actually mine. Borrowed from a friend.”

“Well, they’re great no matter whose they are. And you look fab.”

“You, too,” I say, noting how she paired her jersey with a polka-dotted skirt, tights, and cowboy boots. She’s the only person I know, other than Willa, who could pull it off.

“Let’s get a picture together,” she says, pulling out her phone. I scoot into frame and smile, and when she’s taken the picture she looks at it and says, “It’s so cute,” before turning the phone around to show it to me.

I immediately zero in on the fact that my smile looks tilted and my eyes are wider than normal, making me look a little crazy, but then take a deep breath and remember what Dr. Carter told me. I need to be good to myself. Talk to myself the way I would a friend. I close my eyes for a second and then look at it again, just briefly, the way most people would. Not overanalyzing or zeroing in on anything.

“It is really cute,” I say. “Want to post it?”

“Duh,” she says.

“Are you going to meet Nadia at the game?” I ask.

“Yep. We’re in the Vikings suite with Jerry, and you and Vicki are in the Saints suite. But you’ll be stopping by, right?”

“Of course,” I say. “And you should swing by the Saints suite. I’m sure Amanda can get you a pass. You should meet Melissa Montgomery.”

“Nadia Attenborough and Melissa Montgomery in one day,” she says, shaking her head. “This is gonna be one hell of a Sunday.”