The Love Triangle

She couldn’t help but laugh. His answer lowered her inhibitions and she handed him the card. “Every woman’s dream, to mold a man into perfection. But if you’re a typical bed-hopping athlete you should know that this weekend I torched the clothes of the boyfriend who cheated on me, so you either treat me right or wear a flame-retardant suit.”

His eyes widened. “That was you? The thing with the sitcom guy on the front page of The Post?”

She put one finger to her lips. “Shhhh. Not common knowledge, but I confess to being the arsonist.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.” He put the card in his pocket. “And I will call you. I guess there will be a penalty if I don’t.”

She moved closer and craned her neck as she locked eyes with him. “You’d better believe it, Mister.”

***

Lexi poured herself a glass of wine, stretched out on the couch and put her feet up, then turned on Fox Sports One. She wanted to see a replay of the news conference. Talk radio had done a complete about-face, the callers all impressed that her new client had taken responsibility for his actions and was doing something tangible to apologize. Even a few cops called in to compliment the young man. The local news showed Nate Washington in jeans and a tee-shirt working on the construction of a house alongside a bunch of police officers.

Her strategy had worked perfectly.

And a pro quarterback, possibly the most eligible bachelor in New York and one who was (hard to believe) even better-looking than Dave, had asked for her phone number. Whether he would actually call was beside the point. It felt good to have a man like that interested in her. Greek gods didn’t grow on trees.

Three days ago her world had gone ablaze, literally and figuratively.

Now, in what seemed like an instant, things had turned around. Though possibly getting into bed with a professional athlete, literally and figuratively, was something that demanded she tread with caution. For now, though, the rose-colored glasses provided by possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever met remained in place.

She took a sip of the cold red wine and settled in to watch the replay when her cell rang. She didn’t recognize the number and hit the pause button on the TV. “Hello, this is Lexi.”

“Hi, Lexi, it’s Kyle Caruso. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“No, not at all. Just watching TV. Your trip go okay?”

“Too early to tell. I’m at San Diego State, hoping to sign their star running back. But right now it takes a back seat to all the goodwill you got for my client today, and that all reflects really well on me as his agent. I can’t thank you enough and tell you how impressed I am with your strategy, especially on such short notice.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you’re pleased. Noah was a pleasure to work with.”

“I told you, he’s a good kid. But you made him look like a saint.”

“That’s why they call me Spin Girl. I can usually spin most situations. Though not cheating politicians.”

He laughed a bit. “Yeah, I can’t imagine anyone could fix that. Anyway, did the Jets treat you okay setting things up? I gave them a heads-up that you were working with me.”

“They were very nice, thank you for calling ahead. The head coach was happy we were being so pro-active and taking control of the situation. So was the quarterback.”

“Oh, I didn’t see Frost at the news conference.”

“He was there, but off camera. He said he’d been mentoring Noah and was glad to see him take responsibility for what he’d done. Seemed like a good guy.”

“Man, I’d love to have him as a client. Talk about deep pockets. By the way, are you a fan?”

“Of who, the Jets?”

“Yeah.”

“Nope, lifelong Giants fan. Got season tickets. But I like to see the Jets do well. A subway Super Bowl would be seriously cool, even though it wouldn’t be in New York.”

“Season tickets, huh? So what’s your take on the team? The Giants, I mean.”

She relaxed a bit, the business part of the conversation apparently over. Her new client was happy, and obviously liked to talk. She gave him her opinion on the Giants, then the conversation segued to football announcers, TV shows, movies, politics, why she got into PR, how he became an agent. The conversation was easy and flowed, like she was talking to an old friend. She picked up her iPad and did a search of his name, hoping to find a photo to see the face behind the voice.

The search turned up nothing but a plain business website with pictures of his clients. No photos of him.

Her phone beeped. “Hang on a minute, Kyle.”

“Sure.”

She looked at her phone expecting to see an incoming call, but instead found a low battery warning. “Hey, my cell is about to die. Guess we’ve been talking awhile.” She looked at the clock and her eyes widened. “Like, an hour and a half. You give good phone.”

He laughed. “Never heard that one before. I enjoyed talking to you too. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll have more work for you in the future if you’re up for more stuff with athletes.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Would love to sit down with you in person.”

“It will probably be awhile. I travel a lot this time of year and only manage to get home a day at a time. I’m back Friday night and out first thing Sunday morning. But we’ll get together eventually.”

“Look forward to it.” The phone beeped twice, telling her it was about to die. “Okay, my cell is about to flatline, so, bye.”

“Thanks again, Lexi.”

The phone went dead.

She got up, put her phone back on the charger and headed for the kitchen to get some celebratory Häagen Dazs rum raisin with the obligatory extra splash of rum. She couldn’t help but smile. Her agency was off life support for the moment, a Greek god wanted to take her to dinner (well, maybe) and she’d made a new friend out of a client.

All was right in the universe.

At least for now.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_e1be2ed9-58d5-5d57-8524-31a64c90ed3d)

Though still bleary-eyed Saturday morning after taking the Friday red-eye from California, Kyle needed to shake off his jet lag at the gym. Shooting hoops for an hour or so and an afternoon nap would hopefully regulate his body clock before his next trip. He stopped at the desk to check out a basketball and heard the rhythmic thump from the court. “Is there actually a game going on at this hour?”

The shaggy clerk, who looked to be about eighteen, shook his head. “Just a young woman, but that’s it. You can each have a half court. I’ll be right back with a ball.”

A young woman?

He walked across the hall, looked through the plexiglass down at the court and saw the little redhead hitting shot after shot.

I’m gonna get my ass kicked again. Then again, maybe this time I can get her number…

He moved back to the desk as the clerk handed him a basketball. He wrote his name on the sign-out sheet, then looked at the clerk as he cocked his head at the court. “By the way, you know her name?”

“Sir, I can’t give out that information.”

“Sure, I understand.”