Page 37 of Sidelined By Love

“Hello?”

“Who’s the best agent in the world?”

My head snaps up at the sound of Cyndi’s voice. “You are.”

“Absolutely correct.”

“Did you get me a meeting with the director? With Knight?”

She doesn’t beat around the bush. “Of course, I did.” Her voice is deep and a bit gravelly, but it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

“When?”

“Monday. Will you be ready?”

That’s six days away, but I can have only one answer. “Yes.” I won’t exactly have a spiral to show off, but I do have a new appreciation for how hard the game of football actually is.

“All right. I’ll text you the video link.”

I do a full-on happy dance in the front seat of my car as I back out of the driveway and roll my window down to wave at Chester in the gatehouse on my way out of the neighborhood.

I’ve got a lot of work to do this week to prepare for my audition. At least that might help me keep my mind off of Grant and any extracurricular activities we could have enjoyed together.

Thirteen

Grant

When Zoe slips out from behind the wheel of her rental in the Incline parking lot on Saturday morning, I give her a quick once-over as Kenna runs up to hug her about the waist.

I’ve barely seen her since the scene in my backyard—the one that’s been keeping me up most nights, kicking myself in the pants for not finishing that kiss.

Everything inside me knows it was smart not to open that particular door. Especially because I wouldn’t have been able to open it a crack and peek inside. I would have kicked it by the handle and sent the thing rattling off its hinges, never to close properly again.

I made the right decision. I know I did.

But one glimpse of her, and I regret every decision that led me to this moment where I have to stand back and pretend everything is cool between us.

So, of course, the first thing I say is, “What are you wearing?”

“What? You said we were going hiking.” She looks down at herself, and my gaze follows hers. She’s wearing a hot pink T-shirt that stops a couple inches shy of the high-waisted black leggings that sheathe her hips and thighs. There’s a dark gray sweatshirt tied about her waist, and she tugs on a matching baseball cap that shadows her face.

If she’s hoping to go incognito, she’s failing. Hard.

There’s not a gaze—male or female—on the mountain that won’t be looking in her direction. Sure, her makeup is toned down—all neutral bronze with dewy pink lips. But she’s the same kind of pretty in person as she is on a screen.

The kind that steals your breath and brings that moment in my backyard front and center.

I try to shake off the memory and point to her shoes. They’re white—nearly pristine—with almost no sole. “I said we were hiking the Incline.”

She shrugs the shoulder poking out of the wide neckline of her shirt. “And? I’m ready. Bring it on.”

“I don’t think you’re going to get very far in those.”

“What?” She lifts one foot and examines the sneaker. “I wear shoes like this all the time to Temescal Canyon.”

Kenna leans in toward the shoe in question too. “Besides, they’re cute.”

“Cute won’t get you to the top,” I grumble. But there’s not going to be any arguing with these two, so I let it go.

---