Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend 4)

“I fell in love with him before I knew I was attracted to him. Does that even make sense?”

Damon smiles. “Makes total sense.”

My phone buzzes with another notification, and when I look, it’s my agent’s firm again.

“What now?” Damon asks while I scroll through the email.

“Alan’s been busy. This one’s a copy of my contract from the Touchstone legal department with a whole bunch of ugly yellow highlighter everywhere. Either they dropped the whole contract in a vat of highlighter ink or they’re telling me all the trouble I’ll get myself into if I threaten to fire Alan again.”

Damon huffs. “I hate agents like yours. I understand he wants to get paid, but ultimately, our job is to do what’s best for you, not your bank account.”

Lennon nods. “That’s exactly why you’re going to be one of the biggest agents in the industry.”

“I’ve been super lucky in scoring the big names I have,” Damon says, “but my bosses keep telling me I need to grow my client list. I’m worried the more clients I have, the more neglectful I’ll become, like them. I don’t know where the perfect balance is.”

“Well, if I’m getting out of this iron-clad contract, I’ll be coming your way, but I don’t like my chances.”

“Can I look?” Damon asks. “I went to law school so I could understand the contracts I get all my clients to sign. If I find any loopholes you can use, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks. What do you suggest I do until then?”

“There’s not much you can do. You could always go above his head to his superiors.”

“He’s a partner in the firm.”

“I’d go there in person if that’s the case. Talk to his other partners. If you can’t get out of the firm’s contract, you might be able to get a different agent who’s better at handling the big issues.”

Damon’s right. I need someone who’ll spin my sexuality in a positive light, which means I need to come out to the partners too.

“Their offices are in L.A,” I say.

I still remember the day Alan came to scout me at USC. I thought I was hot shit. Okay, who am I kidding—I still think that—but it’s different now, because football isn’t my only goal anymore.

Damon shrugs. “Up to you if you want to go all that way, but it’ll get done faster if you’re there in person breathing down their necks. Ten bucks says they’ll give you the email runaround if you’re not there face-to-face. You might want to sort it before the season starts too, so you can focus on the more important things like football. That’s what I’d do, personally, but you also need to talk to Miller about where you’re going from here.”

Damon’s right. Touchstone will make an appointment for me if I push, but they’re likely to ignore emails. Even if I am their biggest client. “Looks like I’m going to L.A.”

First, I need to stop by a little house on Staten Island.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

MILLER

“How’d it go?” Mom asks as soon as I walk in the door. She looks behind me, expecting to see Talon. “Where’s—”

Her words stop short when she takes in my expression.

“What happened?”

I shake my head, because I still don’t know myself. “I freaked out.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

Mom gives me that look—the one that tells me to stop bullshitting her. I saw that same expression countless times when I was a teenager and I’d done the wrong thing.

“I think it was just too much. What happens when it doesn’t work out?”

“When …”

It takes a second to realize what I’d said. “If. Whatever.”

“No, no. Your slip says a lot.”

Shit, maybe it does.

I’m too wiped to get into this with her. “I’m gonna go lie down.”

I’m thankful Mom doesn’t follow me. I collapse on my bed face-first and bury my head in the pillow. If I could stay here for the rest of my life, that’d be sweet. Thanks, universe.

Continuing to hide from the world won’t fix anything.

Ugh. Shut up, guilty conscience.

Walking away from the article felt freeing for about half an hour. Somewhere in the middle of New York Harbor, as I passed the Statue of Liberty, guilt took over the fear.

I didn’t handle the hotel situation well at all. Maybe I should’ve said something sooner, or maybe I should’ve just swallowed it all down and did the interview. We had the option to pull it before publication if we weren’t ready.

About one hour and countless thoughts of “What the fuck am I doing?” later, there’s a knock on the front door, and Talon’s voice drifts down the hall as Mom lets him into the house.

He appears in my bedroom doorway looking sheepishly hot.

Can’t he look devastatingly exhausted just once in his life?

Double ugh.

“Hey,” I say sleepily even though I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t with everything running through my head.