“Where are you going?” I ask as she walks to the den and grabs her backpack, stuffing her laptop and phone inside. Part of me isn’t ready for her to run off. I liked breakfast. I like talking. “You look cute in shorts and heels.”
“Need to check on Myrtle, and these clothes will have to do until I get more.” She makes her way to the door while I tag along. She pauses and glances at a shivering Pookie at her feet, then down at a pair of expensive Italian leather loafers. I already tossed the three-hundred-dollar sneakers into the laundry room. I have no clue if I can even wash them, but I can’t seem to bring myself to care.
She winces. “I took her out earlier, but she’s a nervous wreck, and she might pee again. I guess I can run down real quick—”
I open the door for her. “I’ll take her down. Go see your friend.”
Her phone pings with a text, and she looks at me warily. “It’s Elena asking how my classes are. She must be up early in Hawaii or hasn’t even gone to sleep yet. I’ll call her later and tell her about the fire.”
I see the problem right away. “Don’t mention you’re staying here.”
She nods quickly. “Mum’s the word. Jack will never know. I’ll be gone before they get back.”
“Right.” I stick my hands in my pockets and follow her to the elevator and push the button for her, eyeing her legs. “Is your ankle all right?”
“Fine.”
“Knees?”
“Good.”
“Any more bad dreams?”
“No.”
I heave out a breath. “Giselle. About this Mike guy . . .”—who I don’t like on principle—“instead of rushing out for a fling with him, why don’t you let me find you a nice guy? Not Aiden, not any football player, and not any guy on the app.”
The elevator opens as we stare at each other.
She frowns. “Not Lawrence.”
Fuck no. Lawrence is a woman-eater of the first order. “Let me work on it, okay? I have someone in mind.” I think.
She stares at the floor, then back up at me. A strange expression flits over her face, and I think it’s disappointment.
“Whatever. You find him, and I’ll meet him.”
Relief wafts around me. I dangle Red’s key, the extra one I grabbed from the foyer. “Well, if you’re gonna do the walk of shame to my lobby, at least drive a badass car.”
“We slept together because of my dream!”
“Uh-huh. The valet’s name is Richard. Password to drive my ride is ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me.’” No one drives her but me, but because Aiden begs to drive it when he’s over, I made up a silly password to taunt him with, and he keeps trying to guess it and approach the valet.
I laugh and toss her the keys. She catches them, her eyes wide. “Devon! Are you sure?”
I usher her into the elevator and push the button for the lobby. “Can you drive a stick?”
“Was driving a tractor when I was ten.”
I wince. “Not quite the same, baby, but I trust you. Bring her back in one piece, and I’ll tell you why I kissed you.”
She sputters just as the door shuts in her face.
After letting Pookie have another pee, I leave the penthouse, stopping at the valet’s desk and asking for the Hummer to be brought around. I add Giselle’s name to the list of people allowed up the elevator in case she comes back when I’m not here and can’t recall the code. Security is tight around here, one of the many reasons I bought it from Jack.
I’m sliding into the car when a man across the street calls my name. I’m used to people seeing me around town and asking for autographs if they bump into me, but he’s not the usual fan. Shaved head, tattoos, work boots, and a determined grimace plastered on his face as he holds up traffic to reach me. I eye the car he was leaning against. Blacked-out sedan.
“Mr. Walsh!” he yells as he runs across the parking lot to the overhang of the hotel.
I’ve been mauled by women and bombarded after games by overzealous fans who’ve managed to get on the field, but I don’t hang around for strange dudes who drive dark cars. Living with my father has taught me to be on the defensive, and coupled with the stardom, I’m a paranoid fuck. How does he know where I live? Because he wasn’t just walking past. No, he was waiting.
I lock the door and pull out in the opposite direction, glancing in my rearview mirror. He’s standing with his feet apart, hands on his hips. He kicks at a piece of the asphalt with his boots. It’s not hard for my head to wonder if this guy is related to the men looking for my dad. Annoyed, I pull over a few blocks later and send a text to check on my dad, but he doesn’t reply.