5. Brett

5

brETT

T hat was way too fucking close.

Stacy had almost squawked me into a catastrophe.

I had most definitely heard her say loves Luke . I wasn’t sure what else she’d blurted out, and I had no idea if Luke had fully understood or not.

I was going to kill Claire. And the bird. But first, Claire.

As I sat at the local beachfront café an hour after my ordeal with Luke, I waited for my iced coffee to be delivered by the waiter and stared out at the deep blue Pacific Ocean. I’d been desperate to escape the confinement of my home for a while and pretend that things weren’t the way they were. My podcasts weren’t coming together as effortlessly as I’d hoped, and Stacy’s constant blabbering was enough to drive anyone insane.

The tension between Luke and I had reached new, uncomfortable heights. How was I going to endure the entire summer in this kind of agony? Three months of hell next to someone who hated me. Whom I also hated.

Kind of .

Still, there was something about him. If he weren’t so fucking infuriating, he’d be… charming?

In a pompous, off-putting, arrogant way, of course.

I tried to relax as I took in my surroundings. The café was a cozy, high-end spot a few minutes from the house, with massive windows offering ocean views. Outside, a beautiful wooden deck had sleek tables and chairs for enjoying the sea breeze. Inside, calming, earthy tones, reclaimed wood furniture, and comfortable designer seating created a gentle, beach-chic atmosphere.

The scent of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air. The sound of grinding coffee beans added to the atmosphere. Local art and surfboards adorned the walls, adding a relaxed, yet stylish flair.

It was just the kind of place I needed, a mix of laid-back charm and upscale elegance, perfect for a casual visit or a longer stay if I wanted to escape the suffocating proximity to my neighbor and enemy.

As if the universe was conspiring against me, the door opened and he walked in.

Luke Dalton.

The man who was aiming to ruin my entire summer. Or at the very least make it intolerable.

What kind of jerk spent his day listening to my podcast through an open window?

It was rude. Violating. Infuriating.

And I wasn’t going to stand for it. I was going to stand up—for myself.

But as soon as he glanced over and noticed me at my lonesome table, my resolve weakened.

Luke had a commanding presence; I’d give him that. He towered over me at six feet, four inches. The first time we’d met, I’d felt almost small next to him.

Like a miniature toy standing before a lumbering giant.

But I wasn’t going to let his physical size intimidate me. That’s what he was used to.

I steeled my face and grimaced as he looked at me.

This was war. And I wasn’t going to back down.

I waited to see if he would approach me, wondering what he’d say. I had spent the better part of the afternoon trying not to think about him.

But he’d worked his way into my brain, nonetheless.

The bastard.

My pulse raced as I watched him move.

To my frustration—and disappointment—he turned and walked to the counter.

“Iced coffee, black,” he said to the barista.

He turned and gave me an angry look before turning to the barista again and adding, “ To go .”

Fine. I didn’t care if he took his coffee to go or not.

In fact, I wanted him to leave.

It was bad enough that he’d infiltrated my entire life and that I was sentenced to a summer next to him like a prisoner. Now, evidently, he was encroaching on my hangout spots as well. Nothing in this neighborhood was going to be safe from him—no shops, no restaurants. This was my new reality.

Before I could think about it any further, I noticed a stranger approaching Luke.

Well, a stranger to me . Maybe Luke knew the guy.

They had similar profiles. Both mid-thirties, tall, ridiculously muscular, and fit, with a confident gait.

Probably a player I didn’t recognize on his off day.

“Luke,” the man said, extending his arm to give Luke a business card, “my name is Thomas Whitman.”

Luke nodded politely and replied, “Hello.”

“I’m a fan,” Thomas added, “and I heard about your recent separation.”

Luke shook his head and attempted to return the card to him.

“Thank you,” Luke said, “but that was six months ago, and I’ve already hired a new publicist.”

Thomas refused to accept the card.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said with a smile. “I was referring to your recent breakup. I have to confess, I read about it in the tabloids. I’m single too, recently out of a relationship. Feel free to give me a call sometime.”

Before Luke could reply, Thomas gave a polite nod and walked out of the café.

Great , I thought. More fuel for Luke’s ego. As if he needs it. The man can’t even walk down the street without having people fawn over him. That poor, poor famous man. How difficult life must be.

The waiter arrived with my iced coffee, shaking me from my sarcastic thoughts.

As I sipped my overpriced beverage, I watched as the barista handed Luke’s drink to him.

Luke smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you , Mr. Dalton,” the barista said. “I’m a big fan! And I’m so excited to hear Brett Mercer’s podcast tomorrow—he talks about you all the time!”

Luke froze. His arm remained suspended in mid-air with the paper straw almost touching his lips.

Nice , I thought. That’ll show him. I can’t be silenced! I have fans who want to hear what I have to say.

I could tell that Luke had no idea how to respond. I knew that he knew that I could hear their conversation.

One point, Brett Mercer.

Zero points, Luke Dalton.

“Thank you,” Luke said with a strained voice and forced politeness.

“My pleasure!” the barista chirped, completely oblivious to the seething, burning rage that I knew was coursing through Luke’s veins.

Finally, Luke turned and looked at me.

I raised one eyebrow as I slowly— dramatically —lifted my straw to my lips and sipped.

I win.

But suddenly, Luke started walking toward me. I turned, looking behind me to see if there was anyone else Luke might have recognized.

Like an idiot.

But nope. Just me.

Luke was aggressively walking toward me like I was a football, and he was a player on the field.

The star quarterback was ready to punt me off the grass.

All six foot four, two-hundred-and-something pounds of muscle were walking toward me with a serious expression on his face.

I was screwed.

But I forced my face to remain stoic. Even though I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Luke could see right through me.

After what felt like ages of a slow-motion walking scene in a movie, Luke was before me.

The man was a mountain, and the difference in our size was even more noticeable with me sitting and him standing. Towering over me like a giant.

I was almost in awe. But I couldn’t let it show.

Luke opened his mouth to speak but paused, as if considering his words carefully.

In that moment, I could see his attempts at restraint. I could see that he was putting a great deal of effort into not telling me to go to hell.

Because that’s what professional NFL players were trained to do: never respond. Take the criticisms and stay quiet. Keep playing the game, don’t take it personally.

I had spent the past few months going hard at this man. And finally, with him standing in front of me, I felt a hint of empathy for what he must have felt.

The air around us was charged with tension, and I knew I needed to say something neutral to slice through it.

“Look who’s slumming it with us regular folks,” I said with a smirk. “I didn’t think millionaires even knew where coffee shops were.”

Immediately, I regretted it. My brain had intended for me to say something non-confrontational. Like maybe the word hello .

Luke frowned at me.

“I’m retired from the game,” he said with a grimace. “Are you ever going to let up? You’ve got a huge podcast audience listening to you mock me.”

I wasn’t going to let him boss me around. That’s what famous, rich players did. They bossed people around. Their personal trainers, their personal assistants, their families. Everyone did whatever Mr. Famous Man said—right away!

I scoffed. “I didn’t know whining was part of your retirement plan. I thought you’d be too busy counting your millions to care what I say.”

Luke laughed, but I could tell he was pissed. “I guess tearing other people down is easier than building anything real, huh? Too bad all you’ve built is a bitter little soap box.”

Wow .

I… was not prepared for him to take it there.

Luke scowled as he added, “Must be hard watching someone live the life you’ll never have. Maybe that’s why you’re still doing podcasts from a house that’s not even yours.”

Fuck .

My heart raced as my fingers gripped the plastic cup containing my iced coffee. Suddenly, and much to my embarrassment, the lid popped off and fell in my lap.

Silence filled the atmosphere around us. It was obvious I was nervous. The lid to my fucking cup had just erupted off.

I wanted to be tough. I wanted to stand up for myself against this rich prick.

“Career advice from Luke Dalton?” I asked with a laugh. “That’s funny, coming from someone who’s biggest achievement was playing a game. I’d take my career—building something genuine and lasting —over being another washed-up athlete who can’t handle life off the field.”

Luke moved closer to my table, only inches separating us now.

“I can handle life off the field,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I have a hard time losing out on millions of dollars because someone else can’t stop running his mouth about me.”

“What?” I asked, reaching down and retrieving my lid from the floor.

Awkwardly, I didn’t know what to do with it. Place it back on my cup? Throw it away? I was flustered in every way possible.

“You heard me,” Luke said. “I was in the running for a sponsorship that would have paid ten million. When the CEO heard your constant barrage of insults about me, he called it off.”

For some reason, this news caught me by surprise. Which was odd, considering that I was normally plugged in to what was happening in the industry. Part of my job was to follow the player’s lives. Not just their performance on-the-field, but their personal lives and corporate affiliations as well.

Sure, I knew I had given Luke a hard time, but that was part of the business. They play, we criticize.

That’s how it worked.

I hadn’t taken any time to think about other ways it might have affected Luke. He was retired for god’s sake. How could I possibly have had an impact on his finances?

I had no idea what to say, so I just opened my mouth and let it do the talking for me.

“I’m so sorry to have lost you a ten-million-dollar deal,” I said with a dramatic sigh. “It must have really set you back considering you only have a measly two hundred million left over from your NFL career.”

Luke balked. “It’s funny how someone who’s never set foot on a football field has so much to say about my playing career.”

I offered a fake, smug frown. “This all sounds so very, very difficult for you. Do you think you’ll be able to keep ownership of all your private islands, or might you need to sell one to make ends meet?”

Luke glared at me. “You’re vile.”

I shook my head. “You’re just mad at me because I’m doing my job. Sorry if the truth doesn’t align with your delusional view of yourself as a legend.”

I knew that one had to sting. Then again, that was my goal. To sting.

Although, for a flashing moment, I wondered why.

But this wasn’t the time or place for me to be introspective.

This was a public place, and people were sitting close enough that they could definitely hear our conversation. Unless it was being drowned out by the crashing waves.

I knew that this was not a scenario someone like Luke Dalton wanted to be in. But here we were. Forced next to each other for three long months.

“Enjoy your moment in the spotlight, Brett,” Luke said as he turned to leave the café. “I’ll be out here living a life that’s actually worth talking about.”

With that, he was gone, disappearing as quickly as he’d arrived.

I had absolutely zero ideas about how I was going to maneuver my way through the next three months.