Page 79 of Look What You Made Me Do

They didn’t have food. But one of them had a camera. A big ass one. And it took Ella a beat or two with all the dogs and the barking to compute he was taking a picture of her. Multiple pictures if the rapid-fire clicking was any indication.

She blinked. “Umm, can I help you people?”

“Just wanted to ask some questions about the team, Ella,” said the guy without the camera. “You must be pleased with how the Demons are going. This is the kind of publicity your beleaguered school needs, right?”

“I’m sorry.” She frowned. “Who are you? Which outlet are you from?”

“The Herald,” he confirmed.

Ella’s mind blew a little to think the city’s flagship newspaper was interested in their story and what kind of exposure that could give them. But, exposure, she was coming to learn, could be a double-edged sword. “Very pleased,” she said, non-committally and turned to go.

“You’ve done well,” he continued. “Deluca didn’t even have a football team a few months ago and here you are at the playoffs. Kudos to you.”

Ella shrugged, cautious of the flattery. None of it had been her idea and she certainly didn’t want to jinx anything by getting too cocky and running her mouth. “I’m just a math nerd who’s trying to keep her school open for the kids, that’s it.”

“Quite a coup to score the services of Jake Prince. How’d that come about?”

She stiffened at the mention of Jake, the air suddenly feeling ten degrees cooler. And then, as if by just naming him, Jake was by her side. “Don’t answer that,” he said, as he slipped his arm around her waist.

It was a total alpha move but Ella was here for it.

The guy asking the questions smiled as the cameraman went all trigger happy again. “Jake.”

“John.”

The response was terse and Jake’s lips flattened into a hard line in Ella’s peripheral vision.

John?

Was this the John Wilmott that Trish had mentioned yesterday? She guessed it was given the tension as the two men stared each other down. Had this been the Wild West, their hands would be hovering over their pistols.

“What do you think, Jake?” John Wilmott leaned his elbows on the gate, earning a low growl from Genghis. The journalist stood, eyeing the dog warily as he continued. “Is she just a math nerd? You and Ella go back a long way, don’t you?”

“No comment.”

“I don’t suppose while I’m here you’d care to name the mystery woman from all those years ago?”

“No comment,” Jake repeated, his voice utterly glacial.

“What about you, Ella? You and Jake are obviously…” His gaze drifted to Jake’s possessive hold. “Close. Any pillow talk you care to share?”

A bubble of irritation at the impudent question popped behind Ella’s eyeballs at the same time Jake’s hands tightened on her waist. “We’re done here,” he announced as he urged her back up the stairs.

Ella followed without argument, the clicking of the shutter sounding ominously like bullets as they stepped inside the house.

It took two days for the bullets to hit, but at seven minutes past ten on Sunday morning they found their mark squarely between Ella’s shoulder blades. Everyone, except Cam who was still asleep, was out on the porch, eating pancakes that Jake had fixed. Practice was scheduled for the afternoon but for now, nobody had to be anywhere.

The morning was crisp and cold and clear, the sky a dazzling blue, sunshine bouncing off neighborhood roofs and railings and glistening in the water droplets pearling at the ends of bare branches. The dogs were lazing off to one side all fully reclined near the back stairs in a sunny patch, their bellies full of table treats.

The coffee was hot – bourbon laced for Iris and Daisy – and the company was wonderful. Jake had spent the last two nights at the house which had been intense and intimate but also cozily domestic and Ella couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

She should have known things were going too well.

“Uh-oh,” Simon announced, sitting forward in his chair, frowning at his phone.

“What?” Jake asked.

“Herald site,” Simon said, glancing at Jake. “Page five. Not good.”

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