“You need to get dressed,” she says, throwing her phone on her bed. “My father is on his way here.” She runs around the room, talking to herself again.
“Why does this happen to me?” She walks to the bathroom, then comes back into the bedroom. “I should have gone with my gut.” She continues while she picks up my boxers that are lying on the floor the minute the doorbell rings. Her face goes whiter than white. “Oh. My. God.” She throws my boxers at me while she walks to the window and looks outside. “It’s my father.” And she ties her hair on top of her head, pacing the room. “Oh my God, this is horrible. Get dressed. Meet me downstairs.” And she runs out of the room, down the stairs, yelling, “Coming.”
I run my hands over my face, grabbing my boxers and putting them on with the basketball shorts that I put on the bedside table last night. I walk down the stairs into the living room. I stop in the doorway when I take in that it isn’t just Karrie’s dad, but it’s the coach and Robert, all sitting there, their eyes landing straight on me.
“Well, look at this,” Karrie’s dad, Doug, says, folding his arms over his chest, but I don’t say anything because the door opens again with Mindy, the PR girl, coming in.
She stops at the doorway, looking me up and down, taking me in. “Perhaps you could put on a shirt.” I hear Karrie from the side of the room sitting next to her father, her knee bouncing with nerves.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Mindy says, walking into the room, taking the remote, and turning on the television.
“It looks like the bad boy has come out to play in New York.”
The second I hear the broadcaster’s voice on the television I look up and see that they have a picture of me sitting on top of a bar with my shirt off, a blonde straddling my lap while she pours tequila down my throat, my hands in the air.
“These pictures were leaked from a credible source and my question is what is Doug going to do now?”
Mindy turns off the television while everyone in the room turns to me. Robert is shooting daggers at me. Doug has steam ready to blow out of his ears, and Coach is sitting back on the couch, his leg moving in the beat of Karrie’s leg also.
“This is a fucking nightmare,” Doug says, then addresses Karrie. “I thought you could handle him.”
“Watch it,” I say before I can even think that I’m talking to my boss, and her father. His eyebrows move up, surprised while I continue, “This isn’t Karrie’s fault in the least. Let me see those pictures,” I tell Mindy, knowing full well she has them in the bag she is carrying, and I’m not mistaken. She takes out a folder, opening it, and giving me about fifteen pictures, all of different spots. One is with me standing on the bar, my hands in the air, my hair slicked back. One is me sitting on a bar stool, picking up my shirt to show my abs. I look at the same picture that they posted on the television screen. I give the pictures back to Mindy, who smirks at me.
“We need to diffuse the situation,” Mindy says. “We can say he snuck out.”
“Bullshit,” I say. “I was here all night long. Those pictures were taken more than three years ago, maybe even four.”
They all stop talking and look at me. Robert is the first one to talk. “How can you be sure?”
“My tattoo.” I point to the tattoo that I got across my ribs. “I got this the summer three years ago. In the picture you can see I don’t have it. Call bullshit on their pictures. Let them get the ‘credible source.’ I bet they can’t come up with one.”
Karrie gets up and walks over to my side. “He’s been nothing but on his best behavior. I can guarantee that he didn’t go anywhere last night because he went up to bed before me and I slept on the couch, so if he had left I would have heard him. Now,” she continues, “I need coffee.” She looks up at me, making me smile. “You want one?”
“Yup, I do,” I say, following her out of the room while I listen to the four of them start talking to each other. “Babe,” I whisper to her when we are out of earshot, but she shakes her head and walks to the kitchen, getting the coffee going. I go to the fridge, getting the orange juice out and drinking from the container.
“Matthew, is getting a glass too much work for you?” she snaps at me while she grabs a glass and hands it to me.