Page 98 of Kiss Me Tonight

I don’t remember reading the contract I signed well enough to know if sleeping with a coworker is on the Don’t Do This list. I’ll have to look for my copy, which is somewhere in my house buried beneath all sorts of equipment in prep of Nick coming up this weekend to help with some of the major renovations.

“You two are getting along surprisingly well,” Brien drawls, finally taking his seat. “Which is yet another reason why you can’t quit, DaSilva. One pap isn’t gonna make a difference down the line.”

“It’s never only one, though.” Hands on my thighs, I inhale sharply. “They’re like vultures circling. They show up at your house, at your gym,inyour gym. Thanks to thatCelebrity Tea Presentsasshole, they all know I’m here in London.”

“Celebrity Tea Presents?” asks Levi, her brows raised in question. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.”

“It’s a him,” I say. “An anonymous himbut a him nonetheless.”

Brien swivels his chair toward the desktop monitor. His fingers fly across the keyboard—he taught typing here at London High before moving over to the sports department—before he exclaims, “Here we go.Celebrity Tea Presents. First thing that pops up on Google.”

“No surprise there,” I mutter. “He’s the leech on all of Hollywood.”

“Uh, guys?”

At Brien’s uneasy tone, I jerk my gaze up. “What is it?”

He doesn’t say a word, only turns the monitor so both Levi and I can get a good look at the screen. One glimpse of the headline and my stomach sinks like a rock free-falling down to the bottom of the ocean.

“Celebrity Tea Presents:BREAKING NEWSIsPut A Ring On It’sDominic DaSilva Mending His Broken Heart By Sleeping with A Married Woman?”

Silence permeates the office for only a half-second before Levi’s voice fills it. Only, it’s not Levi sitting next to me who’s talking but a clip of her on the computer screen: “Not to cut this heart-to-heart short, but I’ve got about a gazillion other things I’d rather be doing. Talking to you is not one of them.”

The footage cuts to her livid expression—blazing blue eyes, pursed mouth, furrowed brows—before swerving down and zooming in on the concrete, as though the person with the camera is taking off.

Beside me, Levi scoots to the front of her seat, bracing her hands on the desk. “How did he get that I’mmarried? I haven’t even worn my wedding band in three years.”

Three years. Is that how long it’s been since she decided to divorce Clarke? As much as I want to pause the conversation and ask, I cut straight to the chase: “I doubt the pap even knows who you are. It’s clickbait, simple as that. The dude that showed up here probably sent whatever he had over toCelebrity Tea Presentsthe minute he left the school. Then Mr. Anonymous Asshole himself whipped together an article he knows will stop people mid-scroll.”

Her fingers curl into a fist. “Adam, read the rest.”

My college buddy winces. “I don’t think I should.”

“Yes, you should.” Levi stares him down, unblinking. “Or I’ll come over there and read it for myself.”

Scratching his ear, Brien sighs. “You’re as stubborn as your dad was, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now read.”

Hand to the monitor, Brien angles it toward him. “Okay. Buckle up, kiddos, here we go.” With a click of his mouse, he leans forward and clears his throat. “Dear Reader, let me start off by saying YOU ROCK! I put out the call, hoping that one of you might be able to find out more deets on our favorite football player, Dominic DaSilva, and not only did one L.A. native come through but he did so in style!” Brien glances over at me. “At least you’re his favorite football player?”

Unceremoniously, I scratch my forehead with my middle finger. “You’re more than welcome to take my place whenever you want.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” He scrunches his nose, ducking his head out of the way like he’s trying to avoid the curse of my middle finger. “Okay, where were we?”

“Finding out why the hell they think I’m married,” Levi cuts in, tension radiating from every inch of her. “Hopefully sometime before I turn thirty-eight.”

Brien quirks a half-smile. “How close are you?”

“Stop procrastinating, will you?”

He leans his head one way, cracking his neck, then does so in the other direction. “Sorry, I’m one of those people whohatesawkwardness. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard.” As if sensing our mutual impatience, he breaks down. “Fuck it, okay! Okay. You asked for it. He then writes,According to our source, who flew all the way to London, Maine, in the name of spilling the tea, DaSilva is romantically involved with the woman seen in the video posted above. Who is she? Our source didn’t get her name, but a little reverse image search, tagged with some online digging from yours truly, reveals her name to be Aspen Clarke, wife of Richard Clarke. If you’re like me and thinking, who the F is Richard Clarke? Never fear, Google is here to save the day. Clarke is the long-time general manager of the Pittsburgh Steelers, and, are you ready for some extra hot TEA? At one point, DaSilva was even in talks with the Steelers for a trade. Our source claims he witnessed both DaSilva and Aspen at a local hotspot over the weekend. Picture of the very obvious canoodling session is below. Now, before I wrap up our daily dose of hot football gods, may I just add . . . the tea may be spilled but a scandal is a-brewing, ladies and gents. Stay tuned for more updates. Also . . . Savannah Rose who?”

Brien hasn’t even stopped reading before I breathe out, “For fuck’s sake.”

Is nothing sacred anymore? Is there no place in the world that a guy can escape to without having to worry about being stalked by a hoard of fame-seeking assholes? More importantly, who the hell is willing to bend their morals so badly that they’ll gladly ruin an innocent woman’s life for the sake of clicks on a virtual page?

Levi doesn’t deserve this shit.

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