Page 64 of The Final Draft

“Not sure I can afford that kind of agent.” That’s a fallacy the other agencies like to spread. That we take a higher percentage for the services we offer. We don’t. The percentage is based on the athlete. Higher maintenance, ill-mannered athletes pay more, if we agree to represent them at all. We have standards.

“I’m available whenever you want to chat. Just be sure to tell Waters you approached me.”

“How do you know John Waters is my agent?”

Shit. Busted. “Small world, man. I get paid to know things.”

When he opens the door to his apartment, we’re greeted with laughter and delicious aromas.

“Look who followed Noodle home,” Zac says as we enter. The laughter stops, and Harper practically cross checks two hockey players to get to me.

“You’re here.” She jumps into my arms. With one swift movement, I swing her around and our lips connect in a kiss that washes away the weight of the entire day.

“Hey, gorgeous. You look domestic.” I nibble on her ear. “And edible.”

A blush fills her cheeks, and she playfully slaps my chest. “Stop.” She turns and looks at the hockey players, allwith various looks of disbelief on their faces. “Let me make introductions. This is Marc-Andre Clarmont aka Mac, Henry Saxton, but they call him Harvard,” she giggles. “And Jetsy. I mean, Connor Jetson. Boys, this is Julian Decker.” Of course I know these guys, but it’s sweet she introduces me like I’m not versed in their backgrounds, stats, and draft history. And I’m positive they know me, or at least my agency and reputation.

She stands beside me, and I wrap my arm around her like a stage-five clinger. I’m aware they’re just friends, but in this testosterone-filled room, I want to make it clear to everyone that Harper’s my girl.

Harvard leans over to Jetsy and forgets to use his quiet voice. “He really is a pretty boy, isn’t he?”

Zac laughs and offers me a beer. He and I sit at the counter and watch the entertainment in the kitchen. Harper resumes her role as drill Sargent, and I can’t help but admire how she puts these guys in their place. Each person has a specific role, and Harper’s is to control the chaos. She oversees the three burley hockey players, and they obediently obey her instructions.

“I feel like I’m watching an episode of Hell’s Kitchen,” I comment to Zac as we watch them all bump into each other.

“Yeah, except she’s scarier than Gordon Ramsey,” Harvard says under his breath.

“I’m giving cooking lessons, although Mac is pretty decent already,” Harper says with pride.

“I learned the French ways from my French-Canadian mother,” he replies, his accent thick.

“Hey, I chopped up the veggies,” Jetsy whines. She pats him on the cheek to placate him. It’s a sisterly gesture, but I still try to keep myself from going caveman.

“What are we having?” I ask the chefs.

“Chicken pot pie,” Harvard says proudly.

“She’s tired of pasta,” Zac says, playfully rolling his eyes.

They finish up the cooking, and Harper sends everyone to the table. “Hey, you don’t need to wait on us. I’ve got it,” I say to her. I’m all for turning traditional roles on their ear.

“Not the way she likes it,” Zac says. I’m not sure if he meant the double entendre, but I bristle anyway.

Harvard laughs at me. “She makes a big deal out of the presentation, but once she sits down, she’s done. The rest is up to us. We do what she says.” He motions with his head to sit down.

“It’s like she’s trying to domesticate us,” Mac adds, and they all laugh.

“I heard that,” she sing-songs from the kitchen.

She brings the food to the table, and it looks delicious. She serves each of us and then takes a seat next to me. “Dig in, boys.”

They gobble it down like they haven’t eaten in days and, in reality, it’s only been a few hours at best. Athletes eat often, and the food consumption still amazes me after all these years.

Harper’s amused. This. Helping friends. I’m witnessing her in one of her happy places. She’s not a party girl. She’s the girl that stays home, takes care of her people. I see how loyal and kind she is, and it makes me know I can’t lose her.

She leans over and says behind her hand, “I promise it’s safe to eat. I supervised.”

“Hey, we’re getting better. Jetsy made a frozen pizza the other day and remembered to take the plastic off,” Harvard says. They all laugh while I visibly cringe.

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