London’s face brightened by degrees. Soon, they were smiling at each other, their faces only inchesapart.
Maia moistened herlips.
“London, on the field!” screamedCoach.
With a backward hop, London flipped around and took his place in the last line offour.
Maia followed him out of the tunnel. Her steps were sure, her grip on the mic tight. She made it to the fifty-yard line before she realized where she was. Her name was announced over the loudspeakers. Her mom could probably hear it two blocks away in their run-down double-widetrailer.
Stage fright tried to close her off again, its paralyzing tentacles locking her knees. She touched her cheek, the one spot of warmth on her entire body. London had looked at her like she was something special. She closed her eyes. “Sing for him,” shewhispered.
The first notes of “The Star Spangled Banner” played loud and proud. Maia lifted the mic and hit her cue. She sang as if no one was in the stands and the sidelines were empty except for London Wilder. She moved through the notes like he was the only one watching, and he watched with his dark eyes ringed in molasses, and she was notafraid.
She held the last note, not wanting to give up this time with London—even if it was all in herhead.
The roar of the crowd filled her ears and her heart—if she wanted to, she could have tasted it, the noise was so thick. She’d believed there was more to her than everyone saw—she had carried a jewel inside her whole life. Tonight, with London’s encouragement, she’d thrust it out there for the world to see. And they lovedit.
She owed this to London. He was the reason she made it on the field. She’d have to find a way to repay him for giving her the courage to take a chance onherself.
“Maia! That’s your cue!”
The hissing cut through Maia’s memories right before the curtain whooshed open. She switched the mic on, set the cards in one hand, and presented the smile the magazines had dubbed “America’ssmile.”
“Hello, Titans fans!” She lifted the hand with the cards over her head and waved. The theme song for the animated princess movie she’d starred in piped over the loudspeakers. The movie was set to release in two weeks, but the previews had been playing in theaters for over nine months, skyrocketing her to a level of fame that left her breathless. Getting the lead was the thick, delicious layer of whipped cream on her wonderful life. A life she’d built for herself. A life that didn’t need complications like football players, ex-boyfriends, and memories of soul-to-soulkisses.
“Thank you so much for that warm welcome, but I know you didn’t come to see me … Let’s bring on theTitans!”
Tonight was just another job, and London Wilder was just another bachelor to auctionoff.
Chapter Two
London tuggedat his suit sleeves as he ran through the employee parking lot to the service entrance. Silver Coulter had specifically told him to avoid the reporters out front to save time. He pounded on the green metal door with hisfist.
It popped open to reveal a man dressed in black wearing a headset. He took a quick look at London and placed his finger over the earpiece. “He’s here,” he said into the tiny wire near his mouth. He motioned London inside and took off through the kitchen, where the smell of roasted garlic and butter made London’s stomach growl. They wove in and out of the dozen or so chefs and their assistants. Servers streamed through a screen door, their trays loaded with plates of beautifully showcased food. London followed the plates with his hungry eyes, wishing he’d had time for more than a proteinbar.
“One gluten-free for table seven,” chipped aserver.
“I need a dairy-free mousse for twenty-eight.”
“We don’t do dairy-free mousse—take a fruitbowl!”
London’s eyes wandered over the white chocolate bowls filled with dark chocolate mousse and topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices. His mouthwatered.
“This way, Mr. Wilder.” His escort motioned him through a side door and into a long hallway. They stopped at an entrance marked “backstage.” “We’re here. Uh-huh. Okay.” The man continued to talk to the person on the other end of his mic as he lifted his hands toward London’sneck.
London’s heart rate sped up and his stress hormones spiked as if he were about to take down the runner on the five-yard line or fend off one of his dad’s attacks. Dad had only choked him twice, but that was enough for a guy to remember the feeling of passing out. He smacked the hands away, filling the space with the sound of flesh poundingflesh.
The guy rubbed the back of one hand with the other, the skin an angry red color. “I was going to adjust yourtie.”
The red cleared from his vision and London cringed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t break anything, didI?”
His escort shook out his hand and then fisted and flexed his fingers. “I don’t thinkso.”
“Really, I’m sorry. It’s just, no one touches me. Not without asking permission first.” And even then, he was picky about who he let into his personalspace.
“I get it, man.” He folded his hands under his armpits and stared at the floor as if sent to the corner of theclassroom.
London suspected his skin still stung. “If you ice it, the burn will go away fast.” He felt like such a jerk. This guy couldn’t be more than twenty, and he probably weighed a buck-thirty. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the kitchen and we’ll find a coldtowel.”
