Page 113 of The Penalty

Maxim cleared his throat loudly. “I. Am. Right. Here.”

I flung a pillow at my best friend. “Stop.”

A boisterous laugh echoed through the room. “When did the two of you become such prudes? Max knows I’d never do anything. And you—” he threw the pillow at my head “—haven’t said one word about what happened with that photo. You’re a minor celebrity in England.”

Right. The photo of Xavier and I from after the game in Paris.

It went viral and got picked up by several tabloids in the U.K. Apparently dating England’s number one can’t be kept a secret forever. Not that we were hiding it.

My social media following shot through the roof. Captioning it Mon amour probably sped up the whole process. So did posting the picture of him from our late afternoon tryst at his childhood soccer field. I’d captioned that one He’s a keeper with a blue heart emoji. People ate it up.

“It was bound to happen.” I shrugged.

Killian propped his head on his hand. “You’re so blasé about it. I’d be terrified of a stalker or something.”

“That’s what Marcus is for,” I responded, trying to sound unbothered. Not sure if I succeeded.

My best friend eyed me with interest. “Does he still drive you everywhere?”

“Yep.”

“But your car is fixed.”

“I know.”

“Then tell him to go take a long walk off a short pier. You’re a big girl. You can drive yourself to work.”

“Babe.” Max’s tone was stern. “Leave her alone.”

“I almost forgot,” I said, ignoring them. “I bought you something Parisian.”

Killian’s face lit up. A small part of me felt bad when I handed him the gift bag.

He dug out the present, tossing tissue paper to the floor. His exuberant expression fell.

“Why?” He glowered, holding up the little mime statue.

“It’s whimsical.”

“You’re a heathen.” The way Killian tossed it over to Max reminded me of when we played hot potato as kids.

“It’s a mime not a spider.” I took it from Max and put it on the table. “See? It’s just like you. Expressive, almost to a ridiculous degree.”

Winston galloped over and jumped on the couch next to me. I scratched him behind the ears. “Mind if I take him outside?”

Winston tilted his head and stared at me. I haven’t met a dog yet who doesn’t get excited by outside.

“Please. And take your time.” Killian grabbed the leash for me. “Make sure he doesn’t get into anything gross.”

“Yes, your grace. The little prince shall have his paws wiped after every step.”

“The sarcasm isn’t necessary.”

“But it is fun.” I blew a kiss and headed to the elevator.

On cue, Marcus appeared at the front door when I walked outside. Clad in a designer suit with his hands clasped behind his back, he looked like a rogue Secret Service agent. Or an assassin. Either way, totally intimidating.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve gotten used to the quiet, statuesque man following me around.

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