Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

She’s just some woman I used to know.

I force my eyes to the TV screen. But I only make it a few minutes before I pick my phone back up and send the link with the business name and location to Waller.

Me: Do me a favor?

Waller: If you want me to send you roses, you can just ask.

Me: If I have to ask…

Waller: You getting drunk without me?

Me: No. But it’s not a bad idea.

Waller: I’m out of town, so you’ll have to drink alone tonight. But I can send the flowers if it’ll make you feel better.

I snort. Waller can be an idiot, but there’s a reason we’ve stayed friends since our days playing for HOP U. Even while playing for rival teams, we always stayed in touch. And now, we both ended up retired in Minnesota. Me because I grew up here, him because he visited and fell in love.

Me: I can buy my own flowers. I need you to look into the business. Background shit.

Waller: I suppose solar energy and floral arrangements could go together.

Me: Why am I friends with you?

Waller: Because I’m so pretty.

I laugh out loud.

Me: My left foot is prettier than you.

It’s not true. With wavy hair and defined features, Waller’s never had trouble getting attention.

Me: One of my employees worked there for a long time, and I have some questions.

I should just tell him who. It’s probably been a decade since he’s heard me talk about her, but I’m sure he’d remember.

But for some reason, I’m not ready to tell him.

Mostly because he’ll ask questions I don’t have answers to.

And his first question will be asking if I’m going to go after her.

My gut reaction is yes. But my heart reaction is no. And my brain reaction reminds me there’s a no-fraternizing policy at my company. A policy I made sure was in place when I first joined the industry to keep employees from hitting on me.

Waller: On it.

Me: Thanks.

It’s not that late, but I’m exhausted and ready to be done with this day.

Picking the remote up, I turn off the large TV mounted over the fireplace and stand from my couch.

My knees twinge, mirroring the ache in my back, but after a few steps, they loosen up.

The plate from my dinner is already in the dishwasher, so I grab my glass of water off the island and turn off the kitchen lights.

I flip off the rest of the lights as I head to the main stairway, but moonlight shines through the uncovered windows, illuminating my way.

At the top of the steps, I turn right toward the owner’s suite.