The sick feeling probably means I should leave. After all, I have a whole house I can go back to. I have an entire week’s worth of work sitting at that little dining room table--schedules and photo shoots and press releases and meetings. After that, we have to start setting up practices for Mack, maybe get him on some kind of detox diet he can talk about in Men’s Health. There are things to be done. There are rules to be followed. Still, I’m standing here, watching for glimpses of a man I lost a long time ago. Even though this whole thing is fake, something deep inside my heart started to hurt the moment I met Kinley.
She’s not for real, I remind myself. Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. He’s not the man for you. He’s the man who hurt you, the man who broke your heart, the man who left you with nothing but a ring and a wish for a future together--a future that wouldn’t come.
Just as I’m about to turn away, Kinley’s face appears at the door, and she opens it with her big, typical Southern country greeting. My nerves jangle. Kinley’s smile widens when she sees that it’s me, and it occurs to me that she doesn't know about Macklin’s past--his relationship with me seems to be something he’s kept hidden for a long time.
That’s another big ass reason I should leave, but Kinley grabs me by the hand before I can go, drawing me into the circle of football players, wives, and girlfriends. A jazz band plays quietly at the end of the room, and I wonder at the stark contrast between last week’s party and this one.
“Macklin said you weren’t going to come! In fact, he said he was sure you weren’t going to come. And instead, here you are! I’m so pleased. You know, I don’t know anyone at all, and I really thought I could use a friend.” She brushes a curly lock of blond hair behind one ear. The effect is so cute it’s mind-numbing.
“Sure,” I quip. “That’s exactly why I came by. I think you guys will be great together. You just have to get to know him. I do think there’s a mature guy under all that blustery exterior.” I realize I’ve been talking through gritted teeth as my eyes scan the room for Mack.
“Oh yeah. You’re probably right. He just seems so distant tonight. I hope we can get some good candid shots for the photographer. Mack’s not drinking any of the drinks or eating the food, but we can chalk it up to a summer cold or something like that, right?” Kinley gives me a look that betrays some of her impatience, her longing to get Mack to do as she pleases. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he needs a woman like that. Someone who will be impatient with him when he needs it.
I push down the cloying feeling that something is wrong with this whole thing. It’s not wrong—I planned it.
And I’m the best at what I do, aren’t I?
“Sure, we can chalk it up to that. He’s out of sorts with this whole new image thing, Kinley. He’ll gear up and get right where he needs to be—don’t you worry a bit.” I smile at her, and she grabs my hand again, a little too forcefully this time.
“He best get himself together because I’m a country superstar who needs a little boost since Taylor Swift’s tour is competing with mine. If this doesn’t do it within two months, I’ll be taking another route.” She gives me a big Cheshire cat grin.
Kinley Edwards flits away from me and reattaches herself to Mack’s arm, smiling back at me and waving. She blows me a kiss, and my heart sinks down to my knees.
You’ve dealt with women like this before, Renata. When you’re working with celebrities, you’ve seen it all. There’s nothing new under the sun. Why do you feel some type of way about this particular girl? She’s a girl, like all the rest. And she cares about her money because of course she does. Chin up. Get a drink. Walk away.
I head over to the bar and grab a tasteful glass of wine—no kegs at this event. That was all me and Wingate, though we’re letting the press give Mack’s new girl the credit. The flash of a camera goes off, and I look over to see Mack grinning like a puppy dog with Kinley holding onto him for dear life, looking up at him like he’s the golden god of the NFL.
He is, and she clearly doesn’t appreciate that shit. She’s not just doing a favor for him—this is a huge deal for her too.
Wingate comes up to me as I watch the happy couple go about their business. He taps his elbow against mine, the way he used to do when we were freshmen in the dining hall at Brooks. Even though it’s just Wingate, the slight tap sends my nervous system into overdrive, and I jump where I stand.
“It’s just me,” he says, giving me a quizzical look. “You expecting someone else?”