“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound like the confident, I’m-gonna-kick-their-asses guy I know.”
“I’m okay. It’ll get done.”
“Be happy, buddy.”
“Thanks, Trunk. How are the guys? What’s going on?”
Harley sank down into an overstuffed chair, kicked back, toed off his shoes, and gazed out at the sea while he listened to Trunk bring him up-to-date on this teammates’ antics. His shoulder muscles relaxed as he laughed with his friend.
A knock on the door interrupted Harley’s trip down memory lane with the linebacker. It was Greg Carson. Harley said goodbye to Trunk and hung up.
“Time for the cocktail party. Are you ready?” the MC asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Greg lounged against the doorjamb. “Are you okay? How are you doing? Feeling all right?”
“The pressure’s a little hard.” Harley bent to tie his shoes.
Greg cocked an eyebrow. “Pressure? From a man who’s played in two Super Bowls?”
“Are you kidding? The Super Bowl is a walk in the park compared to ten women trying to get your attention at the same time.”
Greg laughed. “Getting a bit difficult?”
“You might say that. Geez. I don’t want them to hate each other.”
“They’re all vying for you. I get it. This isn’t as easy as people think. And right about now, it ramps up to a lot tougher.”
“Yeah. I’ve got to send two women home tonight, and I have no clue who.”
Greg clapped Harley on the back. “Let’s go downstairs. You can get started making that decision. A drink might help.”
“A drink? A dozen maybe.” Harley chuckled as he walked down the hall next to Greg. Excitement mixed with dread in his veins. Was the love of his life waiting in the lounge, or would he come up empty-handed again?