Page 42 of Wrong Score

"I'll tell him to charge me for that and I'll give him a big tip to keep quiet. I don't need a news article out there spreading a rumor about how I massacred a dress in the back of a limo, it wouldn't be good for my antisocial grumpy honey badger image."

He's kidding but it's also a reminder that we're still at odds. He thinks my loyalty is toThe Seattle Sunriseand not to the Hawkeyes like he is.

"Right. That could be bad for your brand," I say, forcing a grin.

"I don’t know what I should do here. Should I walk you up?" he asks, staring up at the four-story apartment building that I live in.

“Don’t pretend that I’m the first girl you’ve had a one night stand in the back of a limo with,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He stands there, his hands in his pockets and stares down at me for a moment. “I’m not a saint, that’s a fair assumption, but that,” he says tossing a thumb over his shoulder, “Was a first for me. What about for you?”

I try to stop the heat from warming my cheeks at the thought of owning one of Bexley Townsend’s first.

“A lady doesn’t give up all her secrets Coach Bex.”

He sucks in his lower lip and nods. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”

"No, that's okay. I've been walking myself home for long enough at this point, and I’m really good at it. Besides, I'm sure Hans will be front and center, ready to read me the riot act for coming home past dark," I say, looking up to Hans' dark window.

The lights are already off in his apartment, which means I may get a pass tonight if I'm really quiet.

"Hans?" he asks, his eyebrows stitching together as if he'd like more information about the man waiting for me to come home.

"He's my grouchy eighty-year-old neighbor," I tell him. "Actually, now that I think about it, I bet you two would get along. Maybe you two can exchange pager numbers."

"How old do you think I am?" he asks, faking insult.

"Too old for me, if I recall."

Then I turn and head up the stairs of my apartment building and down the long walkway.

By the time I input my front door code and push through the unlocked door, I look over my shoulder to find Bex right where I left him, his hands in his pockets, watching me until I enter my apartment building.

As soon as I make it up to my studio apartment, I quickly race to the window and peer down to find Bex in the same place. His eyes turn up to meet mine as if he was waiting to see me safely home. Bex lifts his hand to say goodbye and then turns to climb back into the limo.

The limo pulls off the curb, and with it, my Cinderella night with the anti-prince charming.

Chapter Thirteen

Rowan

I sit down with a sigh at Serendipity's, the café busy with people coming in to get their caffeine and sugar fix, and I’m no exception.

An email comes through from Charles. I already know what he wants.

Rowan, I need an update on the Bex story, ASAP! Or do you need me to take you off this story and put someone else who can do it?

Best regards,

Charles Albright

His email threatens to ruin my appetite for lunch with the girls. If Charles take me off this story, kissing the promotion goodbye will be the least of my worries. I’ll be looking at a demotion, or even worse, looking for a new job. And with Charles being a big fish in the media pond around here, it could hurt my chances at getting another job in sports journalism—or any reporting job, for that matter.

It’s the perfect place to unwind with the girls, a little pocket of warmth where laughter and friendship thrive. It’s been two weeks since that gala night with Bex, a whirlwind of a night that’s left me with enough moments to replay in my mind. But after a few lingering glances from my spot on the stadium seating behind him for the last couple of weeks, there hasn’t been a single word uttered about the night in the limo. Even during last week's out of town games, Bex has been polite but distant in a different way than usual.

As I settle in with my coffee, Keely, Autumn, Cammy and Penelope slide into the booth, all smiles and chatter. Autumn’s the first to notice my distracted expression, her brows knitting together. “What’s up with you, Ro? You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

I force a smile, not wanting to dampen the mood. “Just thinking,” I reply, taking a sip of my latte. “It’s been a busy couple of weeks.”

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