Page 55 of Really Truly Yours

“Look, I’m a faith guy, I am, but I still say you got lucky.”

I sense a story behind his grinning insistence. “And why is that?”

He leans into the table. “One.” He ticks it off on his finger. “The guy you talked to plays for our division rivals. He’s one of only a handful of guys on that team I know personally.” A second finger. “Two, no player would have given out my number that day. They’d have taken one look at you and figured you were trouble.” He lifts a pointed eyebrow.

Heat flares on my face. “I thought we weren’t bringing that up anymore?”

“My prerogative.” Grayson flashes a devilish wink—and I am suddenly seated beside myself, watching somebody else’s life play out. Mine is never like this.

“We guys have a pact about that kind of thing.”

Puh-leeze.

He whips out one more finger. “And three, Carlos is the only guy who would have been able to give you Archer’s number—because Archer is his agent, too.”

That sinks in. I was so focused on the blessing of meeting anyone at all who knew Grayson that I never considered how remarkable it was that the man had the agent’s number in his phone.

“So I guess you’re right, Sydnee. I don’t think you were in control that day. And I think everything worked out exactly as it was supposed to.”

Chapter 12

Grayson

Considering her touchiness in the money department, I’m pleased Sydnee allowed me to buy her meal.

Don’t get me wrong, she looks great. I’m noticing that a lot lately, but some real food won’t hurt. Most of all, I’m glad she let me to do something nice for her. She’s done plenty for Donny, and thereby, me.

The setting sun shimmers highlights into her hair as we walk to the car. She murmurs thanks when I open the door and wait for her to slip inside.

“Grayson?” Sydnee points.

A young woman who was at the host stand runs toward the car. My phone is in her hand. I smile. “Thanks.”

I shake my head at her retreating giggle, walk around, and slip behind the wheel.

Sydnee looks great in my car, and her company is even better. Given my inability to discuss all that’s going on with Tripp and my reluctance to broach the topic of Donny with the rest of my family, sometimes I feel like a man on an island. With Sydnee, not so much.

She’s quiet, her usual way, as we turn west toward the highway junction that will take us north to Mineral Springs. Her hand on her lap calls to me. Our relationship isn’t like that, however. I doubt she’d go for it.

For the third time—once at the start of the meal, once at the end, and again now—she thanks me for dinner. I’m running out of fresh ways to say you’re welcome. A silly meal is no big deal and the tip of the iceberg as far as what I owe her. “Glad you enjoyed it, Sydnee Lou.”

I ignore her perusal and tap the screen on the dash, cuing up the satellite radio programmed with stations tailored for my various moods. In this case, easy listening fits the moment, if not my state of mind. “This alright?”

“Sure.”

A heartfelt yesor a sure, because I don’t make waves? I hate ambiguity. I’m already feeling like we’ve taken a step backward since dinner.

A minute later, I turn the music down. “Have you lived in Mineral Springs your whole life?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

A section of shimmery hair slides from her shoulder when she lifts it. “It’s home.”

I swear I hear a what’s to like about it tacked on. Lots of subtext with Sydnee.

In her lap, one thumbnail scrapes at the other. What am I doing wrong? I’ve been a perfect gentleman.