A woman ordered a glass of champagne and stood by my side. “Nice turnout, considering the subject.”
I grinned. “What? You’re not into quantum physics and theories of relativity? Force equals M A and all that jazz?”
She laughed, eyes sparkling. “I prefer a different type of force and mass.”
I didn’t miss the double entendre and the interest in her eyes, but I didn’t play along. She sipped her drink and tried again.
“I know you didn’t want to talk sports with the reporters, but you have a pretty tough schedule this upcoming season.”
“You’re a fan, I see. I barely know the schedule yet.” I chuckled. “And yeah, it’s tough, but we’ve got the talent. The Kings are ready to bring the trophy to New York.”
We finished our drinks and got another. She seemed content to stay by my side, and I was in no hurry to leave.
“How do your parents feel about your career choice? I’m sure they were surprised you wanted to play football.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but I had to do what I wanted, whether or not they approved.”
“So they didn’t? Approve, I mean.”
I didn’t answer right away, watching my parents work the room, shaking hands and making small talk. They moved in sync, not once looking for me. I’d been nothing but a photo op for them.
“They have their life, and I have mine.”
“I’m sure they attend your games. You have that box and everything.”
Was she angling for an invitation? My smile was thin as I placed my untouched drink on the bar. The air had become stifling. It was time for me to leave. “We’ve worked it out to our mutual satisfaction. I’m sorry, I have to leave. It’s been nice talking to you.”
Without saying good-bye to my parents, I left the library and walked down the block to call for a car, away from the crush. Within minutes, I was speeding up Fifth Avenue toward the park and my parents’ brownstone. The car pulled up front, and I asked the driver to wait. I ran upstairs, packed my things, and returned to my ride.
Home in my apartment, I texted Brody.
I miss you so fucking much.
**
The next morning, I received an angry message from my father.
All we requested was that you not bring attention to yourself for one night, but you couldn’t. You just had to speak to a reporter and insinuate we weren’t good parents.You’ve devastated your mother.
“What the fuck are they talking about?” I growled, then saw the notifications from Fallon.
Dev. Call me. This isn’t good.
Instead of listening to him, I clicked one of the notifications and groaned. “I can’t believe she was a reporter. How the hell was I supposed to know?” Scanning the headline, I let out a vicious curse.
Devil Summers’s personal hell. The superstar quarterback reveals the tense relationship between himself and his parents.
She proceeded to build upon what I’d said to her, drawing conclusions from my body language, apparently.
My stomach alternating between free-falling and cramps, I called Fallon, and he picked up before the first ring ended.
“Dev, I—”
“Yeah, I should’ve known something like this would happen. Just field any requests for comments and say whatever bullshit you think best.”
“Of course. I’ve already started the ball rolling. I’ve put out this statement:Devlin Summers unequivocally admires his parents’ philanthropic work. They have a relationship built on mutual respect.”
Laughable, but it would get the job done. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”
