Coming Apart at the Seams (8 page)

“Can I have your autograph?”

Nick looked up from his salmon to see an attractive thirty-something woman standing next to the table with pen and paper in hand. Resting his fork on his plate, he took them from her and scrawled his name.

“What about your number?” she asked with a come-hither smile—the same smile he'd seen on thousands of faces over the years.

He printed his jersey number below his name and tried to give the paper and pen back to her. Her smile widened.

“What about your phone number?”

He laughed, shaking his head. Even after all these years, he was still surprised by how shameless female fans could be. Actually, male fans could be pretty shameless, too.

“No?” she asked, eyebrows arched. She held out another scrap of paper, this one with ink already on it. “Here's mine,” she offered.

When he didn't take it, she tucked it under his plate. “Just in case you want some company,” she said before grabbing the pen and paper with his autograph and sauntering off.

Nick picked up his fork, ready to get back to his meal. Letty's food was better, but this salmon was still pretty good.

He looked up from his plate to find his agent staring at him from across the table, his brown eyes assessing. Elijah had scheduled the meeting weeks ago, and he'd suggested Nick meet him for dinner at his hotel.

Elijah liked to check in with him on a regular basis, and the two of them always had plenty to discuss. His agent handled almost every aspect of Nick's professional life, including contracts, endorsement deals, and even media relations. He wasn't sure how Elijah juggled it all, since he was always on the go and rarely in his office in Los Angeles.

“It looks like the women of Boston have welcomed you with open arms and legs,” Elijah noted, waggling his bushy gray eyebrows.

Nick grunted. Groupies were part of pro sports. It was one of the reasons why athletes had such a high divorce rate.

He'd heard his married teammates talk about how difficult it was to be faithful to one person when faced with the constant temptation of easy women. He had no idea if they were exaggerating or not. He had never committed to one woman for more than a few hours. He'd never wanted to, and he doubted he ever would.

Elijah leaned back in his chair, slouching slightly and resting his hands on his small paunch. Nick had hired the older man just days after he'd announced his plans to participate in the NFL draft when he had been a senior at USC, and except for the O'Briens, there was no one he trusted more.

“I got a call from
People
magazine a couple of days ago. They want to feature you in their ‘Sexiest Man Alive' issue. You won't be
the
Sexiest Man Alive, though, just one of them.”

Nick barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He'd rather be articulate than sexy, though he would settle for coherent.

“They want to do an interview,” Elijah continued.

Nick grimaced. He would rather have his fingernails ripped out with pliers than do a magazine interview—or any kind of interview, for that matter.

“I hope you told them n-n-n-no.”

He couldn't imagine many people would find him sexy after he stuttered his way through an interview. Just the thought of it made his stomach churn.

“I told the editor that I'd ask you. Do you want to do it?”

“Fuck, no
.” He shook his head in disbelief. “W-w-w-why did you even need to ask?”

“Because a good agent doesn't assume anything about his clients, even if he's known a particular client for so long that he considers him family.”

Nick smiled at Elijah's explanation. “No interviews, old man.”

Elijah picked up his whiskey sour and took a few sips, allowing Nick to finish his dinner. When the server came by to remove their plates, Elijah asked to see the dessert menu.

Nick's most recent dessert craving was blueberry pie, and he blamed Letty. She had made one for him last week, and it had been so delicious he'd eaten it all in one day. Every time he had walked by the damn thing, he'd been compelled to shovel some into his mouth. It was a good thing he had worked his ass off on the field the next day.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sent a quick text to his talented chef:
More blueberry pie please.

Elijah cleared his throat. “You like Boston?”

“Yeah.” He returned his phone to his pocket. “It's okay.”

When he'd been hanging out with Teagan on a regular basis, it had been better than okay. But now it kind of sucked.

Players didn't have a lot of free time during the regular football season, which meant their personal lives suffered. Nick had never really minded the time he had to commit during the season. But the grind had started to get to him because it prevented him from spending time with Teagan.

It was almost October, and he hadn't had a chance to see her more than a couple of times since the season had kicked off. She was busy with school during the day and study groups at night, and his schedule was equally demanding.

A lot of people thought being a pro athlete was easy. After all, players only had to work a few months out of the year, work was actually a game, and they got paid millions of dollars.

The average Joe didn't understand that athletes packed an entire year's worth of work into a four-month season, five if you made it to the playoffs. During the week, they spent at least ten hours a day practicing on the field, reviewing game-day video, studying playbooks, and attending team meetings.

Throughout the season, football players also worked on the
weekends. If they had an away game, they usually traveled on Friday, sometimes Saturday, and played on Sunday. If they had a home game, they were expected to rest on Saturday so they would be fresh for the game.

Nick missed talking to Teagan, and if he could speak like a normal person, he would pick up the phone and call her. But he couldn't, so he didn't.

He didn't talk on the phone unless there was no other option. He considered texting the greatest invention of all time, and he could count on both hands the number of phone calls he'd made this year.

The server dropped off the dessert menus, and Nick gave his a quick review. No blueberry pie.

“I'm hearing good things from the Colonials,” Elijah said as he looked over his dessert menu. “They're thrilled with your performance on the field. They really believe you're going to take them to the Super Bowl.”

“Maybe. It's too soon to tell. The d-d-d-defensive line is playing better, but it collapses w-w-w-without warning.”

“They're inconsistent, that's for damn sure,” Elijah said, nodding in agreement. “Do you like the coaches? Your teammates?”

“They're okay,” Nick replied, placing the menu on the table.

“Nick,” Elijah sighed. “Talk to me. This is the last year you have left on your contract, and I think the Colonials are going to want to extend it. Do you want to stay here?”

Nick considered Elijah's question. There was no reason to stay in Boston. By this time next year, Teagan would be back in San Francisco. As the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head in annoyance. Where Teagan lived had absolutely nothing to do with his football career.

“I don't care w-w-w-where I play. I just w-w-w-want to play.”

All he really cared about was squeezing every bit of value out of his body before it gave out on him. He figured he had two years, maybe three years left, and he needed to make all the money he could because his prospects after football weren't that great.

Most retired pro football players either became coaches or TV commentators. Neither one of those careers was an option for him.

Some players started businesses, but he didn't think that was a viable option, either. What did he know about running a business? He had a degree in history, which was pretty much useless.

Teagan, on the other hand, could run a
Fortune 500
company in her sleep. She was that smart—so much smarter than he was. And she was beautiful, too. Every time he saw her, she looked even better than the last time.

Elijah continued to talk, and Nick forcefully redirected his thoughts from Teagan. He shouldn't notice how her eyes sparkled when she was happy or the color of her lips.

“You're the best wide receiver in the NFL. Period. You don't have to play for the Colonials if you don't want to. You have options. Whatever you want, I'll make it happen.”

There was nothing tying him down, keeping him in one place or beckoning him to another. There was
no one
tying him down, and Nick told himself that he was happy about that.

When he didn't reply, Elijah sighed gustily. “Fine. We can table this discussion for now. We need to talk about a couple of endorsement offers that look good.”

Nick got paid a lot of money to catch footballs. But he got paid even more for allowing companies to use his face and form, along with his name, of course. Last year, his endorsement income had eclipsed thirty-three million dollars. He had deals to advertise a number of products, including deodorant, razors, socks, and sport drinks.

He wondered what else he could possibly endorse. He liked to use the products he supported, a little truth in advertising, if you will.

“Tell me about the offers,” he requested.

“Trojan wants you to be the face of their new marketing campaign.”

“Condoms?”

“Exactly,” Elijah answered, smirking slightly.

Nick laughed. He definitely used those.

*   *   *

Temptation came in many forms, and Teagan had a hard time withstanding it, even when she knew better. She tried, she really did, but she and self-control were frenemies apparently.

If they were bosom buddies, she'd be twenty pounds lighter, she wouldn't have a crush on Nick Priest, and she wouldn't be standing in an antique store in Beacon Hill about to purchase a piece of expensive jewelry she'd probably only wear a couple of times.

Teagan and Bebe had made the trip from Cambridge to Beacon Hill to spend their Saturday browsing through the swanky shops and boutiques on Charles Street. Known for its ornate row houses and decorative iron work, Beacon Hill was one of Boston's smallest and most historic neighborhoods. It was dotted with perpetually burning gaslights, large trees, and flowering window boxes.

It was a perfect day to stroll along the brick sidewalks that traversed the neighborhood. The sun was shining, not a single cloud dotted the bright blue sky, and the light breeze was neither too chilly nor too warm.

Teagan loved fall in New England. Since she'd grown up in Northern California, she had never experienced a real seasonal turn until she'd moved to Boston, where the leaves glinted gold and red and the air was scented with burning wood from fireplaces.

“Which necklace do you like best?” Bebe asked.

Teagan gazed longingly at the two necklaces. They both would be a lovely addition to her vintage jewelry collection.

Grandma Vi had bequeathed her sizable jewelry collection to Teagan when she had died. They'd had a unique relationship, far closer than most grandmothers and granddaughters, and it hadn't surprised anyone when she'd gifted the collection to her.

Grandma Vi had specified her only granddaughter would receive the collection when she finished college or on her thirtieth birthday. On the day Teagan graduated from Stanford, her parents had given her the key to the safe-deposit box where the collection was stored.

When she'd first seen the jewelry, she had been stunned, and not just because it was worth millions of dollars. The real value was the history it held.

The collection included pieces from Grandma Vi's mother and grandmother. Some of them were one hundred years old, and many had been made from gold that Grandma Vi's grandfather found during the Gold Rush.

Teagan believed they belonged in a museum instead of locked away in a bank vault. Over the past several years, she'd added to the collection, although she rarely wore the pieces except for very, very special occasions.

She had been a freshman in high school when Grandma Vi had passed away, and her death had devastated Teagan. She'd spent a lot of time with her grandmother. She had loved her stories, especially those recounting how Grandma Vi and Grandpa Patrick had met and fallen in love.

Patrick O'Brien had been a real ladies' man in his day. With his dark hair and blue eyes, he could have had his pick of women. He'd passed down his good looks to his son and grandsons.

Grandma Vi, on the other hand, had been plain and unremarkable except for her big boobs (according to Grandma Vi). But she must have been more remarkable than she'd thought, because Grandpa Patrick's tomcatting ways ended the moment he clapped eyes on Grandma Vi (according to Grandpa Patrick).

Grandpa Patrick had died just a few months after Grandma Vi. He'd told Teagan that her grandmother had kept his heart warm, and that it was going to freeze up without her. To this day, Teagan believed her grandfather had died of a broken heart.