Wide Open (14 page)

Kurtis chuckles, not offended in the least by my assessment of him. “Damn. I see why you’re a director. That’s a hell of an image.”

“I have a wonderful imagination.”

“You also have eyes that go out of focus when you come.”

I smile, avoiding his stare. “We’re still on that, huh?”

“Even after you tried to turn it around on me, yeah. We are.”

“I forget sometimes that you’re smart.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I go blind,” I tell him abruptly, swirling my fork through my syrup.

He pauses before carefully repeating, “You go blind.”

“As a bat. Actually, worse than a bat because bats aren’t blind. They can see, they just hunt at night in the dark and it’s impossible to have perfect sight in the dark so they use sonar to help them hunt, but in the right light they can see just fine.”

“You’re rambling.”

I nod stiffly. “Yup.”

“Talking about this makes you uncomfortable.”

“A little.” I look up, forcing myself to meet his eyes. They’re patient and waiting. “It terrified me the first time. I thought I was going to be blind forever, but after a few minutes it fades. But even though I know what it is now, just a quick constricting of blood flow to my eyes, it still scares me a little. I’m already in a really vulnerable place, totally out of control of my body, and to lose my sight on top of it…” I force a grin, hiding the weakness of my fears. “For a control freak like me, it’s not my favorite feeling. But at the same time it is, because man, it feels good before it happens.”

“You literally have blinding orgasms.”

I point my fork at him. “Don’t get a big head about it. It’s not just with you. I can do it to myself too.”

He chuckles, taking another bite of waffle. He’s doesn’t look at me when he asks, “And you don’t tell men that it happens?”

“No. No one has ever noticed before. I never wanted anyone to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you knowing.”

“Because you trust me?” he asks heavily, resurrecting my confession from the first time we had sex.

I nod without comment. I’m watching his face, trying to gauge his reaction. God, he’s hard to read. Carefully controlled and concealed to a worrying degree. To the point where you wonder if he feels anything, but then there are these moments where he bursts to life. Where emotion suddenly flies across his face in vibrant color. Moments where he looks honest and open and afraid.

Moments like right now.

“I betrayed a friend. That’s why I left California,” he tells me slowly, the words drawing from deep inside him. They come reluctantly. They fight him as he evicts them from his mouth and I feel strange hearing them. I feel like they hate me. Like they’re not meant to be mine. “There was a lot of money involved. A lot of lies. I haven’t talked to him since I left and I never will.”

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Nothing seems right. Kurtis is watching me with real fear in his eyes, anger building around the edges. There’s a tightness to his posture that I can’t fathom after the lithe way our bodies moved together less than an hour ago. He looks ready to bolt and I wonder what I can say to stop him.

“Thank you.”

He blinks slowly, like shades being drawn on a window. When they rise again the scene is entirely different. It’s softer, like sunset. “Why?” he asks, his voice low.

“For trusting me.”

“I didn’t say that I trust you.”

I smile sadly at his barbs. At the pain they slice across my chest. “I know, but we’re getting closer, aren’t we?”

He doesn’t tell me yes and he doesn’t tell me no. He doesn’t give me anything, but he doesn’t take anything away either. He leaves us where we are; comfortable with each other. Secrets between us building as walls begin to crumble.

I stand, taking my plate to the sink. I reach down to ask for his and he hands it to me without a word. I feel him stand up behind me, the air in the room shifting against the weight of his presence. It rolls over me slowly. It makes me shiver against the chill of the AC and I suddenly feel bone tired. Weary in a way that’s absolutely sublime.

I take his hand without looking at him. Without speaking to him. Silently we pad through my apartment together, turning off lights and stepping over our clothes. He follows me willingly to my bedroom where I leave the light off. Where we climb into bed together. Where he kisses me sweetly. He pushes his body against mine in a way that doesn’t arouse me. Instead it soothes me, like a warm blanket on a cold night. It makes me melt against him, every muscle in my body relaxing. Sighing.

Singing.

KURTIS

July 21st

The DAK Agency

Los Angeles, CA

I push through the door to the DAK Agency, relaxing in relief when the cold air envelopes me. Hollis and Sloane may have left some luxuries behind when they walked away from the Ashford Agency, but thank God AC wasn’t one of them. The other changes, the cosmetic look of the agency compared to Ashford, is better now too. I wouldn’t have thought it three years ago, but now that I’m older and vaguely wiser I see the differences as pluses instead of poverty.

The reception area to this office is much smaller than their old one, but it’s also less sterile. It’s not stark white with shining surfaces and stock sports photos. Immediately when you walk in you’re met with large, palmed plants in brilliant red pots. The floor is a rich wood grain, the walls painted a soothing gray, blown up photos of each of their clients decorating the walls. I’m there by the thermostat in my Kodiak uniform, my hair a mess with sweat. An uninhibited smile on my face. I’m stunned every time I see it because you’d think it was from my rookie year, but it’s not. It was just last year. I don’t remember what game it was, but judging by the look in my eyes it was a win. We had a lot of those last season.

“Kurtis, hey,” Sloane calls out to me happily.

Her heels click down the hallway in a steady, purposeful rhythm as she comes out of her office to greet me. Someone follows close behind her, and at first glance I think it’s Tyus. He’s an average build; just under six foot, all lean muscle. Jet black skin and a confidence to his walk that can’t be forged. But then the guy lifts his head, the bill of his baseball hat revealing his face, and I know it’s not him. This guy has an easy look to his eyes, a kind of calm that Tyus just doesn’t do. At least not lately.

The guy grins at me, raising his hand in a short wave. “What’s up? Kurtis Matthews, right?”

“That’s right.” I offer him my hand. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t. I doubt you hit up Canada much.” His grip is solid when he shakes my hand. “Demarcus Sawyer.”

“Good to meet you, man.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Demarcus was a wide receiver at Florida State,” Sloane explains, her brown eyes shining with pride when she looks at him. “He broke three school records.”

“Two,” he corrects.

Sloane smiles, “If you’re only counting the official ones. And I don’t.”

“Can’t put beer pong on my highlight reel, Sly.”

“Shut up. You know what I’m talking about.”

“You’re gonna embarrass me, aren’t you?”

“There was a fundraiser for the humane society,” Sloane explains to me.

“Ah shit, here we go,” Demarcus groans, lowering his head and tugging at the bill of his hat.

“There was a big storm that hit the city during Demarcus’ junior year. A lot of animals were displaced and lost. The humane society was overflowing with them and they needed help getting them all taken care of. A bunch of athletes put together a kind of a beauty pageant like they do at a lot of high schools, only this one was co-ed. They carried around jars for a month collecting donations and campaigning for the student body to vote for them when the time came. The amount of donations you collected counted toward your score at the end and lot of people set up kissing booths and massage tables in the courtyard. But not my D.”

He snickers at her. “You know it sounds like you mean dick, right?”

“My big, black D,” she draws out slow and sensual, “didn’t do any of that. He didn’t make it sexual.”

“I didn’t want herpes.”

“You used your talent, that’s what you did.”

“What’d he do?” I ask.

“He painted portraits for donations. He sold paintings of landscapes and dreamscapes and really anything anyone asked for. And they were
good
.”

He chuckles modestly. “They weren’t that good.”

“You earned more money than anyone else in the school. They were good. They still are.” Sloane gestures over her shoulder down the hall. “I have one he did for me hanging in my office. You should come in and see it.”

“We’re running late, Sloane,” Demarcus tells her abruptly. “We gotta go.”

She looks at her watch, frowning. “No, we’re not.”

“We are if we’re going to stop and get a breakfast burrito.”

“Is that happening?”

“It is now.”

Sloane laughs. “Okay, another time then.” She puts her hands on my shoulders, stepping up on her toes to kiss me softly on the cheek. It’s her standard greeting and farewell, but it catches me off guard every time. “See you later, handsome. Give Hollis hell for me.”

“I always do,” I promise.

She smiles as she leaves me. Demarcus holds the door for her, casting me a quick wave before disappearing out into the simmering heat.

I’m alone in the office. I can feel it without knowing it. They don’t have a receptionist, just a desk to give the impression that they might, and the third agent that makes up the DAK Agency is rarely here. Berny Dawe is an older guy, a veteran to the game who doesn’t care for sitting behind a desk all day. He worked with Sloane’s dad way back when we were all in diapers, but old man Ashford burned him once they started making money. He buried Bernie to get ahead because that’s the kind of guy that son of a bitch is. When Sloane realized she didn’t want to work under Ashford for the rest of her life she called up Bernie Dawe to join forces with her and Hollis Kane. Her dad was furious. From what Hollis tells me, they’re still not speaking.

The door behind me swings open, a wave of heat disrupting the cool I’ve been enjoying. Hollis rushes in behind it. He smiles when he sees me, pushing his aviators up on top of his head.

“Hey, what’s up? Have you been waiting long?”

“I just got here.” I gesture to the empty reception desk collecting dust. “I was chatting up your receptionist here.”

Hollis rolls his eyes as he steps around me. “It’s unreal. It’s been almost a year and Sloane is still being a bitch about that.”

“What’s her problem with having a receptionist?”

“Nothing, except she vetoes every woman I bring in.”

“Seriously? She doesn’t seem like the jealous type.”

“She’s not. She’s the picky type. She wants someone who knows sports. Like honestly knows them, not casually knows them. Inside and out. She wants another her, basically, but she’s rare and she’s expensive as shit.”

Hollis unlocks his office door. I follow him inside, taking my usual seat on the couch.

“I didn’t see your car out front,” he comments, rounding his desk. “Did you drive here?”

“Yep. A Fiat.”

Hollis drops a large manila envelope heavily on his desk. “’the fuck?”

I gesture to the window. “You didn’t see it out there? Fire engine red?”

“You’re messing with me. No way in hell you bought a Fiat.”

I grin. “It’s a rental. Chill.”

“Thank God,” he mutters. He drops down into his chair, shaking his head. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought you’d finally lost your mind.”

“’Finally’? Are you waiting for that?”

“Are you not?”

I stare at him, not smiling. Not moving.

He grins, not put off by my annoyance. “What happened to the Blazer?”

“It took a baseball through the windshield.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. I went out in the morning and found the windshield gone and a ball on my seat.”

“When?”

I throw my arm over the back of the couch, settling in. “Night before last. I was on the street near a park. It was probably some kids.”

Hollis smiles. “Or maybe a Raiders fans.”

“Maybe.”

“Why get a rental, though? Why not get out the Hellcat?”

I snort derisively. “Why don’t I get a room at the Luxor while I’m at it?”

“Alright, shut up,” Hollis groans, opening his laptop. “I didn’t think about it before I said it.”

“That’s a quality I want in an agent. Speak before you think.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re getting a real lip on you lately, you know that?”

“I feel it, yeah.”

“Not even sorry, are you?”

“Why would I be?”

“I have no goddamn idea,” he mutters. He opens the thick manila envelope to pull out a stack of papers. They look official. Contractual.

I feel myself scowling at them.

I cough roughly to clear my face, my thoughts. “I met Demarcus when I came in.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you think of him?”

“He seems cool.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“What do you say?”

“I say I haven’t met him.”

“How? He’s practically Sloane’s only client.”

“She has Colt Avery,” he reminds me, searching for a pen.

“I think Colt sees it more like he has her.”

“I think that’s how Colt sees everything.” He slaps his hand down on top of the pile of papers. “Are you ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Alright. The first stack is the extension of the contract with Calvin Klein. I’ve been over it with our attorneys and it’s solid. Same terms as last time. Another marketing campaign with your pretty little face on it and you get another three million dollars.”

“Two point five,” I correct him.

He grins, shaking his head. “Three. They sweetened the pot. I think they were worried you wouldn’t go for it a second time.”

“They weren’t wrong to worry.” I shift in my seat, eyeing the stack of contracts. “Where does that put us?”

“You still owe three million, but that’s all to creditors and banks at this point. Everything you owe to the IRS will finally be paid off.”

“I’ll owe new taxes on the money coming in though.”

Hollis purses his lips pensively. “That’s true. You’re right. But that’s a future worry, one we’ll manage when the time comes. Right now, looking at the past, we’re almost clear of it.”

I feel weightless when he says that. Sick in a serene kind of way. “Three million left to go?” I clarify, my voice oddly breathless.

“Three million left.”

“How do we do it?”

He smiles. “I have ideas about that.” He puts aside the majority of the stack. His hand lands on top of a new, smaller pile. “This is a proposal from Dairy Queen. They want to bring you in on the Triple Threat ad campaign with Trey and Colt.”

I scowl. “What happened to Tyus?”

“Tyus has bowed out. He doesn’t want anything to do with it anymore.”

“But Trey and Colt are staying with it?”

“They’ll be able to if you come in with them. Dairy Queen has centered this campaign on the idea of three. Double Threat doesn’t have the same ring to it. Without Tyus, it’s dead. Unless you join in.” He lifts the proposal, waving it at me enticingly. “You’ll get all the ice cream you could ever eat.”

“So, none then?”

“You don’t like ice cream?”

“Nope. Never have.”

“Man, do you hate happy,” he grumbles. “Look, it’s a good deal. A sweet one, if you—“

“No puns.”

He sits back in his seat with a frown. “I hate you.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, fine. If free sugar doesn’t sell you, maybe one point five million dollars will.”

“Done.” I stand from the couch. Two strides take me to his desk where I’m reaching for his pen. “Where do I sign?”

Hollis holds his pen hostage, staring up at me suspiciously. “I spent a week convincing you to do the CK ad campaign the first time. Today you’re going to sign on with them again
and
sign on with DQ, no fight?”

I shrug. “What’s there to fight about? I’m almost to the finish line. If you brought me a deal advertising a boner pill for that last million-five to clear my debts, I’d sign on in a heartbeat. No questions asked.”

“Don’t joke with me. I might be able to swing that.”

“Okay, one point five million was a joke. But two million isn’t.”

He scrunches his face in confusion. “Who are you?”

“Whoever they want me to be.”

“Seriously, though,” he says slowly, handing over his pen. “Something’s going on with you.”

I sign my name with a flourish on the top sheet, flipping quickly to the next. “I’m almost a free man. That’s what’s going on with me.”