How frustrating that he could see so clearly only after he’d screwed up with the person who’d always done that for him.
As if Gavin wasn’t already drowning in sorrow, another wave crashed over him, and it was a good thing he’d taken a seat or his knees would’ve likely buckled and dumped him on the floor.
“Gavin’s not uncomfortable, are you?” Lance glanced up at him, and the jovial air fled the room, along with his wide smile. “Strike that. He is, but for another reason entirely. Turns out our star quarterback needs our help in the romance department, and from the look on his face, it’s urgent. I could use my Sam.”
Gavin had no idea what that meant but wasn’t going to pry—being here seemed too intrusive to people who had way better things to do as it was.
“My giant brain and I will be right there,” Charlotte said, her voice taking on an urgent edge. It was the steely resolve in her tone that Gavin clung to. “Don’t worry, Mr. Frost. I’m sure between you, Lance, and me, we’ll find enough fellowship magic to fix whatever’s been broken.”
Chapter Thirty
Julie was mainlining raw cookie dough while watching her third Hallmark movie of the day when the doorbell rang. The unexpected noise caused her to jump and squeeze the tube, and a glob of dough landed on the thigh of her yoga pants. “Oh, man. Now what am I going to eat for dinner?”
For most people, an unannounced visitor might not be an oddity, but no one ever visited her apartment. Not without notice, as in she’d ordered food to be delivered. Each one of her nerve endings pricked up, and she sat straighter and stared at the wooden rectangle as though she’d suddenly developed X-ray vision.
Instincts were funny things. They warned of impending danger, and while she’d always considered hers in tune, they’d failed her over Christmas break. She wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive them for that, either.
She glanced at the TV, dismayed that whomever it was had interrupted the moment the hero realized he’d bungled everything. The heroine was also having her own realization about how much she missed the man she’d accidentally fallen for.
Something Julie remained fairly certain happened only in the movies. When it came to dudes, anyway. While she could admit she’d broadcast her fair share of mixed signals—and that she hadn’t handled the fallout very well—she highly doubted Gavin was sitting around moping, eating uncooked desserts.
Not a huge surprise, considering he’d never wanted a relationship in the first place. Deep down, she knew she should call him and attempt a conversation. Or maybe she should start with a text, since his voice would only remind her of when he’d whispered racy threats into her ear.
Problem was, his solution to get through this bump in the road was to pretend nothing had happened. That way, their friendship could hurry up and return to normal.
As if normal was even a possibility after falling head-over-heels in love with your best friend. Akin to torture was more like it. As badly as she missed Gavin, she wasn’t sure she could rewire her emotions well enough to avoid being shocked every time she was near him, whether from attraction or pain.
“Julie O’Neill.” The female voice was steady yet comforting, and not that a woman couldn’t physically injure her, but her shoulders relaxed all the same. “It’s Charlotte James.”
The name tickled the hippocampus of her brain, and her temporal lobe searched its index as to why. The gap was too wide or the knowledge too vast to sort quickly—she was choosing to believe it was option two.
Julie removed as much of the chocolate chip blob on her pants as she could during her short walk to the door. Then she tipped onto her toes and stretched every inch of her height to the limit, cursing the fact that peepholes were made for tall people.
Dark brown hair was all she caught, but then the woman lifted her chin and the missing information clicked into place. Julie sucked in a deep breath and opened her apartment door to greet the human resources manager of the San Antonio Mustangs.
“Charlotte. Hello.” Julie glanced around the woman—for what exactly, she wasn’t sure.
“Gavin’s not with me,” Charlotte said, and damn it, that was it. Not so much because she expected him to be in the hallway, but because she craved seeing him as much as she longed to slug him for being such an insensitive ass.
“Good. I don’t want to talk to him. I was mostly checking to see if I needed to slam the door on him.” Lying had never been Julie’s strong suit, as had been proven several times in the past few weeks, and she highly doubted Charlotte was buying it.
Still, she nodded, understanding softening her features. Then she gestured toward the living room. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Julie swung the door the rest of the way open, and Charlotte strode into the room in brown leather heels so tall that Julie could’ve easily seen through her peephole had she been wearing them. The cream-colored tights on her legs reminded Julie of the type of tablecloths Grams decorated with, only a bit funkier.
As soon as Julie closed the door behind her unexpected guest, she lifted her chin, bracing herself the best anyone could when they weren’t sure what was about to happen or why.
“Sorry to barge in like this, but I’m here on urgent business.”
Julie blinked. She even considered sticking her pinky into her ear to clear any earwax buildup that might be causing her to hear things. “Excuse me?”
Charlotte smoothed her hands over the large blue flowers printed across the fabric of her white pencil skirt. She’d paired it with a blue striped shirt and a chunky belt, and Julie instantly had style envy—she could never pull off that outfit, but on the beautiful, curvy brunette it worked. “I’ll admit, it’s a bit unorthodox, but my position encompasses more than most people realize. Plus, I’ve a vested interest in seeing the Mustangs in the playoffs, and I’m not even talking financially. I’ve been a fan my entire life, and I’m so sick of saying ‘maybe next year.’ You know?”
Julie nodded, more out of politeness than understanding. Honestly, she hadn’t the slightest clue what the hell was going on right now. A devastating thought slammed into her, one that caused her stomach to bottom out. “Is Gavin hurt?”
Charlotte tapped a manicured fingernail to her lips. “That question is subjective. His shoulder is healed, and he’s been cleared to play. But I wouldn’t go calling him not-hurt.”
If the wheels in her brain grinded any harder, Julie’s gray matter might start smoking, and then she’d be the wounded one.
“Why don’t we have a seat, and I’ll provide you with a video that explains far better than I can.”
Logic didn’t seem to be entering this conversation anytime soon, so Julie figured she might as well go along for the ride. Curiosity had already gotten the best of her anyway.