“Here you go,Jay.” The server winks and hands me my credit card with a wide grin on her face. If there was any question before, it’s clear that she knows who I am now. She probably Googled the name of my foundation on her cell phone and figured it out. “Hope to see you again soon.”
I nod a curt thank you, grab my card, and we head out the door. Adrienne never turns back to look at her ex once, and I am oddly satisfied that she doesn’t. There’s something about the two of us leaving together that feels right.
Twelve
JETT
We makea left turn out of the bar and start walking down the street with no clear destination in sight. She still hasn’t said a word.
“You can cry if you want,” I tell her. “He’s not following us.”
“I’m not a crier.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did, though. Few women would have been able to hold their ground like you did back there.”
“Thanks.”
I maneuver around her so that we switch positions as we walk. She’s a little wobbly from the alcohol, and I want to make sure that she’s on the side of my good arm in case she stumbles.
“Do you need anything? Want anything?”
I’m grasping at straws at this point. I’m not sure what to do or what to say to make her feel better. I don’t have any sisters or any platonic girlfriends, so this is uncharted territory for me. How do you make a woman feel better if you’re not buying her something nice or fucking her senseless?
“Maybe we just walk for a bit.”
I throw the hood of my sweatshirt up to help stay incognito. Most of the photographs taken of me without my permission are mostly of me out and about in the city, because otherwise I’m in my house or at private locations where security is tight and they protect privacy.
“Sure, I can walk you home if you want. You said you live near here, right?”
“I do, but I’m not ready to head home yet.”
I forgot that she probably still thinks I’m some sort of serial killer. She doesn’t want me to see where she lives.
“Okay.”
“That’s probably the first place he’ll go looking for me.”
Ohhh.
“First thing tomorrow you call a locksmith.”
“I can’t just call a locksmith.”
“Why not?”
“I have to call the landlord and ask him to change the locks, and my landlord is hard to reach. It’s a whole thing. Don’t you live in an apartment or do you still live… at home?”
Damn, I almost gave myself away. Most people our age live in rental properties in New York because we can’t afford to buy, but unlike most people in their twenties, I can. I own a place on the Upper East Side, which I got for a steal at 5.5 million. It was the first major purchase I made once I was traded to the team; it was my way of making lemonade out of lemons.
“That’s what I meant,” I fib. “First thing tomorrow you get on the phone with your landlord and put in the request for a lock change because Troy is probably never going to give up those keys.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Not willingly.”
“Maybe I should just wait.”
“Wait?” I halfway roar because she sounds like she’s backpedaling, but then I catch myself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It’s your decision.”
