“She always means me. She loves me.” I shrug. “What’d Ma say?”
“She wants you to meet my cousin Geraldo.”
I chortle. That’s the best way to describe the amused sound I make. I cover my mouth when Sadie glares at me.
“Sorry, Sade.”
“Don’t hate on my cousin, Avery.”
“I’m sorry.” A helpless laugh belies my apology. “As a journalist, how do you expect me to take a man named Geraldo seriously? Besides, you know I have no desire to date anyone.”
“I know it’s hard, and maybe it’s too soon for an actual relationship,” Sadie says, sympathy and determination all over her face. “But just meeting someone? That’s not so bad. I just . . . you have to move on. And you never talk about it.”
I swallow past the guilt clogging my throat and nod quickly, dismissively. I only talk about Will to my therapist. If you aren’t charging me two hundred dollars an hour, these lips are sealed.
“You know I’m here if you need me,” Sadie finally speaks softly and stands, nodding when my only response is a quick auto-smile. “Wanna grab something to eat?”
“Nah.” I gesture to the open laptop planted in the spill of papers on my desk. “I got another couple hours of prep for tomorrow’s show.”
“Speaking of which, can you come in a little early to go over things with Decker?”
“He’s starting tomorrow?” My mouth falls open and my heart starts running like a motor. “I can go one day without a co-host. Give me a day at least to get ready.”
“You’ve had day-of host changes before,” Sadie reminds me while she sways her hips to the door. “You’re a professional. What’s there to get ready for?”
Even after a decade, I still recall with perfect clarity the golden-brown hair, darkened and damp from his shower, curling at the nape of his strong neck. The chiseled landscape of chest and abs. The long legs, sculpted and bronzed extending beyond the small protective square of white terry cloth. I’ve only seen Mack Decker a handful of times over the years at awards shows, events, and the like. Usually he was with his wife and I was with Will. We were always cordial and polite, but somewhere deep in the secret corners of my heart, I allowed myself the tiniest bit of disappointment that he remained a question all these years. Sure, for a few weeks after the towel incident I was humiliated and offended and pissed off.
And flattered.
And intrigued.
And . . . turned on.
Three things I don’t have time or space in my life for right now.
“It was ten years ago, Avery,” I mumble, sitting in my chair to examine analytics for tomorrow’s show.
Decker has always been an unanswered question. Bottom line under all my excuses, now that the opportunity may re-present itself, maybe I’m not ready for the answer.
3
Avery
MacKenzie Decker’s arrogance is tailor-made, draped over him like one of his Armani suits. Fitted to his shoulders by years of fawning fans. Tapered to the broad, muscular back through a myriad of accolades, trophies, titles and championship rings. Perfectly fit to slide along the muscled length of his legs when he strides into SportsCo like he owns the place.
He could own the place. His net worth is no secret thanks to year after year on Forbes Highest Paid Athletes list. Most of his money comes from endorsements, not the lucrative NBA contracts he netted for twelve seasons. That smile. Those eyes. That body. His charm. Fifth Avenue served him up and Main Street feasted, making him a household name practically from the moment he was drafted.
He definitely doesn’t need this job. Maybe that’s what bothers me mo
st.
He doesn’t need this job. I do.
He didn’t have to work to get here. I did.
Graduating at the top of my journalism class from Howard University, paying my dues on crowded sidelines, discarding modesty in locker rooms of naked men—I did whatever it took to get my own show. He just walks right in fresh from retirement like the party should start now that he’s here. My show is just a pit stop between his storied career and the Hall of Fame. It grinds my teeth that he sits in the seat across from me like it’s a throne. Like this is all his due and his kingdom. Like I’m his subject.
Yeah. That’s what bothers me.