Page 39 of Kiss Me Tonight

In the three months since footage was leaked to the media, just after filming wrapped up in Bali, my life has been shoved under a microscope in ways I never fathomed were possible. And in the month sincePut A Ring On Itbegan airing every Wednesday night, my name has trended online continuously.

No wonder the pillars of Hollywood shake and crumble on the regular, until fresh blood pops up to stabilize the crippling foundation of bone-weary celebrities. Three months of putting up with this shit and I’m already done for life.

When I finally reach the bar, I flag down Shawn, who’s sweating at the temples and looking totally frenzied.

“What?” he snaps as he pours wine into a glass, then shoves it into the hand of a waiting customer.

“I heard this place has a closed-to-the-public courtyard out back.”

He sends me a look that would cut a lesser man at the knees. “So?”

Hands on the bar, I lean forward so he can make out every word: “So, hand over the key and let me lead the parents away from your regular patrons.”

Shawn’s brows tug together, just as someone shouts, “Hey, man! Where’s my whiskey?”

That’s all the convincing the bartender apparently needs because he reaches for the keys hooked onto his belt and shoves them in my open palm. “Five bucks a pop,” he says, before I can call out to the masses to retreat to the back. “Half of them aren’t drinking anything but tap water, and if the boss comes in tomorrow to find out that I let them all stay without—”

“Add it to my tab,” I cut in, tossing the keys up in the air and re-catching them. “I’ll get a head count before the meeting’s over and you can charge me for it.”

His dark eyes widen. “You sure? That’s a whole lot of money.”

I shoot a glance to the crowd. It’s utter pandemonium.

Levi should have picked any other night but a Friday for this—and she’s not even here to deal with the fallout.

“Yup, just do it.” I clap my free hand down on the bar top, then pull away. “If you’ve got a microphone or something back there, make the announcement.”

“I’ll do you one better.”

The next thing I know, Shawn is hauling his aging body up onto the bar and hollering for all London High football parents to follow the “Hulk” to the exclusive courtyard. I can’t help but grin. Back in my LSU days, my teammates always called me the Hulk. Even among football players, I’ve always been on the big side.

Sure enough, though, Shawn’s unconventional methods do the trick.

Like lemmings being led straight into the unknown, the parents fall into line behind me. Past the swinging doors that open up to the men and women’s bathrooms on either side of me, a narrow hallway leads directly out into the courtyard.

A pergola, with lights strung up along the oak wood, catches my eye first. Then a full-bodied, clay chimenea that sits dormant and dark, off to the right. There’s a motley number of patio furniture—nowhere near enough to account for the fifty or so people who have shown up for the meeting tonight—but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Find a spot!” I bark out, motioning as I turn for everyone to get their asses in gear.

If Levi wanted this meeting to be eloquent, she should have shown up.

For the third time since I arrived, I pull my phone out of my jeans’ pocket and check for a missed text or a call.

Nothing.

Again.

As I wait for everyone to situate themselves, I fire off a quick message to her:

Me: Where the hell are you?

Worry pierces me for a quick second while a million possibilities skip through my brain. Maybe she got in a car accident? Is something wrong with Topher? Did something happen from the time she left practice earlier today till now? It’s only been six hours, give or take, and while six hours doesn’t seem like nearly long enough for a catastrophe to go down . . .

My fingers fly over the glass screen one more time.

Me: You and the kid okay?

Then I pocket my phone and focus on the parents of my players. Players who, in the five days that I’ve had them running drills for three hours every morning, have come to mean something to me.

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