I knew better than to expect more, but I’d hoped. Mom and Dad were never the cookies and milk kind of parents. Still, it stings. They’ve ignored me, except when I’m in front of the camera, going back for as long as I can remember.
However, Declan did not ignore me. He went out of his way to get under my skin. It’s clear he knows how to conduct himself at a dinner table, even if he’s the kind of guy who makes a splash when he enters a room—pun not intended.
My first impression of Declan, post-football stardom, is that he went from being an attention seeker to being a fame monger.
My second impression is that he didn’t learn his #BruiserButt lesson and has thus remained a prankster.
My third impression is of a guy who has no regard for other people’s time and zero consideration for table manners.
This is not the Declan I knew. Then again, I used to go along with his antics. We’d have unfettered fun because we were best friends. But time has passed and the dynamic has shifted.
Yet I know this isn’t even the whole story. I saw there is more to Declan Printz than he lets most people see. I was reminded of that fact by the honesty in his eyes when I’d returned from the bathroom and he sensed something was wrong.
When he’d strode into the dining room with his annoying phone cheering for him as though everyone should applaud his existence, I’d glimpsed the message from my father. However, I couldn’t be a hypocrite and respond while simultaneously kicking Declan off his phone. But I couldn’t stand not knowing what my father had to say, so I went to the bathroom to check the message. I shouldn’t have bothered. He doesn’t care. I probably shouldn’t either. But my parents’ disregard hurts. For once, I’d like for them to applaud when I enter a room, or at least acknowledge my existence at all.
I guess, to them, I’m little more than a yellow thumbs-up symbol on a cell phone app.
My thoughts whir as I freshen up for bed, put on a face mask—flying always does a number on my skin—and then slip between the crisp sheets of the full-size bed.
Thinking of what the little girl in the airport said, I wonder who I would’ve grown up to be had my parents paid me genuine attention instead of leaving me with nannies, or alone, which was also common. The only time they noticed me was when I was in front of the camera.
Maybe it’s time for me to let the hope go that they care and be my own cheerleader. I could ask Declan to connect me to the squad that performs at the Bruisers’ games. Not that I’m equipped to wear a short skirt and shake pom poms. That’s not me. But the way Declan looked at me when I strode into the dining room gave my heart a workout. It makes me questionwhether I’m part cat because all I want to do is purr. But I should know better, because felines and the bluebirds in my belly probably don’t get along.
Ironically, my latest job is as a lifestyle coach when my life is in shambles. The etiquette school is for dignitaries, high-powered business people, the aristocracy, and football players who need to learn how to behave themselves. But perhaps I could coach myself to have more confidence, to feel stronger, better, and to get my future figured out.
I say a prayer, asking for guidance.
It infuses me with renewed energy just as a loud cheering sound comes from my purse across the room.
I startle and wonder if it’s a sign for a split second before I realize, no. It’s not a sign at all, but a mistake.
Declan must have grabbed my phone on the way out of the dining room earlier. I hadn’t noticed because the look he gave me when I’d returned from the ladies’ room woke up something inside of me.
No, it couldn’t be coy curiosity or the purr of interest.
Declan is my best friend and right now we suspended that relationship in place of pretending not to know each other so I can keep my job.
But the way he’d teased and flirted and charmed drew me in like a lion into his den.
Again, I should know better. The man cannot resist making a ruckus. Then the look he’d given me on his way out of the dining room sent a flurry of Cinderella’s bluebirds aloft in my belly. With excitement, they swirled and dipped. But it’s time they go back to make-believe-land because Declan Printz is a tease, a flirt, and a charmer. He’s like this with everyone.
I’m not special. I’m just his friend.
I bound out of bed to silence his cell phone, but it’s a much newer model than mine, and I can’t find a button to stop it frombuzzing. Text message notifications from women with names like Tess, Kate, and Candi scroll across the screen. There are also a few from guys whose names I recognize from the moon-gate article and one from my number.
This means Declan has my phone.
I press my hand to my forehead. Am I alive? Is this an alternate reality? Could things get more twisted up?
Never mind. I did not have that thought. No, I did not.
I try his old password—my birthday. To my surprise, it works. He still has my contact saved asMy Oh Mags. He’d entered his into my phone, which he now has, years ago with the nameThe Declan Printz.And yes, my password is his birthday.
My Oh Mags: Heyyy. What are you doing? This is Declan, in case you haven’t figured out by now that we switched phones.
The Declan Printz: I’m lying in bed after a painfully long day with a face mask saturating my soul.
My Oh Mags: Are we just us now? You’re off the clock.
