Fourth Down (Portland Pioneers 1)

“Not what I mean at all. I’m just saying that people are taking notice of the changes Leon has made. When anchors are retiring, he’s bringing in fresh, young faces. He’s trying to revitalize the news, and he’s doing it in ways that are making people take notice.”

“Believe me,” Liam interjects. “It’s a good thing.”

“Unless you want to have a drink,” Quinn adds. “Inevitably, someone will have their cell phone out, taking pictures and video because it’s important to them. It’s something you learn to live with.”

“Well, I’m going to have wine with dinner. I walked, and I’m not working tonight. If someone wants to post a picture of me being an adult, so be it. I swear people have too much time on their hands lately,” I say.

“I’ll order the bottle.” Liam flags down our server and orders not only a very expensive bottle of wine but five different appetizers.

“Are you going to eat all of the food you just ordered?” Peyton asks.

Liam shrugs. “I couldn’t decide what I wanted to try.”

He couldn’t decide. I’ve barely looked at the menu, and he’s already found five things he wanted to try. The menu is small. American fare with flare is what I’d call it. I finally come across something that sounds enticing—a barbeque brisket and cheddar sandwich. I haven’t had a good brisket in a long time and find that I’m craving it a bit. When the server returns with our wine, Liam is the focal point of the taste test. I watch with rapt attention as he swirls, sniffs, and finally sips the wine. He nods, and the waiter pours the wine into our glasses. The temptation to ask how come the rest of us haven’t sampled is there, but I know it’s not proper. Liam is paying. He’s the decision-maker. Besides, I don’t care that much about wine, and I’m not confident I could tell what is considered a good red or not.

By the time the server finishes with the wine pouring, the food runner sets down a tray filled with the appetizers—my mouth waters. I’m hungry but torn. I could eat a few of the items ordered, or I could wait for my dinner—such a dilemma. Before I can even decide, Liam sets a plate in front of me, with one of everything on it, and tells me to eat up. Liam tells our server that we’ll be ready to order dinner in a bit. It’s then that I realize this isn’t just a dinner. It’s an event for the four of us. Liam is in no hurry to go anywhere. He wants us to enjoy our time. I finally relax, take a sip of the wine, and dig in.

The conversation never stalls. Quinn and Liam ask questions about my work, and while I’m curious about theirs, they don’t allow me to ask. They’re forthcoming with information and liken their rockstar lives to mine. In my world, the two don’t even come close to correlating.

“Did you always want to be in music?” I ask Quinn.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve only known music, and playing comes naturally to me, as does songwriting. Unlike my Uncle Liam, I didn’t dream of being anything else. I also didn’t dream of being in a band or living on the road. It’s weird. It’s a thing I do, and while I love it, if someone told me I had to walk away tomorrow, I’d be okay with that too.”

“With me,” Liam adds. “My father told me what I was going to do, where I was going to go to college. I wanted none of that. I wanted to be able to make my own decisions and definitely make my own mistakes. I chose a college I didn’t want to be at, hated everything about school, and pretty much started resenting everyone in my life.”

“My dad wanted me to be a lawyer, follow in his footsteps and all that. He was sad when I decided on Northwestern over Northeastern.”

“I think my parents thought I was going to go into coaching,” Peyton adds.

“Didn’t you, though?” Quinn asks.

Peyton shrugs. “Sometimes, I miss talking about the game to other people. It’s why I fill in for Aiden when he’s out because being in front of the camera feels good. It’s comfortable.”

“Leon speaks very highly of you.”

“As he does you,” she says. Her words bring a smile to my face, and honestly, the compliment warms me. I want to succeed at my job and someday be like Camden—on national television, where I’m a household name.

We’re on our second bottle of wine when we finally order dinner. Usually, I’m in a rush. Sit down, order, eat and get the hell out of places, but tonight is different. It’s casual, no fuss, no muss. I’m relaxed, and when I should be freaking the hell out because Liam Page is sitting next to me—close enough to touch and smell—and Quinn James is across from me—for most women, this is paradise. It’s odd because while they’re celebrities and everything about this situation tells me I should be anxious, I’m not.