Page 61 of The Girlfriend Game
Twenty-Nine
Zeke
“Welcome to my home. I’m so glad you could come, Dr. Rush. Even if it is with this guy.”
Marek leans in and places a chaste kiss on Kendall’s cheek and nudges me in the shoulder good-naturedly. Kendall smiles warmly back at him, while I acknowledge there’s a tinge of jealousy that rises from my chest to my throat at having to share her with the world.
“Please, call me Kendall. At least today.”
It’s rather unnerving to have my girl kissed by another man. Especially someone like Marek Talbert, who is big time with a huge net worth. Not that Kendall’s impressed with that kind of stuff, but it still gives me a stomachache.
“You have such a beautiful home, and look at that view,” Kendall says admiringly as Marek escorts us through his home and out the back door to the huge deck overlooking the lake and mountains in the background.
Marek laughs. “Thank you. Believe it or not, until recently, I was living in a fifth wheel for a year before I finally got a new contract negotiated.”
Kendall’s jaw—and mine—drop, gaping over his outrageous admission. That’s not something you’d expect to hear from a well-respected and highly paid GM of an NBA team.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I guffaw, my surprise evident. “I didn’t know that.”
Marek shrugs and we stop at the bar for drinks. Turning to Kendall, I ask her for her order. “What would you like, babe?”
Marek’s gaze bounces between Kendall and me. Marek knows something has been going on between us, but he doesn’t know the extent of it. Or how deep I’m in over Kendall.
Without missing a beat, she hooks an arm through mine at the crook of my elbow, slipping her hand in mine, smiling apologetically at Marek.
“Marek, we were planning on sharing this with you tonight, but preferably after a few drinks.” Kendall chuckles with an airy self-deprecating laugh. “This is the reason Zeke is working with a new therapist. We’ve been seeing each other for several months.”
I jump in to clarify. “For the record, I fired her on my own accord. And our relationship began outside of her practice, not while I was her patient.”
A wrinkle forms between his brows, but he lifts his hands in the air.
“Okaaay,” he says slowly, indicating his nonjudgmental concern. “You’re both consenting adults and it’s not my business. I’m just happy to see Zeke happy and doing well.” He grabs a lowball glass of bourbon as I grab a beer. Kendall takes a water bottle.
“Kendall, I’ve known you for a while now, and you are a trusted and dedicated professional. You’ve been a great asset for our organization. I see no problem with this arrangement.”
Marek raises his cocktail glass in the air and, with the beer in my glass and Kendall’s water bottle, we clink together in our acknowledgment of our newly-minted relationship status. My heart soars to finally have this out in the open.
And to solidify things further, I wrap an arm around Kendall’s waist, dip her back, and kiss her to the sounds of applause and wolf whistles from the mingling guests around us.
Kendall comes up sputtering, if not a little dazed. Smiling, she fans herself.
“Whoo,” she exclaims with a wink. “Now that’s a way to get a party started.”
We all laugh and our conversation soon turns to the upcoming season and some of the new rookies the team has just acquired.
“Zeke, I don’t want to push you into anything if you’re not ready,” Marek says in a hesitant tone, his voice low and serious. “But if you’re ready for it, I would love to put some of these young guys under your wing. They could really learn a lot about the game and, um, how to handle themselves under the influence of fame.”
Marek’s gaze turns toward the group of three young players huddled around a fire pit, all laughing and tossing bottle caps into the flames, watching the sparks soar to the sky like it’s the coolest thing they’ve ever seen.
Marek returns his gaze to me. “I truly believe you can draw from your experience from, well, your incident”—his hand flips out between us—“and talk about how you dealt with your own anxiety and the pressures of the game.”
I frown, staring down at the ground in front of me, an odd disappointment centering in the pit of my stomach.
Here’s the thing. While I appreciate Marek’s faith in me, I don’t want to be the team’s poster boy for mental health. I mean, sure, I started a foundation to help others, but this is different. This is up close and personal. All I want is to move forward and not look back at where I was and be remembered as “that guy that panicked in front of thousands.”
Marek reaches out and lays a hand on my shoulder.
As if that’s her cue to leave, Kendall interrupts the heaviness of the conversation, to allow us the freedom to speak candidly.
