I smile. “I know.”

He sits down on the couch. “Come on, Hawke, don’t make me beg. Let’s watch some tape.”

“You just missed it. He was just watching the last game,” Lawrence adds, eyeing us both. Probably figuring out how he can get Aiden for PR. “Did Adidas sign you?”

Aiden’s teeth grind. “No. I’m not big enough for them, apparently. Word is they’re going with the Pittsburgh quarterback.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “Assholes.”

“I know, right!” Aiden sits up straighter. “Look, turn that TV back on, and put it on where I was on the field. I’m serious, Jack. I’ve watched the tape a thousand times, and to me, I look spot on, but shit, maybe I’m missing something.”

He scrubs his face. I take in the sweat on his face, the workout gear. I grin because I got in his head, and he’s worried. Damn. He reminds me of me at his age, eager and dumb . . .

“You partying all the time, Aiden?”

“No, sir!”

“Good.”

He nods eagerly. “Right. Won’t make your early mistakes.”

“Watch it, Alabama.”

He holds his hands up. “Right, right. You’re cool now. Cold as ice. And I don’t believe anything that girl said about you.”

Hmm. I study his face.

I shrug, thinking back to how he throws. “Look, it’s just instinct—that you get from experience. You have to learn to read the players, know where the lines are going to break apart, and react. Takes a hundred professional games to get there, Alabama. This isn’t college anymore.”

He gets up and paces around. “Right. I know you like being number one, and that’s cool—I can accept it—but you know my time is coming. You’ll be gone someday, and what if I still don’t have it?”

“I am not going anywhere.” My voice is hard and firm. Not until I get that trophy in my goddamn hands. I refuse to think about my surgery.

He levels me with a hard look, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “Missed you at the gym today, and that is weird. Busy working on those lines for the play? Been seeing that girl from the VIP room, the one you followed out of the club? Gotta tell ya, that isn’t like you. She’s giving you a run for your money, I bet. I like girls like that. Make you work for it.”

I put a bored expression on my face, not rising to his bait. “I can do all those things and still never hesitate.”

He blows out a breath. “Dude. I’m begging you! Come on—just a few pointers.”

I ease back in my chair, enjoying the hell out of this. An idea looms. “You got a girlfriend, Alabama?”

“Who has time?”

I nod. “Right. But I need some help, you see, and you just might be able to help.”

“Tell me.”

“Sophia Blaine. Seems as if she’s free and looking for a hot footballer on her arm at a gala.”

“Jack, she wants you—” Lawrence starts.

I hold my hand up. “Not really. She wants a superstar—doesn’t really matter who it is.”

Aiden has paled. “That chick who wrote that stupid book about you?”

His street cred just went up a notch in my book. “Yep.”

He runs both hands through his hair. “All I need to do is take her out?”

I nod. “And convince her not to write some stupid article. Get it in writing.”

Lawrence snorts. “Dude, that will not work . . .”

“No, Lawrence. Look at him,” I say. “He’s young and handsome, and she doesn’t know he didn’t get the Adidas deal. Play that up, Alabama. Show her a good time, and get her to agree that you don’t want anything written about your hero, Jack Hawke. Can you do that?”

“Hero? Ah, shit.” He grimaces.

I laugh. “Your hero. You adore me. You love me so much.”

“I feel sick,” he mutters.

Lawrence brings up a photo of Sophia on Instagram, although I’m sure Aiden remembers her at parties with me. I lean over and check out a selfie of her at the beach, pouting at the camera with pink glossy lips as she lounges back on a chair wearing a bright-yellow bikini. I feel nothing when I see her—not even an inkling of missing her.

Aiden shoots me a look, clear interest in his eyes. “You gonna be pissed if I fuck her?”

“Your life, not mine.”

He mulls it over. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Warning. She bites.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Okay.” He glances at Lawrence. “How do we do this?”

Lawrence shakes his head. “Son, I hope you know what you’re signing up for. She’s a snake.”

Alabama grins. “I’ll wear some big boots.” He plops back on the couch. “Now turn on the TV, and tell me what the fuck I’m doing wrong.”

Chapter 22

ELENA

Around four in the afternoon, I drive over to the Cut ’N’ Curl and dash inside.

Mama has her hands in Birdie Walker’s hair, touching up her roots. She was here last week, and I swear these ladies just come in for the company. I say my hellos and dart to Aunt Clara’s chair. “I need an updo. Something classy, maybe a pretty french twist. You got time?”

She cocks her hip and takes in my tailored dress suit, a soft lavender set that Nana used to wear, only I hemmed the skirt a tad shorter and adjusted the lapel of the blazer for a more modern look. No use letting Nana’s beautiful style go to waste, and I swear I can feel her personality in the fabric, daring me to go after my dreams.

“Nice suit. Where you going all fancy?”

I glance over at Mama a few feet away. She doesn’t fool me for a minute. She may be nodding her head at everything Birdie says, but I know her ears are tuned in. “Just a meeting in Nashville. Got off early from the library to make it.”

Aunt Clara grins and pats her chair. “Get up in here.”

I nod and take my hair out of the messy bun and take the chair.

She runs her fingers through it and meets my eyes in the mirror. “You’re really meeting that football player, aren’t you? You don’t have to lie to me. I’m ready for it. Let’s rope him in. You play your cards right, and there just might be a wedding at that church before Giselle’s.”

I huff out a laugh. “No date, I swear. Meeting.”

She never stops brushing my hair, but I can see the wheels in her head spinning. “Huh. Job interview, then? That’s a power suit if I ever saw one.”

“What job?” Mama asks from across the room.

I groan. Bionic ears.

“Not a job interview! Just a meeting!” I call out, and she narrows beady eyes at me.

I drop my gaze. I swear she knows when I’m lying.

Aunt Clara’s fingers go to work on my scalp, and I lean back and let out a sigh, letting the stupid anxiety of being near Jack at rehearsals this week drift away. Being his Juliet is . . . excruciating. And we haven’t even kissed onstage yet, both of us just pausing and slightly hugging, pretending like it’s happening. It’s coming soon, when Laura is going to insist on us actually doing it. And dang, just being near him drives me batty. And of course, we can’t forget that blow job the first night, when I couldn’t resist him once he goaded me into kissing him. I could blame it on the jealousy of Ms. Clark, but deep down, I just wanted one more taste of him. Literally. I smirk at that, recalling how much he wanted me, that tiny bit of heady power I felt at his feet. The way he looked at me, as if he’d never get enough . . .

Who knew doing that would give me all the control—

“You’re smiling. What kind of meeting?” Aunt Clara asks as she twists my hair up. She leans down to my ear. “It’s that flimsy lingerie, isn’t it? I saw that one with the little cats on it. Snazzy. A little too sparkly for me, but Scotty might get excited. Think you can make one in my size? I thought about squeezing my hips in that one but didn’t want to damage it.” She giggles.

I nearly jump out of the chair but grip the edge of the seat. “Who told you?”

She titters, her face settling into lines of mirth. “Shhh. Girl. Nobody. I just happened to drop off some of your mama’s leftover casserole that Sunday you missed church and saw all of them fancy things on the dress forms. Quite creative, you are. I may have read an email you’d printed off.”

“Aunt Clara! That was private! And that door was locked! I make sure every time I leave the house.”

“I grew up in that house. All it takes is a bobby pin, Elena. And I didn’t mean to pry—okay, I did—but you’ve been so secretive every time I come over about that room; I was worried you had a hot man locked up in there.”

I let out an exaggerated breath. “You are too nosy. And to punish you, I will never tell you anything.”

“I have access to all the Sun Drops in the whole town. You need me.”

I glance around at the ladies waiting for their appointments, the other stylists who work here. I land on Mama. “If you tell her, I’ll kill you.”

Her hands grow still in my hair, and for once her gaze is serious as she meets mine. “Honey, I won’t.”