Somewhere in the corner of the room, a camera is probably picking up on how disinterested I am. When this series airs, people’s opinions of me will be flying everywhere. They alwaysdo, but it’s usually from sportscasters and fans. This is a whole different ball game.
My love life.
I wait for what seems like a lull in the conversation before I excuse myself. The way Kris’s lips turn down makes me think I interrupted her, but really, she hasn’t stopped talking since we sat. How am I supposed to get a word in edgewise?
I’m sure there’s a mad flurry from the cameraman to shoot me walking into the bathroom, but I don’t dare look around. They better not actually follow me in here. To think I was excited when McNally pitched the idea to me over a year ago. He used words likeheartthrob,good for the team, andgive people a piece of you. But this feels more like an invasion than a tiny sliver of my life. With everything going on, it’s been too much.
I open the door, then lean my back against it, staring up at the fancy chandelier in the middle of the room. Achandelierin the bathroom. This is definitely not my type of place. These are not my people. This is not my girl.
There’s nothing wrong with her, really. Either of them. They’re both gorgeous. They’re flirty. Smart. One of them is a lawyer, and the other works in PR. Which begs the question why they’re on this show. I spot a velvet settee in the corner and have a seat, bowing my head to stare at my lap.
My hands have done a lot of amazing things. Caught touchdowns, lifted big weights, and held Tab’s soot-covered body. I’ll never forget the way she looked up at me, eyes bright where everything else was dark. Her pink lips dusted in gray, except for the creases. “Am I going to die?” she’d asked.
A chill runs up my spine. Yes, my hands have done a lot of good things, but maybe the best of all was bringing her hand to my lips and kissing it. Two seconds later, they put her on oxygen and wheeled her into the ambulance while I watched and Reid texted Micah the update everyone wanted.
How she was even alive, no one knows. They couldn’t find her in the chaos. They had already doused most of the flames when they ran across her body.
I can’t get over it. The look on her face, the state of her body. It irrevocably changed me.
I pull out my phone and text Micah.
Me: How’s she doing?
He knows by now who I’m talking about, and he doesn’t like that I’m interested.
Micah: Aren’t you on a date?
Me: Hiding in the bathroom.
Micah: Great idea. Hide and everything will go away.
Micah: She’s fine, btw.
Me: A little more info than that maybe?
Micah: She’s fine, Newb.
Micah: Ha. My phone knows this is your name now. It started capitalizing it.
I clench my jaw, squeezing my phone until my knuckles ache. He acts like her caretaker, or a guard. I start typing out another text, but I’m interrupted when the door opens. My head snaps up, making sure it isn’t the production crew coming in.
Worse, it’s Kris.
I sit up straighter. “What are you doing?”
She walks toward me, her heels clicking off the marble floors with purpose. “Levi Soucy.” A smirk tears her lips apart. “Are you avoiding me?” She hikes up her dress and straddles me onthe settee, sitting on my thighs. “Or was sex in the bathroom part of your plan?”
My hands start to move of their own accord—because what else do you do when a woman sits on your lap?—but then she breathes out, “Yes, touch me.”
And it’s so fake. It’s so fake I can’t even convince myself it’s anything else.
I retreat and hold her at arm’s length. I search her dress for the microphone, and I place my palm over it, hoping to give us some privacy. “What are you doing?”
“Giving people a show. Somethingyou’renot doing.”
The accusation in her tone pulls at my stomach. I sit up, forcing her off me. “This is all a show to you?”
“Isn’t it a show to you, superstar? So a guy like you can get some scripted pussy? I’m sure you’re not hard up for it. I mean, I’m offering it to you.” She starts to tug at her dress again, pulling it high enough that I can see she’s not wearing panties.
