Chapter Thirteen
Jo
I’m wiping down the last table when the doors open again. Without glancing up, I say, “We’re closed. Sorry,” and curse Marissa for not locking the doors.
“Can we talk?” The sound of Lawrence’s voice makes me jump up and whip my attention to the front door.
“Seriously?”
“I missed you at the barbecue today,” he says.
“I didn’t miss going.”
“Jo.” He sighs heavily.
“I don’t want to talk, Lawrence. You’ve said and done enough. Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Coach wants me to ask you . . . ” He steps forward tentatively and I notice he’s holding a paper in his hand. “I swear I didn’t come up with this idea.”
“What is that?” I eye him and the paper.
“Coach thinks you should sign this NDA.”
“NDA?” I blink. “You’re kidding me.”
“They’re going to draft me after this season and I have to tie up loose ends.”
“Loose ends?” I scoff. “I’m a loose end?”
“No.” He takes another step forward. “I mean, according to him, yes.”
“Do I look like a person who wants revenge?” I search his blue eyes. It’s crazy how I thought he was so damn hot before. He still is, but now that I know he’s also a cheater and a liar and a manipulator I no longer find him attractive. “If I wanted revenge, I would have keyed your car or slashed your tires or something.”
“I think he’s afraid you’ll speak to reporters.” He flinches as he says the words and that and the way he’s cowering are the only signs that the man I once loved is still in there somewhere.
“Let me see the paper.” I yank it from his hand when he extends it to me. It’s basically a one-page summary of all the things I can’t do if I sign it—speak about Lawrence in a bad light, write a tell-all book, I snort-laugh at that one and look at him. “As if you’re so interesting that anyone will want to read a tell-all book about you.”
“Can you please just sign it?”
I hold a finger up to silence him and keep reading. My heart hammers when I read the last point in the contract. The one that says I will not go to the authorities or university with any information that may defame his character.
“I need to think this over.” I fold the page in half and look up at him. “When do you need it signed by?”
“Preferably by the end of the week. I mean, really he wants it done tonight, but I can stall.”
“I just . . . I need a moment.”
“I understand.” He swallows. “I truly am sorry, Jo.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I’ll pay you. Whatever you want, I’ll pay you once I sign my NFL contract.”
“I don’t want your money.” I scowl. “I don’t want anything from you. Don’t you get that?”
“I do. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”
I nod and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting to his apology. I walk him to the door and lock it after he leaves. Somehow, I’m able to finish cleaning and get in my car before I completely lose it, sobbing uncontrollably. I once saw my mother crying in the driveway. Really crying. So much that I thought someone had died. I ran down the stairs and waited for her in the kitchen, heart in my throat, fully expecting her to say that when she walked in. Instead, she smiled wide and gave me a hug as if nothing happened, as if she hadn’t been crying hysterically out in the driveway. I never asked her about it, but I think about it a lot these days, when I find that the only refuge I really have is this beat-up old car with no functioning radio.
When I pull up to the house and park, I notice there are two cars there. One belongs to Jagger and the other is a white Lexus I’ve never seen. I wipe my face and take a breath as I walk up the walkway and up the steps. If he’s in his room with a woman tonight I think I’ll scream. Then again, if he’s in his room with someone, it would mean he’d leave me alone. Still, there’s a nagging feeling sitting in the pit of my stomach as I unlock the front door. When I open the door, I’m greeted by Jagger, Jordan from the other night, and three girls I’ve never seen before. Two of them are sidled up next to Jagger while he leans forward on the couch, completely ignoring them and keeping his eyes on the Madden game he’s playing. Another girl is on the other couch beside Jordan, with her legs on his as he also plays the game and ignores her. “Hey,” Jordan says, looking up at me momentarily.
“Hey.” I look at him, then at Jagger, then the three girls.