Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

HUGH

Exhausted beyond belief, I climb out of the airport cab and get my suitcase from the trunk. I drag it behind me to the front door of Derek Johnson's house. Being one of my favorite clients—one who's actually a friend too—means he gets the privilege of me thinking of his home as my home too.

Not always of course.

I honestly can't remember why anymore, but I have a ten-bedroom house up in Calabasas. The fact is, Derek's house is a twenty-minute cab ride from the airport at three in the morning, and he's always said I can crash in his guest bedroom whenever I need it.

I need it today.

Like I've needed it countless times before. I spend more time away from home than in it, even though it's where my actual office is.

Being an agent to so many athletes means I've exceeded all expectations I had for myself ten years ago when I decided to start this career. It also means I've sacrificed a lot of things along the way.

Time with my parents and sisters, time with my nieces and nephews, time with the few friends I have, and of course any romantic relationship I ever tried to make work.

I've been thinking non-stop over the last few months, trying to decide if it's been worth it.

I think it has—I love my life, I really do.

Not being home isn't too bad when it's just an empty house. Traveling is exciting. The chase of a deal or of signing a new client always thrills me.

Making sure the men and women I represent achieve their goals is more gratifying than your average person would think. And of course, the money doesn't hurt.

I open the door with my spare key as quietly as I can, make sure the alarm is all set up since Derek forgets to do that most days, then carry my suitcase to the guest bedroom down the hall without bothering with the lights. I know this place as well as Derek does by this point. I turn to the left, so I can get to the staircase and start the walk down the hallway on the second floor, when I bump into someone.

"Oh, shit," I exclaim from the scare.

The person shouts one sharp "Ah!" and then flails backward. I reach for them so they don't fall, and manage to catch them.

"Sorry, sorry," I think to say. It's the best way I know how to communicate that I'm not here to rob the place. I don't know who this person is, though. Maybe they're here to rob the place?

Okay, focus, Hugh.

"Let me turn on the light," I say urgently. I don't want to spook them any more than I already have.

I reach to the wall for the light switch and it's a few eternal, panic-filled seconds until I do. The light blinds me when I finally turn it on, but I guess it has the same effect on the other person—a man, I realize when he speaks. "Jesus, fuck."

"Are you okay?" I ask as I slowly get my sight back. When I can see properly, I can't speak any more.

He's so fucking gorgeous. Bright blue eyes, shaggy light brown hair—or is it dirty blond? I think that's what people call it. He has a soft-looking white T-shirt on, paired with only black boxers.

The light stubble shadowing his cheeks tells me he's old enough, but still so much younger than me. Probably in his mid-twenties. I have no clue what he's doing in Derek's house, but I don't doubt he's a guest. Why else would he be in his boxers right now otherwise?

"Who are you?" he asks quietly when he finally stops breathing hard.

"I'm Hugh," I whisper. I don't have the mental bandwidth to say anything else right now. I wish I could explain to him who I am, why I'm here so late. But I can only stand there and stare.

"I'm Ollie," he says adorably. He stares right back, eyes wide open as they shift all over my face then trail down my button-down, my slacks, and he even spends a moment looking at my Oxfords.

I take a step toward him as if pulled by something. Some magnetic force that demands I get closer to him. I'll probably blame it on how tired I am tomorrow, but I don't hesitate when that same force has me raising my hand to his cheek and taking yet another step toward him so our chests are almost touching.

"Ollie," I whisper. I start to lower my face to his and his eyes get impossibly bigger.

"Hugh," he says just as softly. It's not a protest, it's definitely not a rejection, in fact...

Is it my imagination or is he leaning in? He is. He places one hand on my shoulder and now I know for certain he's totally leaning forward, maybe even going up to his tiptoes.

Does he want this as much as I do?

I close my eyes as I close the space between our mouths and send a wish to the universe. Please let him feel this attraction as strongly as I do .

His lips are soft and pliant when they meet mine. They open on a gasp and I capture his lower, plumper lip between my own and suck just a little instinctively.

A moan leaves his lips and that's the trigger for common sense to take control of me again. What the hell am I doing? Kissing a man I just met in the dark like he's something more.

I take a big step back and see him take one tiny step forward to keep his balance. That barely there move makes me want to shove common sense to the back of my mind, but I can't.

"Sorry," I say, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry."

He shifts his gaze down to the floor and I feel like shit instantly. But what can I say to make that look of sadness disappear from his face? To have those baby-blues back on me?

"I'm Hugh," I repeat, but just keep going this time. Maybe my nervous rambling—something I was sure I outgrew after my growth spurt when I was fifteen, but apparently not—will make him realize that I have no clue what the hell I'm doing. "Andrews. I'm Derek's agent. I just got in from Buffalo where I was helping out another client with a contract renewal. I got in just an hour ago, and when I arrive so late Derek let's me crash here."

"I-uh." He stutters a bit, but then lets out a big breath and looks at me. "I've known Hawk since we were little. We both grew up in Carmel, and they found me today when they were on their way back and gave me a job."

"A job?" I ask quietly. I want to sound curious and not accusatory, but it's a big deal for Derek to give anyone a job, and as his agent I should be worried about why he hasn't told me anything about it. But in reality I'm just hoping it means Ollie's going to become a permanent fixture in his life so I can see him again.

Here.

Wherever.

"Ye-es," he stutters again, and I take another step back to try and make him feel less uncomfortable. His face goes blank at my movement, so I take the same step back. I really have no idea what I'm doing here, I don't know what he wants. "I'm going to be Hawk's assistant, or Derek's. We haven't really ironed it out yet."

I nod to show I'm listening. "I get it, they're both busy guys and should probably have hired assistants before."

"I-I didn't go to college or anything, but I'm very organized. And I won't blab about them to anyone." The sudden desperation in his voice has my heart constricting, but it's endearing as hell.

"Okay. If they trust you then it's for a good reason." I believe it wholeheartedly, but also... I get a sense that Ollie would never betray anyone. "So you're staying in the guest bedroom, huh?" I ask awkwardly. I feel like everything I'm doing and saying is awkward. How can it not be when I kissed him before I even told him why I'm in his new boss' house at three in the morning. "I guess I'll take the couch then."

"Oh, no. If you prefer the bedroom, I can sleep on the couch, really?—"

"No way," I interrupt him and shake my head decisively. "You're the one they actually invited to stay over. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Okay," he whispers and looks down at his feet again.

"I'm pretty tired, that's the truth, and I could easily blame it on that, but it's not why I kissed you." Where are these words coming from? Seriously, I need to shut the hell up.

"Then why did you kiss me?" He speaks even softer now but his eyes are back on mine. That's what I wanted, I realize.

"I think you're beautiful and couldn't resist. And I've never had a problem resisting beauty before. So that's... something to consider, I guess." His mouth drops open at my honesty. I don't blame him. When have I ever been this forward with a man? Never. I'm sure this has never happened to me before. "I think I need to sleep now, otherwise I'm going to keep saying insane truths that normally only serial killers say. Okay?" Again, he just stares. "Good night, Ollie," I tell him with a smile, then walk back down to where I came from and detour to the living room.

I get comfortable on the couch while I listen to Ollie's quiet footsteps go back to the guest bedroom, and when I hear a door softly click shut, I can finally let out the breath I've been holding.

Was that all totally lame? Or was it the right thing to do?

Probably both, I realize, feeling sorry for myself.

I really need to sleep.

I dream of a blue-eyed angel with light brown hair. In my dream, he smiles at me, he pulls me closer when I go to kiss him, he climbs me like a tree and then?—

I startle awake and it takes me ten seconds to remember where I am.

And that the man of my dreams—literally, I'm not going to turn into a hopeless romantic after one kiss—is someone I met. Someone I want to see again.

I hear Derek's voice drift down from his bedroom, and realize that's probably what woke me up. No need to linger here, I decide. I need to slap myself together so I can make the best second impression of all time when I see Ollie again. Dressed in my suit again, I go up the stairs in search of Derek.

Snooping isn't really my style, but I can't help it when I hear Derek speak.

"Okay, that works for me, but I don't want you to overwork yourself. And it's not because of your epilepsy, Oliver, but because you're now my employee. When are you getting here? We're supposed to meet Bruce in"—there's a pause—"one hour."

I guess Ollie's telling him something then . . .

"Yeah, when did he get here?"

Is he talking about me?

"Sorry about that. I didn't know he'd be here today. He does that when he gets in late or very early. His house is all the way in Calabasas, so that's why I let him stay over whenever he needs it."

They're definitely talking about me. But what is Ollie saying back? And what the hell did Derek mean about "his epilepsy?"

Derek turns and sees me in his doorway before I can figure anything out, so again, I make an effort to appear totally unaffected.

"That's good, I'll see you in a few," Derek says and hangs up. "Hey, I didn't know you'd be here. How are you?"

"Tired as fuck." I rub my eyes just to lay it on thick, though I'm not lying. "I need to go home, but I just wanted to check in with you. Congrats on the win Sunday. You made some great plays."

"Thanks. And everything's fine. Hawk and I just decided to stay here instead of in Carmel-by-the-Sea this week."

"He's gonna have the interview here?" As his agent and close friend, I know everything that's been going on with the Storm brothers these past few months, and I'll keep offering them any help I can give.

"They're still figuring all that out. He did call yesterday to let them know, but it's probably going to be in an office somewhere downtown if we don't do it at their house."

"Got it. Well, just call if you need anything."

"I will. Appreciate you, man." He stands and gives me one of his typical bro hugs.

I nod and get out of there like my ass is on fire but I'm ignoring it? It's a weird thing, but I hope Derek's distracted enough not to pay too much attention to it. He's got enough to figure out for Hawk's interview tomorrow, so I really hope he doesn't.

I arrive at my home and go directly to my bedroom. I dump all my clothes in the laundry basket where my housekeeper will collect them when she comes by later, then I go into the bathroom.

I really need a shower.

The mortification over my actions from last night hits me full-force again when I realize I probably smelled like plane and humanity when I kissed Ollie. I groan out loud and get in the shower before the water has had time to warm up.

The cold shock helps me focus—and I need to fucking focus all right. I clean up quickly, then put on sweatpants and a light T-shirt. It's January, otherwise I'd forgo the shirt.

I grab my laptop from my suitcase and go to my home office, the one room in the house that I had redesigned. It's a basic square but it has a huge desk that can be raised and lowered however much I want. My ergonomic chair greets my tired back like an old friend, as I connect my computer to the monitors and check my emails.

When I left the agency I worked for out of college, I knew I didn't want to open an agency of my own. I didn't want to have to manage other agents, just myself. I have a few people who I hire for certain jobs, but mostly, this is a one-man show. The only person who technically works for me is my travel agent.

Trevor is a godsend, and he makes my life way easier than it could potentially be. I only have to send him a date—or a time of the day if I'm in too much of a hurry—and he can get me anywhere. Most of my trips are planned, but some are emergencies—hazard of the job—and when that happens I accept that a business ticket might not be available and bear the flights in tourist class, but Trevor still gets a pretty penny from me.

Sometimes, in extreme cases, there are no tickets available—like when Adam and Mike, two of Derek's friends who play for New York, were suddenly ready to sign renewal contracts with The Kings—and I charter a plane. Trevor gets a prettier penny for those occasions.

All in all, I manage my schedule. I don't take phone calls from numbers I don't recognize, since everyone who I want calling me is either saved as a contact or has my email. I close the deals by myself and I make damn sure I fight with all I've got so my clients are getting what they deserve every single time.

Sometimes the fight isn't enough, but those are rare, and I pride myself on that.

I read through the emails, and everything inside me lights up when I realize I need to call Derek to double-check if he wants to take this partnership offer or not. Maybe he's with Ollie by now. Maybe I'll hear his voice.

Am I having the thoughts of a deranged stalker?

Is this what it feels like to be obsessed?

I think it very well could be. Either way, I don't hesitate and immediately call Derek.

"'Sup?" he answers, and I can tell he's in the car.

"I just got a query for you."

"Ugh, now what?" he asks in his usual growl.

"A luxury brand wants you to be the spokesperson for their next line of suits," I quip. Look, I know damn well Derek doesn't want anything to do with a brand that makes suits. I do. I know all my clients and their interests very well, but I bring all opportunities to them every time they present themselves.

"What brand?" I hear Hawk's voice come through. He sounds curious and excited. "Dee, you would look so damn hot in a tailored suit."

"I already have one of those," he grinds through what I'm sure are gritted teeth. I've been in the room with him countless times when he's about to lose his patience, but this is Hawk we're talking about. If Derek's boyfriend wants to see him wearing suits on billboards all over the world, then Derek will more than likely sign up for this.

Not that I want that. I just think it's adorable how easily one of the scariest men in the NFL caves to his significant other's wants.

"Yes, but you could have more!" I know Hawk is only teasing him now, so I join in.

"That's definitely happening if he signs on. All the suits you want, Johnson." I'm smiling already.

"Can we meet to talk about this?" he says, resigned. I won't let him sign on though. I want what's best for him, and he would hate this, but that doesn't mean I'm passing up the chance of seeing Ollie again. Maybe this time I'll have more game than I did last night.

"Dinner tonight?"

"Oh! Yes. I was just telling Ollie that we have to take him to the place with the oysters, Dee."

"Yeah, okay. Meet you there at seven." The line goes dead less than a second later, but the smile on my face stays.

Time to plan the best second impression in the world.