The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (130 page)

“Really, it’s any situation where a pass is intercepted and returned for a touchdown.  The ‘pick’ is slang for interception. The ‘six’ is the number of points they get for a touchdown.”  I nod my head as it becomes clear.  “A hundred-yard Pick Six is pretty rare.”

I catch a glimpse of Evan on screen, dealing with the press.  He’s freshly showered and dressed impeccably.  My heart quickens a little at the sight of him.  When the interview is over, I know that in only a few minutes he’ll be here.

Having private suites allows us the benefit of being shielded from the fans.  There’s a private entrance and Evan can get to us without being assaulted and molested.

The door swings open, and in walks Evan, looking heart-stoppingly handsome in his baby-blue button-down shirt and black Dockers.  Without a jacket, I can appreciate the more dramatic contrast between his trim waist and broad shoulders.  His square jaw and strong cheekbones remind me of a Greek god, the type statues are created to personify and adore.

When he sees me, he offers me a cocky grin and shrugs. He’s alone.  There is no fellow quarterback with him today.

When the door shuts behind him, Emmy races over to it, opening it and looking up and down the halls.  “Where’s Colin?” she asks.

“Emmy!” I caution her.  “Aren’t you going to at least congratulate Evan before the interrogation?” I throw my arms around his neck and whisper in his ear, “You were amazing today.  I’m so proud of you.” 

He squeezes me tight and kisses me.  “I’m so glad you’re here.  I swear I play better knowing you’re in the same building.”

When Evan finally releases me, Emmy apologizes.  “I’m sorry, Evan.  That wasn’t cool.  Congratulations.  Great game.”  She smiles sweetly up at Evan.  “Is Kaepernick coming up here or what?”

The doorknob turns and everyone freezes in their tracks, eyes glued to the door.  Emmy and Shea rush past Evan to greet the guest first, practically grabbing the door as it swings open.  Everyone gives a big moan of disappointment when Adam walks through the door.

“Gee thanks, girls.  Great to see you, too.”  He puts an arm around Emmy, pulls her close, and gives her a sweet kiss on the top of her head.  “I have something for you, sweetie.”  He calls out to no one in particular, “Come on in.”

For the third time in as many minutes, the door swings open, only this time in walks the unmistakable Colin Kaepernick, renowned playboy and heartthrob. 

Kaepernick is another perfect example of God’s fine work. Good looks, defined, chiseled abs, a strong, athletic build, perfectly placed tattoos all over his body, and a cute smile make him very easy on the eyes. He exudes sexiness.  The first few buttons of his shirt are left open, revealing just a hint of his tattoos.  Up close and personal, I can see why Emmy and Shea are crushing on him.

Evan walks straight toward him, hand extended, and the two exchange a quick handshake.  Colin offers Evan a compliment; “Great game today, Mac.”

“Thanks, man.  I know you have a plane to catch, but I just had to introduce you to a couple of friends of mine.  They wouldn’t let me outta here until they got to say hello.”

Evan introduces everyone and Colin actually sits down in the suite with us for a good ten minutes.  He talks about his team’s chances of winning a division title, what he does during off season, and favorite dining spots in San Francisco.  He’s more soft-spoken than I imagined, but every bit as charming.

When he receives a text from his team, he apologizes and excuses himself.  The team is leaving and he has a plane to catch.  The minute the door closes behind him, Emmy and Shea grab each other and squeal like schoolgirls.

Evan looks at Adam and apologizes. “Sorry, man, but I don’t think he’s getting off that list anytime soon.”

“Are you kidding?”  Emmy charges back.  “He’s my number one draft pick now.  Channing Tatum just slipped to number two.”  She bites her lip, considering her last statement, and adds, “Evan, if you know him too, please don’t tell him.”

“So Shea,” Evan asks, “was it worth the pain and humiliation of having to wear my jersey today?” 

She smiles and nods.  The last of the walls finally comes down and Shea walks over to Evan and actually hugs him.  “Thank you.  These past few months have been pretty awful.  But ever since I stepped into your restaurant, met you, Derek, and all your friends, everything has turned around.  This was great.”

Evan returns the gesture.  “No problem.”  He releases her into Derek’s open arms.  “Now, if you guys don’t mind, I’d really like to go home.  It’s been a long day.”

Unfortunately, we didn’t wait long enough, because when we exit the stadium, there are still fans milling around, hoping to get photos and autographs from their favorite players.  Flashes go off all around our little group as we attempt to make our way through the throng. 

Evan looks at me with bright blue eyes, and I know what he’s thinking.  “Go ahead,” I tell him. 

He squeezes my hand and grins. “I’ll be quick.”

Adam orders me, Emmy, and Shea to hang back while he and Derek flank Evan, holding people back from getting too close.

We watch as men and women alike, in every conceivable size and shape, crowd around him.  Slowly, Evan signs autographs, poses for pictures, and shakes hands. 

The three of us stand back and watch our men work the crowd.  Adam and Derek get their fair share of attention too.

After pleasing everyone, he stalks toward me, takes me by the hand, and pulls me toward the car.  “Let’s eat.  I’m starving.”

“I
like the red one,” Emmy insists.  “You want to be bold, make a statement, get everyone to notice you.”

“I don’t know,” Reese argues.  “I think red makes her look pale.  Besides, a red dress on a red carpet is a little cliché, don’t you think?  She needs something that will have more of an ethereal appearance.  I think blues and greens will work better with Jette’s green eyes and fair skin.”

We look through the racks of beautiful gowns over and over again.  I must have tried on thirty dresses.  Too bold.  Too short.  Too long.  Too flowing.  Too revealing.  Too conservative.  Too bejeweled.  Too plain.  Too damn much!  “I don’t think we’re going to find anything here at Saks,” I complain.  “Let’s go to Macy’s.  I hear their gown department is stellar.”

“No way.”  Emmy pulls the Mall at Short Hills directory out of her purse and tells me what my options are, according to her.  “If we leave here, you can go to Armani or Hermès, that’s it.  Of course, we’ll be going to Prada for your shoes and Neiman Marcus for your jewelry.”  Emmy prattles on while I continue to look in vain through the only rack of dresses we haven’t torn through.

That’s when I see it – the perfect gown.  I remove it from the rack and hold it up so I can see it more clearly.  When Emmy stops rambling, I know I’ve stumbled upon something monumental.  It’s a Badgley Mischka sleeveless floor-length gown in deep sapphire blue with a Bateau neckline.  The dress is topped off with metallic shoulders and geometric cutouts.  It reminds me of winter.  The corseted bodice and deep V-back are both sophisticated and as sexy as hell.

“Holy crap, Jette, that dress is amazing.  How did we miss it?” Reese asks.

“You and Emmy wouldn’t let me look at the sales rack, that’s how.”  I look at the tag and I immediately wish I hadn’t.  “This dress is $1,915!”  My first reaction is to put the dress back on the rack and move on to the next store.  “I think we should keep looking.”

“Bullshit,” Reese calls me out.  “Any evening gown under two thousand is a steal.  I thought we’d be buying you a dress closer to three or four.  You can’t pass up a bargain like this.  Try it on, Jette.  I bet it fits you perfectly.”

Reese has always had expensive taste.  She sees nothing wrong with spending two thousand dollars on a dress I will only wear once in my life.  I think she senses my apprehension, because she grabs the dress from my hand and leads me to the dressing room herself.  “Evan told you not to look at any price tags, remember?  Now go and try on this beautiful gown before I call and rat you out to your fiancé.”

Just as I feared, it fits like a glove.  This dress was made for me.  Emmy sticks her head in and helps me zip it up.  We walk out to the fitting station, and I step up on the pedestal. The gown is several inches too long.  “I’m sure they could do your alterations,” Emmy assures me.

Reese comes walking up with a shoebox in her hands.  “I have a better idea.”  She opens the box and hands me a beautiful pair of metallic leather sandals with five-inch heels.  There is a label emblazoned on the inside sole of the shoe with the name
Jimmy Choo, London
.

“Reese – seriously?  Jimmy Choos?  How much are they?”

“I’m not telling you.  Try them on.  If you like them, then you should buy them.  It’s not like the dress. You can totally wear these shoes again, maybe even at your wedding.”

She’s right about that.  I could get more than one use out of these shoes.  A nice pair of strappy heels works with almost anything, especially wedding gowns.  Reese and I wear the same size shoe, so I’m not the least bit surprised how perfectly they fit when I slip them on.  The dress is now the ideal length, just barely skimming the floor.

As I step off the pedestal and walk toward a mirror, a sales associate stops by to check on us.  “What a beautiful selection.  May I ask where you might be wearing this?” she asks.

“My fiancé and I are attending the Unicef Snowflake Ball on Friday.”  I turn around and look at the gown from all angles.  It’s absolutely perfect.

“Well, this is an exquisite choice, I must say.  I just sold a beautiful gown to Kimberly Chandler for the same event.  Her husband plays for the Knicks, I think.  She went with a simple black-and-white dress that looked lovely on her.  But I must say, you will outshine her and nearly every other guest if you show up in this.”

“Oh Jette, you
have
to take it!”  Emmy insists. 

I forget to ask how much the Jimmy Choos were, so when the sales clerk rings them up at a whopping $850, I almost forget how to breathe.  Just the dress and the shoes total nearly three thousand dollars.  I hand her my Visa Black Card and pray it doesn’t get declined.  I never asked Evan what the limit was, and I hope to God I’m not over it.

Without any concern, she swipes my card and completes the transaction.  I sign the receipt and off we go.  It was almost too easy.

A few more stops for the incidentals and we’re done for the day.  I’ve purchased Evan a matching tie at Armani, a pair of jeans at True Religion, and myself a clutch from Michael Kors.  Emmy is disappointed that I wouldn’t venture into the Prada store, but frankly I was afraid I would fall in love with something equally expensive as my new Jimmy Choos.

Having accomplished all our goals today, we reward ourselves with lunch at the Cheesecake Factory.  I’m in the mood for some Bang Bang Shrimp. 

As we finish ordering, Emmy is busy texting on her phone.  “Sorry, that was Camilla.  On the way home, I think we should call her and Shea to meet us at your place, Jette.  Camilla is dying to see what you bought.”

Reese breathes a heavy sigh and her shoulders sag.

“Reese, if you don’t want Shea there, I won’t invite her.”

“No, it’s okay.  This is my problem, not yours.  Invite her.  I’ll be fine.”  She slinks down in her chair and takes a sip from her pomegranate Martini.  “If she’s going to be a part of Derek’s life, we have to make room for her.  I’m just afraid there won’t be enough room for me too.”

Very sternly, I tell her, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.  Reese Simone Barrett, there will be no pity party for you.  Pull up your big girl panties and get over it.  You let him go.  You can’t regret it now.  Accept it and move on.”  Reese is one of the strongest people I know.  She’s not used to being the one with the broken heart.  She’ll get through this.

Painting the Town Red

“H
oops or teardrops?” I ask Auggie.  This has been our tradition since the Junior Prom.  I try on different outfits, he critiques them and helps me accessorize.  He has impeccable taste and he’s never been wrong.

“Put on one of each – let me see.”  I do as I’m told and closely inspect myself in the mirror, one profile at a time.  Shea hooked me up with an amazing stylist she uses for her events who did my hair this morning.  It’s swept off my face and neck into a messy updo with lots of curly tendrils spilling down.