Rookie Mistake (Offensive Line #1)

“A gentleman caller at this hour? Scandalous,” he sings.

I roll my eyes at him, reaching for the phone. “Hello?”

“Ms. Ashford,” the concierge responds formally, “you have a visitor. A Mr. Domata.”

I check the time on my watch. It’s almost nine. “Uh, let him up. Thank you, Douglas.”

“You’re welcome, Miss.”

“Let who up?” Hollis demands as I hang up the phone.

“Trey is here.”

His eyebrows shoot into his hair. “What does he want?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Sloane.”

“It’s not a big deal. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately.”

“I’ve noticed.”

I glare at him impatiently. “He’s nervous about the Draft. I’m sort of a sponsor for him. I keep him from Googling his name every hour.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Nope.”

“Does he want me to go?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s my house.”

“Well, technically—“

“Shut up.”

Technically it’s my dad’s house. His condo. He owns it along with three others spread out across the city. I rent this one from him for probably half of what I should pay along with the HOAs, and someday I hope I can buy it from him. Make it my own. Get out from under his thumb and his wallet.

The doorbell rings gently through the space. Hollis is up on his feet, smoothing back his hair before I can set down my wine.

“I’m going to go,” he tells me, leading the way to the door.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I will.” He pauses with his hand on the knob, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. “Be good,” he whispers.

“I will.”

He opens the door. Trey is standing there in a white shirt, a gray hoodie, dark jeans, and sandals. He looks too comfortable, too casual to be so sexy, but it’s not the clothes he’s wearing. It’s the way he wears them. The way he stands. The way he smiles when he sees me.

Trey nods to Hollis, not the least surprised to find him here. “Hey, man.”

Hollis gives him the dude chin jut. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“It’s going. You?”

“Shit night. I had to vent, but she’s all yours now.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Hollis steps past Trey, turning to motion for me to call him later. He checks out Trey’s ass before he goes.

“Sorry to stop by so late,” Trey apologizes quietly. “I hope I didn’t run him off.”

“No, he was done bitching and I was running out of wine. He would have left soon anyway. Do you want to come in?”

“Is that okay?”

“Are you okay?” I ask, his subdued attitude putting me on edge. He’s quarterback Trey tonight. The man on the field without feeling, only instinct.

“I did something tonight,” he tells me calmly. “I’m not sure if you’re going to like it, but I had to do it. I couldn’t leave things the way they were.”

My heart skips a beat, my face flushing hot with a nervous energy. “What’d you do?”

“I got out of my contract with your dad. I signed a new one with your name on it.”

“H—how did you do that? You didn’t promise him anything, did you?”

“I promised I’d stop throwing punches.”

“What?!”

He holds up his right hand. It’s swollen and red, dried blood and white powder running into a mud colored paste that’s caked on the back of his fingers.

“Did you beat up Brad?” I demand angrily.

“No, just his wall.”

I grab his wrist, pulling him inside. When the door is shut and we’re completely alone I look more closely at his hand. It’s a mess of cuts and bruising, but it’s not that bad. Not as awful as I first thought.

“You punched his wall? Is your hand okay?”

Trey flexes his fingers into a fist and back out again. “A couple times, and yeah. I’m good.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To show him I was serious. I told him that I didn’t want him on my contract anymore. I said I wanted you as my agent. He said no, so I hit the wall.”

“Twice?”

“He didn’t listen the first time.”

I close my eyes, feeling like I’m falling. “Why did you do this?” I whisper.

“Because it’s what’s right.”

“It’s impulsive. It’s everything we’ve been trying to avoid.” I open my eyes to stare up at him in amazement. “You can’t shake everything up at the eleventh hour.”

“We’re days away from the Draft. It was now or never, and I couldn’t go through with it knowing he was going to get the credit for everything that you’ve done for me. I owed you more than that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

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