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I ball my hands into fists, willing myself not to overreact. It would beso easyto overreact, but with my father watching? No way. Then I’d have to deal with his questions, which always turns into an interrogation. Hazard of the job. He’s interviewed far worse than me, I suspect.
“Guys,” I say in a low voice. “What thefuck?”
“Does she have any friends in the city?” Miles asks.
I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Lucy Page.”
Violet pulls out her phone. Willow peeks over her shoulder, and soon Violet is smiling.
“Got her,” she announces. “According to her social media, she lives in a high-rise condo only a few blocks away.”
“How can you tell?” I demand, stepping forward.
Greyson shoves me back. “Go easy, dude.”
I’m trying not to lose my shit, and they want me togo easy? I cast a glance back at my parents. They’re talking with the Whiteshaws. Meanwhile, fans are beginning to notice me. There are pops of light as their camera flashes go off, documenting my misery.
And then I get an idea.
“Hey, man,” one guy in a Titans jersey calls out. “Great game. Congrats.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. I eye the phone in his hand, and then the ones around me. There’s a younger girl, a teenager, and I zero in on her. “You on social media?”
She stares at me. “Obviously.”
“And you know who I am?”
“I run a fan account for you.”
Oh. That’s… weird.
“Thanks,” I manage. “Can you record me and post it immediately?”
She nods and lifts her phone.
I clear my throat. “Hey, Titan fans. I’m trying to find someone. We’re playing a game of hide and seek in New York City… but I’m at a disadvantage. While I was playing game seven, she snuck off.” I pull up a photo of her on my phone and hold it up. “First one to find her will get two tickets to our next playoff game.”
The girl’s eyes light up. “Can we have any hints on where she might be?”
I nod slowly. “Her friends live in a high-rise a few blocks from here. She’s wearing a red dress. Her name is Melody.”
“Melody,” the girl repeats. “Where should hunters send proof?”
A chill skates down my back. The thought of them hunting her down for me… well, it’s fucking brilliant. The thought ofmehunting her down and stripping her naked is an even better idea.
Back burner.
“Tag me in your social media posts.” I motion for her to end the video.
“Thanks,” I tell the girl.
“Can you sign my boobs?”
I tilt my head. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
She doesn’t look twenty-one.
