17. Charlie

CHAPTER 17

CHARLIE

T he hotel lobby buzzes with energy as I wait for Marissa to join me. People check in and chat around me, and the chandelier overhead casts a warm glow on the polished marble floor, but it's nothing compared to the light inside me when I think of her.

Today was incredible; we nailed our meeting and proved that we're a force to be reckoned with. And Marissa… she's truly the whole package. Beautiful, smart, ambitious.

It leaves me wondering what it would be like to keep her in my life after this trip is over.

It's a strange thought, unlike any that I've had before.

I've never been one to entertain the idea of having a woman in my life permanently, but something about Marissa makes me feel differently. She challenges me and pushes me to be better, both professionally and personally. The thought of having her by my side doesn't scare me anymore. Instead, it fills me with excitement.

I still don't know what to make of that. In some ways, I've changed so much since we first left Chicago. I'm not sure who I'll be when I return home. I just hope that, no matter what comes next, Marissa will still be a part of my life.

"Hey."

Marissa's voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see her walking towards me, looking stunning. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders, and her dress clings to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. My heart races as I take her in, suddenly feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

"Marissa, you look… wow," I stammer.

"Thanks." She smooths her dress and looks away. "You look pretty great yourself."

"Eh." I shrug. "I figured I would throw on a shirt with buttons."

Her laugh is pure music. "It's more than that. You smell nice, too."

"Oh, yeah?" I cock an eyebrow at her.

Immediately, she blushes.

She's told me to keep things professional between us, so I bite my tongue. Even though I'd love to do plenty of other things with it…

Shaking the dirty thoughts out of my head, I gesture to the door. "Ready to go?"

"Sure." She strides past me, and I almost have to bite my fist. She looks just as good from the back as from the front.

Not that I'm trying to stare. Because I'm sure that's not allowed either.

It's certainly not professional, and for the first time in my life — thanks to Marissa — I'm giving a damn about being a professional.

So, keeping my mouth shut, I follow her out of the hotel and into the city. The streets are alive with laughter and music, the perfect backdrop for a balmy evening. We make our way through the bustling crowd, her hand in mine. It feels like we're the only two people in the world right now, and I never want this night to end.

I don't even care that she's holding my hand for show. I don't care that, soon enough, all of this will be over. I'm happy where I am right now, and it's enough.

We eventually find ourselves outside a cozy bar, the soft glow of the lights inside inviting us in. As we step through the door, the warm atmosphere envelops us like a comforting embrace.

"Bar or table?" I ask.

"Let's grab a table." She scans the room for one that's open.

"Sounds good to me," I reply, my hand still intertwined with hers as we wind our way through the bar.

We settle into our seats and order two pints of beer and a basket of onion rings. Taking my glass in hand, I catch her eye.

"Here's to our… relationship," I say with a grin, raising my glass in a toast.

Marissa laughs and clinks her glass against mine, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Thank you for all your hard work, Marissa," I continue sincerely, taking a sip of my drink. "You've done…" I shake my head in disbelief, "so much for me. I could never repay you."

She blushes slightly at the compliment, looking down at her drink. "It's been an amazing experience, and I'm glad I could help. Besides, you're helping me as well. This will also turn my career around."

I chuckle. "We're not doing too bad, are we?"

Her smile lights up the room. "Nope. Not too bad at all."

As we talk, I notice people watching us from across the bar. A few even pull out their phones to snap pictures of us together. It doesn't bother me. In fact, I'm happy to be seen with Marissa. So what if the relationship isn't real? My pride in it sure as hell is.

"So, tell me about your life," I prompt, eager to learn more about the woman sitting across from me.

"Oh." She wraps her hands around her pint glass. "Haven't we gone over it all?"

"We went over anything we might be quizzed on. Any info we might need to cover our asses." I lean back and study her. "I want to know about the Marissa no one else gets to see."

She laughs. "You think there's a Marissa who's in hiding?"

"Doesn't everyone have a piece of themselves that they don't share with the world?"

Her front teeth gently bite into her full bottom lip. Something catches in my chest, and I feel like I'm being magnetically pulled towards her. It takes nearly all of my strength to stay where I am, planted in my seat.

"Perhaps." She raises her chin and looks down at me, a playful challenge in her eyes. "And what makes you think I would share that part of myself with you?"

"Okay." Laughing, I lift up my hands in surrender. "Sorry, I asked."

"No, it's all right." She sips her beer. "What would you like to know?"

I consider it for a long moment. Number one, I want to know how she really feels about me. Does she think I'm some bumbling idiot who needs to have his hand held through life, or does she see me as something more? Even the slightest amount.

Could she ever imagine the two of us together for real?

I swallow that question, though. It's off-limits. I told her I would keep our boundaries in place, so I'll be doing exactly that.

Which means I settle for my next question. "How did you become a sports agent, anyway?"

Her face lights up. "My dad and I used to spend weekends going to games or watching them on TV," she explains, her voice filled with nostalgia. "I loved how sports brought people together. The energy, the excitement, the sense of community. That's what made me want to be a part of it all."

I nod in understanding, remembering my own love for football and the camaraderie it inspired. It's funny. I would have never thought we had this much in common.

"Your passion for sports really shines through." I smile at her enthusiasm. "I can see why you're so good at what you do."

"Thank you, Charlie," she replies, her cheeks tinted with a hint of pink. "It's been a long journey, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"What about you?" she asks.

"What about me? How did I become a sports agent?"

"Ha-ha," she says dryly. "No. What's your real relationship with football like? Did you always want to go pro? Did you, like, have your room decorated in football posters as a kid?"

She takes a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving mine. It's my turn to share, and I can feel the weight of vulnerability hanging heavy in the air.

"Football was the first thing that ever made me feel… worth something," I admit. It's not too sensitive of a topic, but still I get emotional thinking about it. "I wasn't exactly a model student or anything, but I excelled on the field. When I got drafted right out of high school, it was like all those years of struggling to find my place had finally paid off."

"Losing that validation must've been really tough for you when you got kicked off the Thunderhawks," she muses quietly, her gaze searching my face for a reaction.

"Maybe," I concede, shrugging it off. "But let's not dwell on the past, okay? We've got enough serious stuff to deal with as it is."

My attempt at lightening the mood works. Marissa smiles, and the air around us feels lighter once more.

"Fine, no more serious talk," she agrees.

"Now that's what I'm talking about." I raise my hand for another round.

With two fresh pints in front of us, Marissa raises her glass in a toast. "To enjoying the present."

"To the present," I echo, clinking my glass against hers. We both drink, and as I lower my glass, I decide to just go for it. "You must work a lot, but… tell me about your dating life. How is someone as amazing as you still single?"

I expect her to tell me that's an inappropriate question, but instead she blushes and gives me a playful shove.

"Oh, stop it," she admonishes, but I can see the appreciation in her eyes. "I've dated here and there, but nothing too serious. I've always been so focused on my career."

"What about that guy you told me about?"

"Who?" Her brow furrows in confusion.

"You said you were in love once."

"Oh." Her face darkens. "It didn't end too well."

"What happened?" My heart races. It's crazy, but the prospect of hearing more details about her life is exciting.

"It's a long story," she begins, looking down at her glass with a heavy sigh.

I'm relieved when she doesn't stop talking. "We were young. He was my first real love. And then… he got signed to a big-league team. His ego went through the roof, and I got left behind."

She looks up at me then, her eyes reflecting a hurt I recognize all too well.

"Wow," I say simply. "So he… he was an athlete?"

"Yep." She purses her lips and nods.

"Let me guess. Football?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head with a bitter smile. "Baseball. Star pitcher."

I wince, understanding now why she might be keeping me at arm's length. To her, I'm just another potential heartbreak, suited up and ready to take the field.

"But you… you're different," she adds hastily as if reading my mind. The sincerity in her voice gives me hope. A hope that tells me not all is lost.

"Am I?" I ask, my voice softening.

She nods and looks straight into my eyes. "You are."

The pub noise fades. The world narrows down to just us two and the beat of my heart, loud in my ears.

"Why?" I dare to ask.

There's a long silence, one in which I can hear the scrape of a barstool across hardwood, the clatter of glasses being cleaned, the soft whispers of lovers near us.

"Because," she finally says, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "You haven't let fame get to your head. You're… you're real."

Her words resonate within me like a plucked string. She sees me. The real me. Not the football player the world perceives but Charlie Elwood, the man beneath all those jerseys and accolades.

I reach across the table and gently take her hand, her fingers warm and inviting in mine.

"Marissa," I begin, my voice carrying an unspoken promise. "I won't let you down."

Electricity sparks between us, and too soon she's pulling away. "I know you won't. You've shown how dedicated you are to your career."

I wasn't talking about my career. I was speaking about our personal relationship.

But then again, who am I kidding? The only personal relationship we have exists in my head. Any romance between us will always be fake.

Marissa shakes her head. "Enough of that, though. It's old news."

I nod, feeling an unexpected pang of jealousy. I hate the thought of some other guy having hurt her like that.

"If it's worth anything," I begin carefully, my words measured. "You deserve better than that."

She looks at me for a moment, her eyes softening. "Thank you, Charlie."

My heart pounds louder when she says my name. But before things can get too intense, she changes the subject and we go back to our light-hearted banter.

But even though we've moved on from the somber topic, her words echo in my mind: "His ego went through the roof, and I got left behind."

Is that why she's holding back with me? Is it because of more than our need to remain professional? Is she worried that if she gets too close, I'll break her heart?

In the past, I would have admitted that could happen. Heck, it almost definitely would happen. I've never been one to stick around.

But I want to give Marissa more than that. She deserves it. I deserve it.

Being with her is changing me.

I can feel the shift as we continue talking, a tension that wasn't there before. And for once, I'm not running away. Instead, I feel a pull toward her. An irresistible force that has me glancing her way each time she laughs at something I say.

Today, it's like every word we speak has a double meaning. Is this just friendly banter? Or is there something else here, bubbling under the surface?

I study her face, trying to decode the flicker in her eyes. I watch as she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and as she bites her bottom lip while deep in thought.

There's an allure to her movements, a grace I've never quite noticed before. As she talks, her hands move in animated gestures that captivate me. There's an energy to her, a spark that is just so… Marissa.

She looks toward me, her eyes meeting mine, and I'm locked in their depths. There's something there, hidden and masked but not entirely concealed. I'm seeing something I've never seen before, an openness, a trust. Maybe even something more.

I lean closer, feeling the air crackle between us. "I want to tell you something."

Her throat rolls with a swallow. "What?"

"This week with you…" I inhale deeply. "It's been the best of my life."

"Charlie," she begins, biting down on her lip again as she speaks my name. "I…"

The words hang between us like a thundercloud waiting to burst. Time seems to halt as I wait for her to finish the sentence.

Could this be it? The moment everything changes? I can practically hear my heart pounding in my chest as the seconds tick by in maddening silence.

Just when she's about to speak again, a cellphone rings loudly at the table next to us.

Marissa jumps, startled out of the trance we'd fallen into. I glower at the person with the phone, even though I know it's not their fault. Phones ring.

But the disruption is complete and our moment has vanished into thin air, like smoke. Marissa seems to retreat into her shell, her gaze quickly darting away from mine as she flushes a deep shade of red.

"This lager is good," she mumbles, changing the topic abruptly.

But I don't let it deter me.

"Marissa…" There's an urgency to my voice that startles even me.

She looks up in surprise, caught off guard by the shift in tone.

There's an intensity swirling between us now. An unspoken bond, waiting to be acknowledged. My heart races faster at the prospect of what I'm about to say next.

"No, Charlie…" Her voice is a soft plea, a silent request to let things stay as they are.

But there's a glimmer in her eyes, a tiny spark of hope that tells me she wants this as much as I do.

She's not interrupted this time.

"Charlie… I…"

The words linger in the air, and then… they're out. A confession tumbles from my lips, vulnerable, honest, raw. And I know then, without a doubt, that our lives won't ever be the same again.

"I want you too," I whisper.

It's as if an invisible force is drawing us together, erasing any remaining distance between us. The pent-up tension of the last few weeks turns into a fiery, insatiable hunger that consumes us both.

As her eyes widen in surprise, I lean closer until our lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss. This isn't just about business anymore; this is personal. This is us.

I know I shouldn't be doing this. Kissing Marissa could complicate everything we've built these past weeks — this friendship and trust that has grown between us. But rational thought is nowhere to be found. In its place is a primal, raw need for connection.

"Charlie," Marissa breathes against my lips, her fingers curling into my hair. I respond by deepening the kiss, my hands finding purchase on her waist as I pull her closer.

"Marissa," I groan, intoxicated by the way her name feels on my tongue. She tastes like sweet wine and pure temptation, and I can't get enough of her.

Our bodies press against each other, all thoughts of the crowded bar fading away until it's just the two of us, lost in each other's embrace. It's as though we're drowning in a sea of desire, and neither of us is willing to come up for air.

"Wait," she whispers suddenly, pulling back ever so slightly.

Her eyes, wide and dark with lust, search mine, seeking reassurance or answers I'm not sure I have. "Are we really doing this?"

I hesitate, torn between the overwhelming urge to claim her and the knowledge that this could change everything between us. But as I gaze into her eyes, I can't deny the truth any longer.

I want this woman. And for once in my life, I'm going to follow my heart, even if it scares me.

"Only if you want to," I murmur, my voice thick with need. "If you don't, we can pretend this never happened."

She hesitates, biting her lip in thought, but then she surprises me by closing the distance between us once again. This time, it's a soft, tender kiss that speaks of something deeper than lust.

"Let's see where this takes us," she whispers against my lips, sealing our fate with one final, soul-shattering kiss.

As we cling to each other, the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the undeniable connection that burns between us.