“Not anymore.”
I sigh, taking his left hand, his undamaged hand, and leading him to my bathroom. We pass through my bedroom to get there and my heart rate spikes just having him in here. I look over my shoulder to find him taking the space in; the tall ceilings, the soothing gray walls, rough wood headboard, lavender comforter. My workpants draped across the bed next to my blouse, discarded when I came home and changed into the soft denim and flowing tank top I have on now. I’m aware of how casual we both look. How unprofessional this entire situation is, and always has been.
I let go of his hand because I have to, for so many reasons, and I turn on the tap. I wave him over to the sink. “Come here. I’ll clean your hand.”
“Why aren’t you happy about this?”
“Because it was dangerous and I don’t believe it’s over yet,” I answer impatiently, taking his hand. I test the water to make sure it’s not too hot before pulling his knuckles under the slow stream. “You think he was trying to sink you before? Imagine what he’ll do now that he’s not financially invested in you.”
“It’d be a bad day for him to sink me. He still holds all of my endorsement commissions.”
I hesitate, processing this new information. I look up at Trey to find him watching me intently. “You split the contract?”
“He holds the commission on my endorsements,” he repeats for my benefit. “You hold commissions on my career.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“It seems fair. He brought me all of my endorsements.”
“They came to him, but that’s true. He did filter them.”
Trey frowns. “They came to him?”
I nod, turning my eyes to his hand. I add soap to my fingers and use it to gently wash the back of his hand. “Ever since we signed you, companies have been calling non-stop.”
“Why have I only heard about three of them?”
“Because Brad is being selective about who he talks to about you. He’s actually doing a great job of it. You have an image to keep up and he’s protecting that. It’s the reason they’re running to you. You’re handsome, talented, charismatic. Advertisers eat that shit up, but put a wholesome, all American guy like you in an ad for Japanese sex dolls and suddenly you’re worth nothing to the big boys like Nike.”
“Wholesome?” he asks incredulously. It sounds like he’s offended, and by the word wholesome, not the idea that he’d peddle sex dolls for money.
I cut the water before snapping a dark gray towel from the rack behind me. “Trust me, compared to a lot of athletes out there, you’re wholesome. You’re not Little House on the Prairie, but you’re definitely Brady Bunch.” I gently pat his hand dry. “No arrests, no complaints from teammates or coaching staff. You had that parking ticket three years ago but the world can afford to forgive one infraction. We don’t want you too shiny. Everyone likes a guy with some edge.”
“It shouldn’t surprise me that you of all people know about that parking ticket.”
“It was in your background check. The NFL knows about it too.” I smile at him wryly. “They’re very disappointed in you.”
He grins. “I’m screwed.”
“Have been for months,” I grunt as I bend down under the sink to get my first aid kit. “We’re going to the Draft as a formality. Please be gracious when you pass through the entire process unchosen.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I pull a small bottle of peroxide from the red bag, my eyes on my hands. “You’re joking about it. That’s a good thing, right?”
“I’m calm,” he assures me, his voice so low and so close. Too close.
“I can see that.” I dab the soaked rag on his knuckles. He hisses faintly but holds perfectly still, his large hand resting inside mine. His shoulder brushing against me as he breathes. “Putting holes in the wall absolutely screams ‘calm’.”
“I’m better now.”
“Now that you got it out of your system.”
“Now that I got you what you deserve.” He hesitates, the air around us taking on an electric quality that tingles over my skin. “Now that I’m here with you,” he whispers.
His breath brushes against my neck. It tickles the hair falling carelessly down from my ponytail. It touches every part of me as a wave of goosebumps rushes over me.
I try to ignore it, to ignore him. I carefully clean his hand before pulling out a roll of gauze and medical tape. He has to help me hold it in place. Our fingers brush against each other as I loop the tape over his hand, around and around until I finally cut it carefully. And just like that I’m free. My hands are empty of him, but he’s still in my space. He makes no move to leave it.