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“But Amber Hope is…” She’s the biggest superstar on the planet. The fact that he even knows Amber Hope is almost more than I can handle. I knew he was famous but this…
“Are you saying I’m not good enough for Amber Hope?”
The look on his face. Yikes.
“No. No. No. Of course not. It’s just—she’s so successful.”
He flinches. The hole I’m digging is getting deeper and filling with water. Mentioning her success was perhaps a bit harsh, especially after his loss on Sunday. I didn’t mean to compare him to her. Amber Hope is more successful than virtually everyone.
I try to backtrack. “You and Amber Hope. That totally makes sense. You’ll have such beautiful babies. Athletic and musically gifted. What a jackpot.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “We’re just friends.” I clench my lips together to stop myself from rambling more. He shakes his head and says, “I’m going to take a shower.”
He stalks out of the room without another look in my direction.
I put my head in my hands. How could I let my fangirl status overtake my common sense? I drop my hands and vow to regroup. My first order of business is cleaning up this mess.
THREE
SLATER
It must be worse than I thought.
Cam might have fed me some bullshit about Kelsey’s sister needing something to do, and he might have even been telling the truth, but I know he didn’t send her here to help her out. He sent her so I’m not alone.
He’s never interfered in my daily life before, which means he’s more worried than I thought. He’s been calling constantly to check on one thing or another. I thought he was worried about my marketability, not my stability.
I feel different this time, sure, but I thought I’d managed to keep that to myself.
I step into the scalding spray. Ellie’s wrong about the showering thing. I’ve been showering every day. Brushing my teeth, too. I haven’t done much else, though.
Yesterday I spent the whole day watching game film from when I was in college. I can’t believe I was ever that young. Naïve. Hopeful.
The funny part is that I wasn’t particularly good back then. I took my first option, or threw the ball away on virtually every play. I rarely got picked off because I avoided contested receivers. I rarely got sacked because I threw the ball before I could take the hit.
There was a reason I was the last pick in the first round of the draft.
Now I’m the player I always wished I’d be—physical, tough, and able to get the ball where it needs to be. Except in the big games, or when the pressure rises.
I look longingly at my razor as I step out of the shower. I hate the scruff but it’s a necessity if I want any peace and quiet. No one expects me to be in this city. Add in the facial hair and I can usually go out in public without being mobbed by fans or cursed at by haters. Although, I haven’t left my apartment since I arrived on Monday night, so not shaving for the last four days has been a bit of a waste.
Fifteen minutes later, I reenter my living room to discover it spotless. I’ve never seen it look so clean.
Water bubbles on the stove. Ellie stands at the counter with her back to me while she chops a red pepper and hums one of Amber’s songs. It’s weird having her in my apartment. And it’s even weirder that she’s made herself at home in my kitchen. What kind of person comes into a stranger’s house and starts cutting up vegetables?
She’s too focused on chopping to notice me, so when I pull open the fridge, she yelps and drops the knife on the counter.
She glances over and recovers her composure with a quick smile. “I’m making lunch. You have an impressively stocked fridge.” She picks up the knife and goes back to chopping.
“Cam had groceries delivered yesterday.” Because I was too lazy to do it myself.
“You cook?” she asks, as if she didn’t clean up the evidence that I’ve eaten nothing but junk all week.
“Not lately.” I’ve been too busy reliving the interception that cost us the game.
“With the amount of food you’ve got, you could host a party.”
I smile weakly. It wouldn’t be much of a party. The only person I know in this city is currently making me lunch.
