Page 37 of It Happened on a Sunday
So instead of cursing, which I kind of feel like doing, I wait for her to say something—anything—that matters as I carefully attempt to make my way up the drive without running anyone over.
But in the end, all I get is: “Thank you for the flowers. They’rereally lovely.”
“You’re very welcome, corazón.” The endearment slips out, but it feels strangely right.
“You have no idea what it’s like, Sly.” Her tone is almost pleading now. “This is just the beginning. If I say yes—”
“Say yes,” I plead right back. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
“I already regret making this phone call.” I can hear the eyeroll from here.
“That’s just because you’re over there and I’m over here.” I understand her reticence, so I ignore the sting that comes with her words. Instead, I do the same thing I do on the field and focus on the end zone. “Once we’re in L.A. together, you won’t regret anything. I promise.”
“Don’t promise things you can’t deliver.” Her voice is sharper this time, and I can almost see her standing in the center of some fancy hotel room, rubbing her hands up and down her arms in that way she does when she gets nervous.
She did it in her dressing room right after my abuela hugged her, and I’ve seen her do it several times in videos I’ve watched of her in the last few days. Right before she won her first Grammy, for example.
“Oh, I plan to deliver,” I tell her, as delighted by her sour as I am her sweet. “Just say the word and I’ll prove it to you. I can be there by this time tomorrow.”
She laughs then, long and low and sexy as all fuck. “For the first time in a while, I really wish I could say yes.”
“So go ahead and say it,” I pitch my case. “One date. If you hate it, I promise I’ll never put your name on a jumbotron ever again.”
“I’m not afraid I’ll hate it,” she whispers, so low I have to strain to hear her. “I’m afraid I won’t.”
I let the teasing note drop from my voice. “I’m sorry, Sloane. About the jumbotron and the reporters and all the extraattention. But”—I try to infuse every bit of truth into my words—“I swear you can trust me. I’d keep you safe, if you gave me the chance.”
It’s more than a promise. It’s an oath, because letting something happen to her because ofmeis notan option.
She sighs. “Goodbye, Sly. It was nice talking to you. And good luck with the next girl you put on the jumbotron.”
Damn it! “Sloane, wait—” But she’s already gone.
Which sucks for so many reasons, chief among them that I’m pretty sure she just took a little piece of my heart with her.
Chapter 15
Sloane
My smile, or what’s left of it, fades as soon as I hang up the phone.
I was furious when I called Sly. Angry that he brought attention to me that I can’t control. Terrified of the things that might happen because of it. And worst of all, distraught that in another world, one where I hadn’t made the bad decisions that I have, we might actually have a chance.
Somehow, despite all those emotions rampaging inside of me, Mateo Sylvester managed to charm me. He made me smile, made melaugh.And for just a second, he made me feel safe—and seen.
But what can I do? If I give in and this thing crashes and burns around me, I’ll lose not just the music but the team that makes it possible. The only family I’ve ever known.
No, I’ve worked too hard and sacrificed too much of my peace of mind to walk away now.
Corazón.
Heart.
The word slips into my head in Sly’s husky rumble. No one’s ever called me that before.
Even as I think it, that damn melody—the one that’s haunted me since our first meeting—floats through my mind. Only this time it comes with another three bars and lyrics to match.
I start to reach for my journal to write them down—just because I’m thinking of Sly right now doesn’t mean the song I use the line in has to be about him.
