Page 12 of Tight Spot

“What do you have to lose?” Cole asked and reached for a fresh beer.

“My dignity?”

“That was gone the moment you agreed to Rick’s asinine deal.”

He had a point there.

* * *

It was a week before I could get in for an appointment with Meredith Skyye. In which time, I did a vast amount of research on the woman. The last thing I needed was to be scammed by some con artist. Turned out, Meredith Skyye was legit.

At least, as a person. She was married to Tuevo Skyye, a Finnish hockey player for Tennessee’s professional hockey team, the Avengers, and after making a few phone calls to players on the team I knew, they assured me her business was legit. Not only had Meredith successfully matched two other players on the team, she’d started it as a side gig in college, hooking up her sorority sisters with fraternity guys for formal events and when those couples started dating and gave all the thanks to Meredith, her future was sealed.

Still, I didn’t quite know what to expect when I found her office building, a suite on the third floor of a four-story building near downtown. Based on her pink-flowered, black-glittered website, I expected her suite to be decked out in shades of pink and sprinkle confetti from the ceiling.

Instead, it was all black leather and chrome with clear glass desks. Modern, with abstract art on the walls, there was only one woman in the open reception area.

She peered at me from behind her plastic, red-framed glasses. With her graying hair pulled up in a bun and the age lines around her eyes, the woman looked more like a mother or grandmother than mine had ever looked.

“Hello. May I help you?”

I stepped toward her, and damn if my palms weren’t getting clammier by the second. Professional football player used to breaking tackles by men and shoving others out of the way to help my team score, and I was reduced to a nervous pre-teen all over again.

Fucking Rick.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and cringed. Dry as the Sahara. “I’m Dawson, Dawson Butler? Here to see—”

“Mr. Butler.”

I spun on my heels at the sound of the new voice and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. You must be Mrs. Skyye?”

“Please.” She came to me with her arm extended, her smile pleasant and welcoming. Too bad I was a second away from declaring this a bad idea and bolting. “Call me Meredith. I hear you’ve done some checking up on me.”

I shook her hand and didn’t bother apologizing. “I’m in a unique situation.”

“Understood. Come back to my office?” She turned and started walking.

Might as well have been in stocks, walking to a public execution for all the excitement in my steps as I followed her.

As soon as we reached her office, my hesitation worsened. Unlike the front office, hers was homey with a light wood desk and bookshelves covering one wall. A round, same light wood table that looked more fit for a breakfast nook in a kitchen with cream cushions on the chairs. Two small, tan leather couches not unlike my own were in another corner with a cream fur rug in the middle and a coffee table set up as a seating area.

It was meant to bring comfort.

It only further hijacked my nerves.

What the hell was I doing? Was I supposed to open up to this woman like she was a therapist or my best friend? Spill all my secrets, my deepest desires?

A shiver rolled down my spine at the thought, and I curled my hands into fists, my toes into my Doc Marten boots to fight the urge to flee.

I left a modern office area and stepped into my own personal hell.

Clearing my throat, I glanced at Meredith who wore an expectant look on her face.

“Yes?”

She was still smiling. Pleasantly. “I said Tuevo says hello and congratulations on the win.”

“Oh.” Damn. Missed that. “Thanks. So…what now?”

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