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America’s Newest Sweethearts
Amber Hope and Slater Jones were spotted yesterday getting cozy outside her New York City apartment. According to sources, the pop princess and football star are completely in love. They shared an intimate hug before entering her building. She was seen whispering in his ear as they swept inside. Is it too much to hope that the BFFs have become something more? #slaterwatch #amberhopeinlove
The incessant vibrating of my phone wakes me up. I have thirty-seven text messages and about a million social media alerts.
I click on the link Judy sent me and cringe as I swipe through the admittedly cozy-looking photos. In the first one, Amber’s wrapped around me like twinkling lights on a Christmas tree. In the next, my head is bent low as she clings to my arm and appears to nuzzle my neck. In the last one, my hand rests on her lower back.
Since we graduated from high school, we’ve worked to keep our public outings platonic. We stand close when we’re being photographed together, but not too close. No hugging. No holding hands. No intentional touching. Amber calls it “the bro zone.”
I didn’t know she was coming to New York, and she forgot I was staying in her penthouse. It was simply bad luck that we were both outside at the same time. She gave me a hug. The street was noisy, so I leaned down to talk to her before ushering her into the building. Neither of us realized we were being watched—although we should have expected it.
My phone rings.
“Judy,” I say in greeting.
“Are you dating Amber Hope?” She never assumes a picture tells a story. She always asks for the facts, and then she doubts what I tell her.
“Friends. We’re still just friends.”
“I assumed that’s what you’d say. What is it about you that makes the media so giddy?” she asks, clicking her tongue. “One little hug and the girl is having your baby.”
I blink and sit up straighter. “Baby?”
“That’s right. Your first.” She pauses, and all I can hear is the tap, tap, tap of a keyboard. “Here it is. A couple of photographs. One from yesterday. One from years ago. And one of Amber on her own last week. You know what baby bump pictures look like.” She doesn’t wait for confirmation. “The caption is brief. It says, ‘Pop star and quarterback are expecting their first child together.’”
I rub my hand across my eyes. “Amber isn’t pregnant. We aren’t having sex, so even if she was pregnant, it wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”
“It would have less to do with you if you refrained from picking her up like a rag doll.”
I cringe. I haven’t seen any trace of paparazzi since I arrived in New York. Still, it was careless of us to embrace in public. “Can you skip to the part where you tell me you’ve already issued a statement? And then you can tell me to avoid Amber in public for a while.”
Amber will take care of the baby rumors. Her people are probably already working on it. According to the gossip magazines, she’s pregnant at least three times a year. One slightly unflattering photo and a recent encounter with a man—not necessarily of a carnal nature—and the rumors start.
She always responds with a statement about how much she enjoys children and says she hopes to have a family someday—emphasis on someday. Then she allows a few photos to surface of her entering or exiting a gym wearing nothing but a sports bra and some shorts. The rumors die quickly once people catch a glimpse of her toned midriff.
“I’ll release a statement,” Judy says. “No more spider monkey moments in public. Denials only go so far.”
I roll my eyes. The only thing Judy enjoys more than cleaning up messes is reminding me I should avoid making them in the first place.
Amber isn’t around when I get off the phone, so I send her a quick text message. She responds with the crying but smiling emoji, so I assume she’s handling things on her end.
I flop onto the couch. I should have left as soon as I spotted her in the street. What was I thinking? I know better than to—I ricochet up. Ellie. What is Ellie going to think when she sees those photos?
She told me she was busy yesterday, but I couldn’t help feeling like she was avoiding me. I had the commercial shoot all afternoon, and then I ran into Amber, so I didn’t have much time to worry about it.
I’m worried now.
I grab my jacket, shove my feet into my shoes, and hightail it down the stairs. I take the alley door and sneak around the back of the building to the opposite block. A quick scan of the street confirms it’s clear of cameras and paparazzi.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and start moving.
I walk the eight blocks to Cam’s place in the freezing cold. Even though I don’t owe Ellie an explanation, I want to give her one. I don’t want any confusion between us. I need her to know I wouldn’t sleep with her and someone else in the same week. She’s the only girl I’ve been with in months, and it seems critical that she know it.
I refuse to examine why it matters so much.
I ring the doorbell and stuff my hands back into my pockets.
“Slater.” Kelsey opens the door with a friendly smile. “Cam is at the office.”
