Game, Set, Match (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (Love Match) (13 page)

Confused, she stuttered, “Wh—what question?”

“Are you wet?

Chapter Ten

Five days, and Jason could only think of Izzy. Five days since they’d talked. Five days since he’d seen her in her lingerie.

He needed to have his head examined. What kind of fool chased a woman who said she wasn’t interested, dared the laws of physics and the Malibu Police department by driving a hundred-twenty miles an hour in a rush to get to said uninterested woman. Though, in the fool’s defense, she’d sent him a photo hot enough to rob him of all common sense for weeks to come. He’d see her tonight. Tonight, boyfriend or not, he’d see her in her lingerie again. Tonight, he’d get an answer to his question.

“You want to tell me about the fight?”

Jason’s head snapped up from the contract he signed, automatically filtering out
the restaurant’s din. Château Marmont was not his ideal place for a meeting, but Aaron loved it, the chaos, the energy. “What do you mean? What fight?”

Aaron shrugged. “I heard you and your lady photographer went all De la Hoya vs.
Mayweather.”

“De la Hoya vs.
Mayweather? Where do you get this stuff?” He shook his head and chuckled. “It was nothing. We just had a little difference of opinion.”

His manager leaned forward, eyes searching his face. “What aren’t you telling me,
Jase?”

“Nothing.”

“You think I didn’t notice the tension in the studio with you two?”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

Aaron swigged down the last of his Scotch. “Yeah, I might be a pain in your ass, but if there’s a problem with your photographer, I need to know. This 
Sports Illustrated
 cover and spread is important, especially with you injured. Your endorsements depend on good press. If it’s not working out with this photographer, I can have her replaced.”

The skin on his arms prickled at the thought of having Izzy replaced. That was the last thing he wanted. What he wanted was more time with her, alone time, not less. He didn’t want her replaced. “We work together fine. There are some minor complications we have to deal with.”

Aaron raised his empty tumbler in the direction of their harried waiter. Ice cubes clinked in the empty glass, reflecting shards of rainbow light from the setting sunset off the French doors. He looked every bit the expensive sports agent. He and Simon would make fast friends, Jason mused.

“What is the history with you guys anyway?
You into her?”

“When did you start prying? Besides, it’s not like that.”
 
Liar
. “She’s an old friend. 
And
, she’s got a kid. Kids equal drama.”

“Ouch. No one wants to deal with Baby Daddy bullshit.” Aaron ignored the warning look and continued. “If you’re
 
just
 old friends, why do you have that look?”

“What look?”

“You know, 
the
 look. The one you get when you can’t get someone out of your head. Remember that thing with the heiress? You obsessed about her for months.”

Jason groaned at the reminder of the oil heiress. “Dude, I was twenty-two and dumb. You can’t hold it against me.”

Aaron shifted his focus for a moment to check out the long limbs of the red-headed It-Girl on her way to a table. A vibrant jade green gaze flitted over their table before narrowing in on Jason with the focused precision of a laser.

“Damn, what I wouldn’t give for a piece of that,” Aaron muttered.

Jason’s eyes skimmed over the red head’s body. Memories of a drunken coat closet incident surfaced in his mind. Maybe Izzy was right, and he had pissed his life away with a series of meaningless encounters. “Not worth it.”

Aaron’s eyes widened. “Oh man, her too. You’re a dog. Give the rest of us a chance.”

“Oh, c’mon. It was three years ago. I’ve changed my stripes.”

“Yeah right.”
Aaron stretched over the table to take his pen back from Jason. “Look, you’ve got two more shoots scheduled with the Connors chick, are you two kids going to play nice?”

He had every intention on playing nice with her tonight. “It’s under control. There won’t be a problem.” He didn’t want to share with Aaron that he was on his way to Izzy’s after their meeting.
None of his business.

“If you say so.
Besides, if you have chocolate fever these days, we can get you a date with that actress Grace Umber or somebody like that. Or, even better, one of the Jenkins sisters, the ones coming up the tennis ranks. Now how’s that for publicity? Tennis legends in love—endorsers love shit like that. Sasha…” Aaron used his hands to imitate her breasts. “She’s a real powerhouse.”

Chocolate fever?
More like Izzy fever. He liked women, all kinds of women. Tall, short, black, white, they all helped drown out that empty feeling. At least they had, before Izzy. “Jesus, do you have to be so lewd? I don’t need a fix-up.”

“I’m just saying. If you’re into black girls now, let’s at least hook you up with one that can get you some press. The Connors woman is a hell of a photographer, great body if you like ass, and not a bad rack at all, but I mean it wouldn’t kill her to wear a little makeup, right?”

Was Aaron really that much of an asshole? Better yet, was he blind? She might not lacquer herself in the makeup and trappings of all the extra stuff, but she didn’t need it. “You know, sometimes I wonder why we’re friends.”

Aaron grinned. “Because I’ll tell you how it is. You need that kind of honesty.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. I gotta blaze. I have plans.”

“
Jase, before you go, do you want to talk about our situation?”

“Our situation?
Does that mean 
our
 money is up for grabs? I thought we already agreed there was no need to talk about it. I’ve got it covered.”

“Not so fast. Your Kellogg’s contract is up for renegotiation.”

“Yeah, I know. I thought we agreed to sign with the same term as before and renegotiate a higher fee after I win another Open or Grand Slam.”

“Yeah well, the Kellogg’s guys are dragging their feet. I sent them the contract last week, but they haven’t even come back to me for changes.”

The hairs on his neck pricked up, and he scooted to the edge of his seat. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying
, it might be time to prepare yourself to not have Kellogg’s on your roster of endorsers.”

He slumped in his chair. “Shit.”

Aaron rolled his lips inward. “I’m sorry, Jase.”

Jason’s heart hammered a tattoo into his chest cavity. Aaron was kind enough not to point out what would happen to his other endorsements once they found out about Kellogg’s. “Is there anything I can do to stop it?
Anything? Come let them watch a practice? Something to prove I’m not worm food yet?”

“Let’s not go that far, but just so you know, I’m working on it. Besides, we don’t want to reek of desperation. Like you said, you worry about you, and I’ll worry about the rest.”

And what if Kellogg’s had it right? Jason refused to dwell on the negative thoughts dragging dark clouds over his mood. He would be back. He had no other options. He navigated through the throng of tables in Château Marmont’s dining room as he strode into the lobby in a hurry to get to Izzy. The swarm of photographers trapped his feet in virtual cement. Were they there for him or someone else? He considered going out the back door, but with a single flashbulb, was too late. He’d been spotted. 
Damn
.

“Jason…”

“Over here, Jason…”

“Can you tell us about the allegations you and Michaels didn’t part on good terms?”
 
Damn, was that going to stick?

“Jason, can you tell us when you and
Cienna are getting married?”

They weren’t ever going to let go of that one were they?

“What about the rumors that you’re gay?”

That was a new one.

He was stuck. It was too late to go out the back, so he had no choice but to go out the front door, which meant best case he would be late to Izzy’s. Worst case, he wouldn’t make it. As the swarm of flashbulb bees grew, he gritted his teeth—worst case.

****

Izzy’s mind was on murder. All she had to do was find the inventor of the skinny jean and shoot him, maybe tar and feather him first. Even better, squeeze his ass into a pair of skinny jeans, tar and feather him, then shoot him. It had to be a him, no woman would put another woman through the torture.

“
Aaarrrggghhh!” She jumped and wiggled. When all else failed, she lay on the bed, but after all her efforts, she was only able to pull the jeans halfway up her thighs. “What the hell possessed me to think I could pull off skinny jeans?”

Nick knocked at her door. “Mom, you okay in there?”

What a question to ask. She felt the blush tinge her cheeks. It was also one there was no neat answer to. She mumbled, “Yes, I’m fine.”

She heard him shuffle off, and she stared down at her legs.
Once well-muscled and toned legs had long since lost that sleekness of youth. Though still toned, they weren’t as muscled. Oh, if only to have the ass of a seventeen year old again. 
You’re not seventeen anymore. You’d better remember it. 
Not like Jason hadn’t already seen everything she had to offer. Heat flooded her face. He’d promised never to remind her of last Sunday night. Could he be trusted?

She discarded the skinny jeans onto the towering pile of clothes on her bed, which now resembled a brightly colored pig sty. With a sigh, she grabbed a pair of high-
waisted jeans, now all the rage when she let Jessica drag her shopping. Was it her imagination or did the dark denim make her ass look twice as big? What happened to slimming dark colors?

What if he doesn’t come?
 
If she bothered with the makeup and the clothes and the hair, and he didn’t show, she’d kill him. As she stared at the clumpy black spiders on her lashes, she wondered how old her mascara was. She hoped Jessica would know how to fix it.

Primping
. She was primping for some idiot man, something she promised she’d never do. He was a hot idiot man, but that didn’t make it better. So much for the promises made to herself. 
Note to self: Only make promises you can keep.

She hated herself for that, but something stopped her from calling him to cancel. She’d dreamt, fantasized, about him for years. The seventeen-year-old girl in her wanted to believe in fairy tales. The woman in her wanted to exorcise the memory of him once and for all. And tonight with Nick, Jessica and Simon as her witnesses, there would be an exorcism.

There was another soft knock at her bedroom door before a bleached blonde wigged head popped in. “Hey lady. I’m here to lend reinforceme—” Jessica stopped and stared at her.

Izzy looked down at her outfit, jeans and a button down silk blouse. “What’s wrong with my outfit? Was I not supposed to tuck in the blouse?”

Jessica’s gaze moved from her outfit to her face, and she wrinkled her brow. “Uhm nothing’s wrong, besides the mom jeans, nineties worthy top and the tarantulas on your eyelids.”

Izzy looked down again. This time noticing how the high-
waisted fit of the jean made her look extra curvy and how much the canary poet’s shirt reminded her of one she’d had in eighth grade. Not to mention she could feel her eyelashes every time she blinked.

She inhaled trying to take a deep breath around the blooming anxiety, but her lungs refused and constricted. “I’m doomed.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “No, you’re not doomed. It’s fixable. How much time do we have?”

Taking a glance at the clock, Izzy let out a moan of dread. “We have thirty minutes.” Then staring at the mom jeans again, she felt the panicky increase of her heart rate. “I’m useless. Maybe I can still cancel.”

That statement earned her a derisive look from Jessica. “Are you insane, Boss Lady? There is a hotter than hot, sexy man on his way here to spend time with you. This is the first real date you’ve had in months.”

Izzy was quick to correct her. “No. This is not a date. If it is, this is the first date I’ve ever had with three chaperones. Nick invited him over. This is not a date.
Period. End of story.” She wrinkled her brows. “Besides, I go on dates with Simon.”

Jessica rummaged through the closet and tossed a pair of jeans at her.
“Right, right, Simon. Please see earlier comment about real date.” Next came a white puff-sleeved top and chunky gold lamé belt. As a finale, gold ballet flats followed. “The shirt is fine if you have a sleek pencil skirt. But not today. Those jeans are the curse of curvy women everywhere, only made for runway models that double as coat hangers.”

She changed into Jessica’s ensemble suddenly feeling more comfortable, more like
herself. “I don’t know what possessed me to even buy those pants.”

Jessica sat her down and pulled out the makeup remover. “You didn’t buy them remember? The photo spread for that designer? Those were a gift.”