I fought off a smile. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” She tilted her head. “Have you seen the video? I mean, the sparks were undeniable.”
“There were no sparks,” I falsely denied.
“There were definitely sparks.”
“There were trauma-induced coping mechanisms while I was shot!”
She shrugged. “Tomato, tomato. Come on, be honest with me. Didn’t you feel something?” She pinched her fingers together and squinted. “Even for a teeny tiny little second?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. That kiss came out of nowhere in the middle of pure chaos, and it had been electricin the worst possible way, the kind of moment that flips your stomach and hijacks your brain.
Still, every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the press of his mouth against mine. The taste of it, the shock of it, all in a moment. I hadn’t known how to process then and still didn’t now.
“This is crazy,” I muttered instead. “The footage. The kiss. The press. And now this?” I gestured toward the field. “He fucking winked at me!”
“It was a really good wink.”
“But I don't want good winks from ridiculously handsome men right now.” Still, I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. “Even if they are really, really good winks.”
After everything with my ex, Harold, I was finally starting to feel like myself again. This was supposed to be my fresh start, time to focus on me, show my parents everything they'd given up for me was worth it, not accidentally stumble into some ridiculous fake romance story with a football player.
“Or,” Rachel said, her amber eyes bright, “we lean into it.”
“I don’t want my life to be a stunt.”
“Girl, it’s too late for that. You’re famous.”
I slumped against the seat and let out a long sigh. “Yeah, but I didn’t exactly want to be this kind of famous.”
“No one does. It just happens. The only choice you get is what you do with it.”
She was right. Ugh, I hated that she was right. Dating a football player would actually solve the headline problem—no more speculation about me crawling back to Harold or whoever else I could possibly be dating next. Maybe there was a bright side to this mess after all. I didn't love the idea of playing the game, but at this point, I wasn't sure I had a better alternative.
I stared at the big screen, now replaying the body cam footage of him stepping in front of me and then the kiss that lasted a little too long.
“He’s not my type,” I said, attempting to deflect.
“Really? Because six-and-a-half feet of golden retriever energy, ridiculous muscles, and a too-perfect smile sounds suspiciously like your type.”
And once again, she wasn’t wrong. He was stupidly, distractingly handsome. That rough-edged, pretty-boy charm worked in ways it shouldn’t, from the strong jaw and trimmed beard to those sparkling eyes that always seemed like they were in on the joke.
That smile, the goofy way he didn’t even seem to know he was that pretty? It was enough to send my brain into hyperdrive.
But that was entirely beside the point.
“He has a huge family,” I muttered.
Rachel paused. “What?”
“I think he has a lot of siblings, and they’re all…close. Like aggressively supportive.”
Rachel tilted her head. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Families like that make me nervous.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t know how to be around so many people at once.”
She gave me a look. “Ellie, your parents are the most wholesome humans I’ve ever met, and you’re around thousands of people when you perform.”
