The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,37
still so goddamn beautiful. It’s the smile; she’s always smiling.
I inwardly groan as I dig the palm of my right hand into my eye. Do I seriously have it this bad for the girl already?
“So what are you going to do? Leave it? Find someone else? You know we have that Feeding America gala this weekend. I’m taking Liz, and I know Melody’s planning on going too. We could just all go together.”
Fuck no.
“I’d rather not. Melody and I aren’t going to happen.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “Would have been nice, dating friends. And you can’t tell me you don’t think she’s hot.”
Yeah, sure, on paper—but what does that matter when I can’t seem to get a tiny British girl out of my head?
“I’ll ask Candace to go with me,” I say, standing up so I can head inside to take an ice bath.
“I thought you said she was off limits. Are you going to get the girl fired?”
Maybe.
If it comes to that…
Chapter Ten
Candace
After spending the entirety of Monday in a vegetative state on my couch, I feel much better on Tuesday, keen to head into work. I get up early and dress in clothes slightly nicer than what I usually wear to teach toddlers: smart black jacket, sleek ponytail, a swipe of lipstick. I call out farewells to Yasmine and Kat then set off to grab another round of coffee to bribe Mrs. Halliday and Laura. I can’t keep doing this. My bank account is screaming at me, but I can’t just walk in there empty-handed, asking for favors.
I’m too busy thinking over whether or not to bring them scones as well and nearly crash right into a man with a huge camera hanging down round his neck in front of my building.
“Oof! Sorry. Didn’t even see you there,” I say, sidestepping out of his way on the sidewalk as he blinks in surprise.
He makes some sort of noncommittal response and then I’m off, walking down the street toward my subway stop. I’m only half a block away from my building when I glance across the street and see another photographer standing there, though this time he’s got his camera poised in front of his eye and he’s snapping away, aiming his lens right at me, or at least in my general direction. Odd. I turn over my shoulder, wondering what he’s taking a picture of. The building behind me is quite derelict and not something I’d usually stop to admire with its crumbly bricks and rusted iron bars covering the windows. It’s not exactly Kensington Palace, but then again, I’m no artist. Maybe he sees beauty there that I’m blind to.
“Sorry for blocking your shot!” I shout, scurrying along to get out of his way.
He probably stood there all morning trying to get just the right light for his photo and then I strolled along and mucked it all up.
The subway is crowded as usual, so I huddle in a corner, standing and holding on to a leather strap hanging from the ceiling so I don’t go barreling forward into my neighbor when we take a harsh turn.
An older man dressed in a business suit is standing near me, though instead of holding on to a strap for dear life, he’s just casually reading the newspaper. What a proper New Yorker. He’s quite good at surfing along the subway line while he turns the pages and continues reading. The front page of the paper catches my eye. He’s reading the sports section of the Times, and there’s a huge photo of Logan taking up the top half of the page. He’s sitting on a bench in his football gear while a man kneels at his feet, tending to an injury from the looks of it. The headline reads: LOGAN MATTHEWS’ CAREER-ENDING INJURY.
I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand, drawing the attention of the businessman.
He follows my gaze, folds down the top half of the newspaper to see the photo I’m looking at, and then laughs.
“Don’t worry. They love to sensationalize everything. From the sound of it, he barely hurt his ankle yesterday during a practice.”
“Oh thank god. Poor Logan.”
The man looks at me like I’m quite queer, and I suppose he must think I’m some kind of superfan or something. What a laugh it would be to tell him that Logan and I are actually friends. More than friends, maybe, depending on this meeting I’m about to have.