“He’s smart, you know.” When someone dumped him in the parking lot of the beauty shop a year ago, he was near death, wrinkled pale skin that clung to his bones, so weak and thin, barely breathing. I cried the entire way to the vet’s office, begging the heavens to let the little thing live, promising to take care of him forever.
Topher picks up Romeo and gives him a reassuring pet. “Fine, he’s a little bit cute. And even though he has hooves—freaking hooves, okay—I let him get in my thousand-thread-count sheets last night when he was running around looking for you.”
“Did you give him a bath too?”
“Of course. Hog from Hell likes to make a mess, water everywhere. He also chewed up a rubber duck.”
I smile at that, but I’m not feeling it.
“But seriously, Elena, Preston doesn’t see the woman underneath, all this amazing talent you have.”
“Stop.” I smile wanly.
He gives me a tight hug. “Come on; go put on some comfy clothes, and we’ll pile up in my bed upstairs and read. Later, though, I’m taking you out. You should consider a nap, old lady.”
“I’m only six months older than you, and no, please, I do not want to go anywhere. I just want to hermit-crab and stay home.” Plus, I could get some sewing done, especially if I want to really commit and meet with the lingerie company.
He winces. “You can’t. It’s Michael’s birthday. Remember?”
Ugh. I totally forgot. Michael is one of Topher’s friends from Nashville who periodically hangs out with us. He’s straight, but he and Topher go back to high school days.
He gives me a careful look, and I know he’s still gauging my reaction to the engagement, but I paste on a brave face.
I sigh. Maybe I should go out, forget everything, dance myself silly. “I’m never good at nightclub outfits.”
He presses his hand against his chest. “It will be my pleasure to pick out your clothes.”
I study his face, seeing the merriment he’s barely hiding. “Uh-huh. I know that look on your face. Is this shindig one of your themed parties?”
He nods. “I confirmed with Michael yesterday. It’s Grease, baby. I’m John Travolta, and you’re Olivia Newton-John.” He claps, clearly excited.
I wail. “No, please no. I just want to wear regular clothes.”
“Elena Michelle. We are going to party in style because I took care of your wretched pet. You owe me.”
“Don’t you double-name me. You are not Mama.”
But he’s already waltzing up the polished cherry staircase in the hall. “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee, lousy with virginity—”
“You are incorrigible!” I call to his back, but he’s still singing. “And now that song is in my head!”
He pauses at the top of the staircase. “Also, later, I demand to hear all details about Jack Hawke and his sexual prowess. You went a little light on the details.”
“Never gonna see him again, so it doesn’t even matter.”
“Evil woman.” He disappears in his room, and I swoop up Romeo, who’s darted back out of his tent, and plant a big kiss on his face. Everything from last night and the news about the engagement settle like rain clouds on my shoulders. I heave out a sigh. “Romeo, what am I going to do?”
He looks up at me and grimaces.
“I slept with a famous football player,” I tell him. “He stole my panties. Plus, Preston and Giselle are getting married, and I guess . . .” I swallow. “I need to be happy for them. What do you think?” I glance down at him.
You’ve got some serious problems, lady, his eyes say.
Chapter 9
JACK
“The vultures are circling,” Lawrence murmurs next to me as we push through the throng of cameras and reporters inside the press conference room, a place with a long table at the front, a row of microphones at each seat. The crowd parts as we walk in, and I keep my gaze straight ahead. I gave myself a good rousing pep talk in the locker room, and I’m feeling like, okay, maybe, just maybe, I can do this.
I take a seat in the middle, and Coach sits on one side of me, Lawrence on the other.
Devon rushes in the room and jogs to the front, giving me a fist bump. “Fear no more. The favorite is here.” He waves at an attractive reporter close to him. “Hey. Good to see you. Call me sometime.”
She blushes. Yeah, he’s probably tapped that.
“Devon,” I murmur. “You didn’t have to come. But great late entrance. Everyone’s looking.” I feign confidence I don’t have. Something I’ve been doing my whole life.
“My plan, of course.” He waggles his brows and tosses out a wide grin as he rubs his hand across his dark purple-tipped spiked hair. “Plus I look good on camera.”
He sits at the end, slouching down in his seat, and proceeds to give the room a lazy look, winking at anyone who meets his gaze.