the only one to call the first overall pick, but Quinn had always been the best at numbers.
When we left, I was exhausted, happy and satisfied. I’d spent time with my brothers, seen some amazing people in real life, and caught nary a glance of Michael O’Connor.
We couldn’t see the second day of the Draft—the tickets had been given out to fans at ten the night before, while we were inside watching the first rounds—but that didn’t prevent us from gathering outside Radio City Music Hall on the second night as well. Today more current players were in attendance, but I was more relaxed given yesterday’s lack of conflict.
Of course, that’s how it always is, isn’t it?
Peter and I were angling for a better view of the red carpet, which had been set up outside of Brooks Brothers—Evan and Quinn were both tall enough that they could see over most of the crowd with little effort— when a contingent for the Leopards appeared. The crowd reacted with cheers for the home team, but a little tickle of unease crept down my spine. I kept remembering O’Connor’s intense eyes, and just the memory made me feel odd.
Most of that dissipated when he didn’t appear, especially because the excitement roused by the players who did appear was high. Ryan Carter was one of the best quarterbacks in the League, and wide-receiver Malcolm Lindsey had set several records.
They were also both incredibly attractive, but I didn’t mention that with my three brothers beside me. Besides, I thought they both had girlfriends.
“Hey! Hey, ancient Ireland girl!”
It took me a couple minutes to realize the raised voice of a girl several feet away was directed at me, but when I turned I recognized the girl from the Leopards Stadium. Rachael. Small world, but I supposed if we were both fans it made sense we’d turn up outside the Draft. I waved back. “Hi!”
Rachael made her way over to me. “Hey, nice to see you again. Isn’t this something?”
“Yeah, it’s awesome.” I waved at the players several yards before us. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this close.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, like she was biting the inside of her cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. So you’re a Leopards fan?”
“Uh-huh.”
She hesitated. “I was, um, curious because Mike told me you wanted to work on his land.”
What?
I hadn’t given a second thought to why she’d be in the Leopard’s offices the other week. Did she work there? How did she know Mike O’Connor? “He did?”
Rachael waved a hand. “Not that it’s my business. Anyway. This is totally last minute, but the friend I told you about—the one doing the book—is in town this weekend for the draft. I know I should’ve called you up earlier, but I’m a slacker, so. If you’re interested, I’m having some people over on Saturday.”
I stared at her, the wheels in my head clicking. “Wait—are the people going to be... Mike wouldn’t be there by any chance, would he?”
Her brows rose. “It’s probable.”
A girl made her way though the crowd to Rachael’s side. A tall, black girl with a face that could launch a thousand ships. My eyes darted back and forth between them and my throat went dry.
Rachael took in my surprise, and a small smile hovered on her lips. She nudged her friend. “People always recognize Bri. Why is that?”
Briana Harris shrugged. “I blame being on TV. Also, I’m prettier.”
I finally got my vocal cords back in order. “You’re Briana Harris. You’re wide-receiver Malcolm Lindsey’s fiancee.”
“Thank you for the recap,” Briana Harris said.
I turned to the shorter girl. “And you’re Rachael...” The more I looked at her, the more familiar she seemed, but I couldn’t attach a name.
She spread her hands. “Rachael Hamilton. My boyfriend’s the quarterback.”
Wait.
Briana arched a brow. “I take it you’re a fan.”
I managed something that sounded like “Ull...”
“Well, then,” Rachael said. “You should definitely come to our party.”
And somehow, I got hold of myself enough to agree.
Rachael lived in one of those hotel-like buildings on the Upper West side that real people did not live in. Real people walked past them on nice days, pushing their baby strollers and walking their hairless dog, mingling with slow moving tourists who took pictures in front of the Natural History Museum with alarming looking cameras, before buying pretzels that cost more than designer coffee.
Anyway, I’d never met anyone who actually lived on Central Park West, except for one girl in college, and that was at 105th so it didn’t really count.
The doorman directed me to the elevator bank, and I’d barely had time to check my hair in the mirror before it whisked me up to the twenty-first floor. There were only two doors, but one looked like a closet, so I rang the bell of 2101 and waited to be let in.
Waited in a nonchalant manner, of course, because I came to things like this all the time. Yeah.
The only problem with attending a party filled with sports heroes I was mad about came from having one of those sports heroes being mad at me. Or at least irritated by my existence. I hadn’t had it in me to pass up a chance to meet and mingle with Malcolm Lindsey and Dylan Pierce, but I would do my best to avoid O’Connor.
The door swung inward. Michael O’Connor stood in the frame.
My stomach swooped to my feet.
For a bare half second surprise flared, but he smoothed it away with a smile. He propped his arm against the doorframe and leaned forward. A shock of auburn hair fell over his eyes. “Natalie Sullivan.”
The sound of my name on his lips made me swallow. “I didn’t expect you to remember me.”
“Oh, I remember you.”
My eyes started to his, and we both stared at each other for a drawn out moment. Heat filled my cheeks. Did that mean I’d been so obnoxious I’d been impossible to forget?
He cleared his throat and looked away. “What are you doing here?”
“Rachael Hamilton invited me.”
He glanced behind him. I followed his gaze to find Rachael Hamilton watching us with open curiosity. She quickly ducked behind her wine glass, which did exactly nothing to hide her.
When Mike turned back to me, his eyes glinted, hardness shining beneath the soft gold sparks. “How’d you meet Rachael?”
I pushed my hair back self-consciously. “I ran into her at the draft.”
“What were you doing at the Draft?”
I stared at him. “Watching. Why? What do you think I was doing there?”
For the first time since I’d met him, a hint of embarrassment heightened his color. “I thought—maybe—you wanted to talk about Kilkarten.”
I lifted my chin, feeling my cheeks warm to match his color. “Why? Do
For a long moment, we just stared at each other, and my heart rate increased. Then he finally stepped back. “Come on in.”
Okay. I was going to act all collected. Cool. Like Indiana Jones, minus the fedora.
I failed after two seconds. “If you
“I don’t.” He interrupted me almost before I finished the last syllable, with so much force I drew back. “I don’t talk about Kilkarten.”
