The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

“Please, um—come in.”

He steps up into the foyer, hands still shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, ball cap pulled down over his eyes. A bit older and bigger than the last time we were in the same room together but still very recognizable.

He looms, taking up all the space in the entryway. The air I’m desperately trying to breathe.

“Davis is in the living room,” I babble, wanting out of the room and out of his presence.

Why is he here?

I lead him through the short hallway and into the living room. Immediately, my brother rises and extends his hand to the newcomer to greet him.

“Sorry to show up like this unexpectedly, but I’m in town for a game and heard you still lived in the area.” He removes his ball cap and runs a hand through his hair—it’s thick and jet black and needs to be cut.

He looks down at me as he talks to Davis.

So much taller, which was one of the things I loved about him way back when, all those years ago…

He’s staring back at me and has barely made eye contact with anyone else in the room, something I’m sure Davis hasn’t failed to notice. My brother misses nothing.

“My agent, Elias, was able to get in touch with Silus Goodwyn,” he’s telling me as if we were the only two people in the room. “Your brother doesn’t have social media, so I figured I’d pop in and see if he was willing to share your phone number. I wasn’t expecting you to answer his door!”

I recall hearing the name Silus every so often, though it’s been ages since Davis played football. Silus was—is?—the stadium manager and also happens to be a good friend of my brother’s—not good enough apparently as he was willing to give my brother’s address to a player outside of the ball club.

“Have you and I met?” Davis looks confused. “Do the two of you know each other?”

The color drains from my face.

“Are you here to see me?” my brother asks him slowly, still clearly perplexed. “Or are you here to see my sister?”

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I’m Jack Jennings.” Jack extends his hand and re-introduces himself. “Penelope and I dated back in college. I’m not sure if she told you? Anyway, we lost touch way back, and I always wonder what she’s been up to. I’m in town for a game.” He’s babbling nervously, shifting on the balls of his feet, plopping the ball cap back on his moppy hair. “I know this is weird, but I was hoping we could reconnect while I’m in town.”

I paste on a smile, pretending I’m not about to toss my cookies all over the carpet at any moment from my stomach being in knots. “This sure is a surprise. How long has it been?”

“Gosh, I wouldn’t even know, but—” Jack stops talking but looks as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Look. I’m going to leave you with this, and if you want to have coffee or something. Or drinks. Or…I don’t know—maybe we could have dinner at The Tower Club while I’m here and catch up?”

Catch up?

He wants to catch up?

About what? What could he possibly want to talk about?

My heart beats out of my chest.

Davis snatches the envelope from his fingers once it’s clear I’m too paralyzed to take it myself.

“Gotcha.” Davis stuffs the rectangular card in the back pocket of his dress pants, ushering Jack back toward the front entry from whence he came, back toward the front door and the shiny black sports car parked in front of my brother’s driveway. “Good meeting you, bro. If she wants to talk, she’ll be in touch.”

He’s staring right through me when Davis abruptly closes the door in his face, no doubt leaving him standing surprised in the front yard.

On a normal day, I would say something like, “Why would you slam the door in his face?!” It was uncharacteristically rude and uncalled for when the guy was just stopping by to say hello to an old friend.

An ex-girlfriend who all but ghosted him.

But I don’t.

Instead, I make a beeline back to the kitchen and brace my hands against the cold countertop. My legs are weak, my arms shaking, and my breathing comes out fast and hard as if I’ve just run a marathon.

Dammit.

His showing up here was so random.

So jarring.

“Penn, what was he doing here at seven at night?” Aimlessly, my brother goes to the pan of rice and chicken resting on the stovetop and begins spooning a heap of rice onto a plate, keeping his idle hands busy. “You barely spoke to him.”

My head jerks as I shake it. “No idea. Like he said, I guess he just wants to…um. Reconnect.”

“You know who that was, though? I know who that was because he was drafted around the same time I hurt my leg. How do you know who that was?” He points the wooden spoon in my direction.