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But Haven hangs back, tugging on my hand, suddenly uncertain. “Conner?”
I wait.
She’s frowning, her brow furrowed.
Then she relaxes and wrinkles her nose with a mischievous grin. “I’m starving. Feed me and I’ll follow you anywhere.”
I rest my hand on her lower back as I lead her through the door. “I plan to hold you to that.”
Chapter17
Haven
“You are SO FAMOUS!” Sophie crows for about the tenth time today. “Here’s another article. I’ll send you the link.”
With a groan, I drop my head to the desk, still cupping the pair of dice I like to roll around in my palm when I’m anxious. My father carried them around for years, a souvenir from his earliest east side days. The dice make a comforting sound as they clack together. This brand new onslaught of internet infamy has been impossible to ignore and it’s only been eighteen hours since I walked into the West Emerald Country Club on Conner’s arm.
He warned me this level of scrutiny should be expected once we went public. He’s Conner freaking Wiseman. If he sneezes, a national media frenzy erupts. There’s constant speculation over who he’s romantically linked to. And last night Conner beckoned to the first paparazzi punk who stepped in our path and said, “Make sure you get some good shots of my girlfriend.”
Then, before I could say a word, Conner slid a hand up my back, dipped my body in a mock ballroom dance move and landed a passionate kiss on my lips.
Pandemonium ensued.
A swarm of giddy celebrity stalkers screamed questions and snapped endless photos. Conner, who is used to such hysteria, took the attention in stride, hamming it up for the crowd by kissing me repeatedly, nuzzling my neck and keeping one protective arm around my waist.
His arm stayed stubbornly around me all evening. I was introduced to everyone. His coaches, his teammates, their wives. Dozens of curious eyes stayed on us wherever we went. Those hours had a very Cinderella At The Ball feeling and I was glad I’d taken Tess and Dani up on their offer to help me shop for an evening gown. The color of the dress was a luscious deep purple with a halter style top. Below the fitted waist the fabric fell in smooth folds to the ground. Conner started salivating the minute he saw me wearing the dress. Once we were finally alone in his bedroom he fucked me roughly from behind while I still wore it.
Conner treats me like a princess. A filthy princess who enjoys getting destroyed by big cock and tongue fucked until she screams. But a princess just the same.
I slept soundly in his arms until the early dawn of a summer morning pierced the window shutters. Maybe I should have known I’d be waking up to a social media storm.
Now, as I press my forehead to the desk and curse the inventor of the internet, there’s a ping on the phone inches away from my ear. I lift my head to see it’s just Sophie ’s latest link. The sixth one she’s sent since flouncing in here an hour ago to park herself on the sofa. So far I’ve been christened ‘Conner’s Mystery Girl’, ‘Diva in Purple’ and the notably gag worthy ‘Temptress of the Football King’.
But now they’ve discovered my name.
“Conner Wiseman stunned his fans when he attended the annual Emerald City Cyclones banquet with a raven-haired beauty. The popular quarterback is known for playing the romantic field so it was shocking for observers to spot him cozied up with an unknown woman.
But Conner Wiseman’s new girlfriend is a mystery no more!
According to our sources, Haven Marchenko is the daughter of notorious east side mobster Aric Marchenko, who is currently serving time in the Central State Correctional Facility. The entire Marchenko crime family has come under scrutiny in recent years in connection with a rash of illegal gambling rings and rumored acts of extreme violence…”
I stop reading and flip the phone face down.
“Shit.”
On top of cringing over the notoriety, there’s a pang of disquiet.
We live in an era of guilt by association. Conner’s image as everyone’s favorite football hero is bound to get bruised as a result of being linked to my dumpster fire of a family.
When my phone pings again I’m unsurprised to see a message from Conner. Despite today’s angst, the smile on my face is automatic. The hours I’ve been away from him already feels like eternity.
He has sent a photo, the one where he’s dipping me in his arms on the red carpet. Our mouths are joined and our eyes are closed.
My fingertips touch my lips, both reliving and missing the taste of his kiss.
A text message follows.
Miss you, angry girl.
