For the first time in…well, ever, Jackson Burke was the outsider. The one who didn’t know how to fit in among the high-rises and the pinstripes and the stupid lunch meetings.
Jackson ran both hands over his face slowly until his fingertips dug into his jaw, hard, as though trying to wake himself up from this new life. With a muttered oath he turned back to his computer.
But not to the article he was writing, “Shortcut to an Eight-Pack,” which was due tomorrow. Instead, Jackson’s big hand closed over his computer mouse and navigated to his Gmail account.
There was the usual shit. Spam. Propositions from dedicated groupies. A handful of curt but well-meaning messages from his former teammates. One from his mother, whom he’d catch hell from if he didn’t respond soon.
But not the email he was looking for. No email from the head coach of the Texas Redhawks.
Jackson’s other hand reached for his phone. He could text Jerry. It would be so easy to text his former coach, ask if Jerry had considered his proposal. But it was bad enough that Jackson was going around his agent. Texting crossed a line that would send his agent over the edge.
Plus it smacked of desperation, and Jackson wasn’t there.
Not yet.
He was just about ready to close the Internet browser and get back to his godforsaken day job when a new email came through.
Not from Jerry. But this email was as good. No, it was better.
See, the whole damn world thought Jackson had hightailed it out of Houston because of a Carrington sister. They were right.
Where they were wrong was that it wasn’t Madison Carrington who’d inspired Jackson’s move to New York, although getting away from his ex had been a pleasant bonus. But Jackson’s new Manhattan address didn’t have anything to do with Madison. Or even Oxford.
No, Jackson’s presence in New York had everything to do with the other Carrington sister.
He’d been keeping his distance. He’d had to. But today he didn’t want to. He wanted to see her. Needed to see her.
He needed Mollie.
Chapter 2
“Joining us for dinner, sir?” The hostess at the upscale Italian restaurant gave him a polite if generic smile.
“I am, but I’m early,” Jackson replied, forcing a smile in return.
“Not a problem. Feel free to grab a seat in the bar while you wait.”
That was the plan, sweetheart. Jackson mustered up another fake-feeling smile and made his way into the dimly lit bar to wait for Mollie.
A tuxedoed bartender appeared even before Jackson had fully settled on the plush red barstool.
“Drink, sir?”
“Manhattan,” Jackson replied. “Knob Creek bourbon if you have it, with Carpano Antica if you have that.”
“Of course, sir.” The middle-aged bartender didn’t even bat an eye at the precise order.
Now this was one thing New York did better than Texas—cocktails. Perfectly cold, perfectly mixed, perfectly classic cocktails. The bartender fluttered a white monogrammed cocktail napkin in front of Jackson as he stirred the drink before straining it into a chilled glass.
Jackson took a sip. Perfection. Although what did it mean that Jackson’s life had turned into one where the highlight of his day was a well-made cocktail?
It wasn’t that Jackson needed the booze. He enjoyed it, certainly. Had relied on it more than he probably should have in those first few days when he’d gotten out of the hospital and come home to a whole lot of nothingness.
But these days he could take it or leave it.
Tonight, however, he was taking it. Sobriety had no place when you had to sit across from the most off-limits woman on the planet.
Knowing that didn’t stop the anticipation, however. He hadn’t seen her since she’d shown up in his hospital room to deliver a bag of Gatlin’s BBQ and…
His divorce papers.
That had been eight months ago.
He’d avoided her ever since, and he couldn’t even say why except that he’d avoided pretty much everyone. Jackson still spoke with his parents every Sunday, but everyone else—all the old teammates, the old neighbors—had eventually stopped calling.
Mollie hadn’t, though. Mollie had never given up on him. Until today, he hadn’t responded to a single text, a single email, and yet she hadn’t stopped sending them. That was Mollie for you. Fiercely loyal to both him and Madison, even when things had started to go to hell.
Mollie had been accepted to Columbia just about the time that he and Madison started coming apart at the seams. In hindsight, he was grateful that Mollie had been in New York when things started to go to hell in his marriage. That she hadn’t seen him at his worst.