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“What’s it like to live in a world where you don’t see beyond yourself?” she asked, raising a brow as she held a cup filled with pink liquid in one hand.
“Are you seriously trying to interview me now? I promise you, if anyone finds out I’m here, I’ll file a restraining order against you so fast, your pretty little head will spin.”
Did I need to compliment her when I was threatening her?
“Do you seriously think I’m here for work? That I’m here for you?” she said, shaking her head.
There were grass stains on the knees of her denim overalls and what looked like a bit of dirt on her nose. Was this all a plan to make it appear that she was here on vacation?
“Nice try, sweetheart. Once a bloodsucker, always a bloodsucker. Get back in your car and go home.”
Something crossed over her features, and for a minute, it looked like her eyes were watering. But she quickly hardened, narrowing her gaze at me. The teenager behind the counter, who’d made my sandwich and drink and giggled endlessly just minutes ago, was watching us intently. If I wasn’t mistaken, it looked like she was shooting daggers at me, as well.
What kind of establishment allowed a man to get stalked and then shamed him for it?
“You are so out of line, and you don’t even know it. I hope karma kicks you in the ass. And for the record, I’m not going anywhere. I grew up here, you arrogant prick. So, if you don’t want to see me, I suggest you hightail it out of town. Because in Cottonwood Cove, the Reynolds’ are a bigger deal than you are, hotshot.” She smirked and whipped around, long, brown hair falling down her back.
“Nice try. Go back to the city. There’s no story here.” I couldn’t peel my eyes off her ass as she stormed to the door.
She held her hand high in the air and flipped me the bird as she pushed outside.
What the fuck was this?
I’d only been in Cottonwood Cove for thirty minutes.
How’d she even know that I was here?
I settled back in my chair as the young blonde behind the counter stormed over with a pitcher in her hand and reached for my glass. I hadn’t asked for a refill, but she didn’t seem to care whether I wanted one or not.
She just glared at me as if I were some kind of criminal.
“Do you allow your customers to get harassed by reporters here? Maybe I picked the wrong town to escape to.” I reached for my glass after she set it down.
“I don’t know who you are, but I’ve known Brinkley Reynolds my whole life. She used to babysit me when I was little. And she is a reporter, but she isn’t working at the moment because she lost her job. She just moved back home a few weeks ago. I think you misread that one big time, Mister.”
Brinkley Reynolds. Yes. Now I remembered the name.
Mister? What was I, a hundred years old? I was twenty-fucking-nine. No one called me mister.
I leaned back in my chair as I processed her words.
“Do you know why she lost her job?” I cleared my throat and braced for her answer.
“Some big, famous football player called her out publicly, and her boss let her go. We’re not supposed to talk about it, but here in Cottonwood Cove, we all have one another’s backs. Word gets around, you know? I don’t know who this guy is, because I don’t much care for sports with balls.”
What the fuck did that even mean? She’d ruled out half the sports known to man.
She couldn’t be more than sixteen years old, and she glared at me once more before marching away.
Had I actually gotten this woman fired? It hadn’t been my first time griping about a journalist crossing the line. But I sure as shit didn’t know she’d lose her job for it.
I picked up my phone and texted Drew.
Hey. Remember that reporter I had escorted out of the press conference a few weeks back?
Drew
Not really. I was dealing with my own shit that day, with everyone hounding me about you. What about her?
