Chapter 17

: Andi

T he moment Brandon Nix walks in, I want to run out. This is not a good idea, and it’s not going to work. I don’t know what I was thinking. I grip the edge to prevent myself from vaulting over the table and sprinting for the door.

It’s odd to see him outside of workout clothes or his soccer uniform. Jeans and a faded red T-shirt. Red hair tie on his wrist. Those same flip-flops he wore on the plane. Does he own anything besides these and his soccer cleats? His hair is down, with waves and curls most women would sell their souls to have, despite the bad bleach job that is growing out. Trimming about five inches off would do him wonders. He’s wearing black-rimmed glasses, which totally changes his look.

For the better, that is.

I’m not sure I would have recognized him. Until he speaks, of course.

“Hello, Andrew.”

That’s it. I’m outta here. I’ll take out a full-page ad in The Looking Glass if I have to. I’m not doing this. I stand up. “This is stupid. It will never work. Hannah, I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

Brandon Nix holds up his hands. “What about me? I drove all the way up here. Do you know what traffic is like this time of day? I think you owe me an apology, Andrew. Or at least a steak.”

I grind my teeth together. “Stop calling me Andrew. My name is Andi.”

He shrugs. “Potato, pah-tah-toe.”

Hannah stands up, completing our Mexican standoff. We stare at each other for a long moment. Finally, she says, “Guys, this is not going to work if you’re going to act like children. My babysitting days are long done, now sit down.”

Slowly, without breaking his gaze, I sink back onto the upholstered bench. Brandon sits down casually like he doesn’t have a care in the world—like his career isn’t on the line—and flags the waitress over. He orders a double whiskey, neat. We continue to stare at each other until the waitress returns. Still without breaking eye contact, he picks up his glass tumbler and drains the amber liquid. He puts the glass down and slowly drags the back of his hand across his mouth.

I cave. “You know that’s why they invented napkins.” I pick up the piece of cloth from the table and toss it at him. I swear, it’s as if he’s never been out in public before.

“Okay, well, this has been fun, but let’s put the childish games aside, put our grown-up panties on, and get to work.” Hannah pulls out a folder and begins riffling through papers. “As best I can see it, the both of you have an image problem. That’s the common ground.”

Brandon looks at Hannah and then me, surprise in his eyes. “What’s your problem? I mean, aside from the obvious stick up your ass?”

I sigh. “Thanks to your antics during the Buzzards–Terrors game, the viral video clips have inspired the internet to ship us.” I look at Hannah. “Did I say it right?”

She laughs. “For the most part.”

I continue. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the USSLRA is an ole boys’ club. They don’t take too kindly to us womenfolk showing that we’re capable. It’s why I was the first ever woman to be the head official in a MUSSL game.”

Brandon stops me. “MUSSL? What’s that?”

If I sighed every time he exasperated me, I’d be hyperventilating. Instead, I give him my best bored expression and womansplain it to him. “Well, you have the United States Soccer League. The USSL. Under that, you have two divisions. The Men’s United States Soccer League and the Women’s United States Soccer League. The MUSSL and the WUSSL.”

He laughs. “Sounds like muscle and wuscle. Or wuss. Like for the strong men and the wimpy wo—” He stops mid-sentence. “Oh. Is that what you mean by the ole boys’ club?”

I raise my eyebrows, completely shocked that he got it. I thought I’d need a whiteboard and marker to spell it out for him. “Yes. And when referring to the men’s league as the USSL, you’re making that the default and automatically making the women less or second-class.”

Brandon doesn’t come back with a smart-ass reply. I pull out my phone to check the weather app to see if Hell has frozen over.

Nope. That’s weird.

It’s almost as if Brandon and I might see eye to eye on something.

Hannah says, “And Brandon, you’re on thin ice with the Buzzards. They’re not going to deal with much more from you, on or off the pitch. There’s an incredible wealth of young talent in the minor leagues chomping at the bit. Pro-teams in the MUSSL aren’t going to put the energy—or the money—into someone who’s a P.R. disaster.”

He shrugs. “I can always go play in the British Football League. That’s the upper tier anyway.”

Hannah levels her gaze at him. “Edmund Jones will not put up with it either. Think of how he treated Xavier Henry.”

If I’m not mistaken, Brandon pales slightly. Xavier was big news this past winter. He’d been expelled a few years back from the BFL after a situation with Edmund Jones’s daughter. Turns out, Xavier did nothing wrong, and she set him up. Even though his name has been cleared, he’s still on a lifetime ban from the BFL.

We all know the BFL isn’t a viable option for Brandon.

“So why are we here? It’s not like Andrew is running for president of the Brandon Nix Fan Club,” he grumbles.

Hannah sighs. “No, Andi is not.”

Brandon sits back with a smug smile on his face. “So if she’s not going to be a Nixen, what does Andi need from me? I’ll ask again. Why are we here?” He cocks an eyebrow under the black frame, his dark brown eyes twinkling.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was enjoying this.

I open my mouth to speak, but Hannah starts first. We’d agreed ahead of time that she should probably do most of the talking, knowing that Brandon would oppose anything I said simply out of spite. “You need a P.R. makeover, ASAP. Andi needs to quiet any rumors or speculation that she’s acting with impropriety with any players in the league. And the fact that you two were seen this past week flying to Denver together doesn’t help either of you.”

I fold my hands on the table and wait. This idea had seemed good when we’d talked about it yesterday. In fact, Hannah was super excited when I called her with my idea.

Hannah continues. “We need a reason why you were both on that flight together that isn’t a romantic rendezvous.”

I suppress a shudder when she says that.

“Andi suggested that you two announce and put together a charity initiative. That way there’s a reason you were going to Denver.”

“I wasn’t even going to Denver. I went to Wyoming. Denver was just a stop on the way to Jackson Hole. Or wherever the hell in the middle of nowhere I went once the plane landed. I don’t even know. All I know is I didn’t get cell reception and cows really do smell like farts.”

Nice.

I glance at Hannah who looks like she’s biting her tongue. Literally. Her jaw is clenched so tightly I’m afraid she’s going to break a tooth. She stands. “I’m going out to the main restaurant to get a drink. Or ten. I suggest that the two of you find some common ground so we can get your charitable acts in motion. Otherwise, both your careers are probably dead in the water.”

She leaves and I take a sip of my gin and tonic. There’s nothing like it in the summer. I look at Brandon Nix and immediately drain the rest of my drink. I flag the server down to order another, and Brandon gestures for himself as well.

“Surely we can find some common ground,” I finally say. “We’re both adults here. There has to be something we can agree would be a worthy cause to lend our names to.”

Brandon scoffs. “I doubt you and I have anything in common.”

I start with the lowest hanging fruit. “We both like soccer.”

His head tilts slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t matter, it’s a tell. Remind me to challenge him in poker someday. I’d be sure to clean house with him as an opponent.

“Why don’t you want to do something with soccer?”

“I didn’t say that.” His eyes dart around the room, looking at everything but me.

A-ha! Got him. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”

Still, he doesn’t say anything. Alrighty then. I try another approach. “A ranch in Wyoming? What were you doing out there?”

“Visiting my sister.” His voice is gruff and guarded. Not like the Brandon Nix I so often see.

“Funny, I was on my way to visit my brother. I hope your visit went better than mine.”

His gaze shifts to mine immediately. “What happened?”

“My brother wasn’t there. I landed in Denver and immediately flew back to Boston the same day. It was the longest day ever.” I order another drink.

“What do you mean he wasn’t there? Why would you go see him if he wasn’t in Denver? I’m so confused.”

“I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t be there. Except ...” I don’t know how to say that Benj didn’t tell me. Didn’t think I was important enough to tell. “Anyway, there was a miscommunication, and I didn’t get to see him after all.”

It’s lame, but it’s not as if I’m going to tell Brandon Nix all about my life. We’re here to figure out what charity we’re going to work with, and that’s it.

This is just about saving my career.