Page 75 of Mother Pucker

Rowan

I know I said I’d give you time, and that’s exactly what I’ll do for as long as you need, but I reserve the right to tell you I miss you every single day until you tell me to stop. Because I do. I fucking miss you. It’s only been one night, but I miss you.

My throat tightens as I keep my tears at bay. I’m just about to type back a message when Mr. Howard’s loud bark has my head snapping back up.

“You know, I see you tapping on that fancy spyware around your wrist, chickadee! I might be old, but my eyes work just fine!”

I take a breath, keeping my professional face intact. “I apologize, Mr. Howard. How can I help you today?”

The man makes more trips to my office than he does to the grocery store.

“Well, that's why I made the appointment–for you to help me. Not like I like hanging out here for no reason! I need you to help me do the splits. I tried ‘em myself yesterday, and it started hurting when I went any further than half-way.”

I control the urge to suck in my breath and close my eyes as Mr. Howard proceeds to show me said splits by spreading his legs.

I want to ask if, perhaps, he’s thinking about getting a job on a local cheerleading team or the circus, but I hold back the urge.

“Doing the splits can be a pretty intense flexibility challenge for your body, especially your hips and hamstrings. And it can take time to get there. Why are you suddenly interested in doing splits when it hasn’t been something you’ve done in the past?”

“Well, that’s none of your concern, now is it, chickadee? Maybe I have a lady friend I’m trying to impress, or maybe it’s for my own satisfaction. Your job is simply to help me.”

Dear God, give me strength.

For the next ten minutes until my next appointment, I help assess Mr. Howard’s flexibility, during which he passes gas no less than four times–loudly, I should add–makes a rip along the middle seam of his pants, and yells at me for not showing him proper techniques at least twice.

I’m just taking a short, much-needed lunch break in my office while finishing up some paperwork when there’s a knock on my door, and Beckett peeks his head in.

“You got a minute?”

I wave him inside. “What’s up?”

“I heard about the pictures and reports that the PR team handled last night. I talked to Gavin, and it looks like everything has been taken down.”

I nod, pricking the cucumber slices on my plate with my fork. If Beckett knows about the pictures, I’m sure he also knows about the admission Rowan made to his agent about us. “Yeah, Rowan messaged me to tell me earlier. I’m sorry your team had to deal with that kind of mess.”

“It’s what they’re paid to do,” he says, studying me for a moment before leaning back on his heels. “So, you and Rowan Parker, huh?”

I sigh. “Me and Rowan Parker. Although . . . it’s a little up in the air right now. I’m glad the pictures were taken down this time, but what about the next?”

“Well, as I see it, physical therapy shouldn’t be a long-term thing for him. I’m sure you guys can manage to stay under the radar until his therapy is complete, can’t you?”

I nod, knowing that’s true. It’s not like we’ll need to worry about it forever. Still, there’s always a taboo factor even after ourprofessional relationship ends, and that still has the potential to tarnish what I’ve worked so hard for.

“What are you thinking in that head of yours, Pipsqueak? What are you afraid of that you’re not saying out loud?”

Damn him and his weird intuition.

I roll around a cherry tomato with my fork. “Heartbreak, I guess. How do I know he won’t break mine and Kai’s hearts? How do I know he’s as serious about this as he says he is? He’s only twenty-seven.”

Beckett purses his lips. “Yeah, I can understand that, and I can even see where you’re coming from. I will say one thing, and then I’ll leave you to figure out how you want to proceed.” He rubs his jaw with his fingers. “I’ve met many types of athletes over time–arrogant, bold, loud, proud, intense. You name it, I’ll tell you a player who fits the bill. But I’ve yet to meet one as sincere and well-intentioned as Slick. If it makes any difference, you should know you’ve got one of the good guys. Duck that, you’ve got one of the best ones.”

twenty-four

rowan

The crowd cheersas fans rise from their seats, hammering the boards with their fists. The din from the stands barely overpowers the pounding inside my chest as I take my position.

We’re on fire tonight.

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