Page 17 of Necessary Roughness

“I’m a fan,” Thomas added, “and I heard about your recent separation.”

Luke shook his head and attempted to return the card to him.

“Thank you,” Luke said, “but that was six months ago, and I’ve already hired a new publicist.”

Thomas refused to accept the card.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said with a smile. “I was referring to your recent breakup. I have to confess, I read about it in the tabloids. I’m single too, recently out of a relationship. Feel free to give me a call sometime.”

Before Luke could reply, Thomas gave a polite nod and walked out of the café.

Great, I thought.More fuel for Luke’s ego. As if he needs it. The man can’t even walk down the street without having people fawn over him. That poor, poor famous man. How difficult life must be.

The waiter arrived with my iced coffee, shaking me from my sarcastic thoughts.

As I sipped my overpriced beverage, I watched as the barista handed Luke’s drink to him.

Luke smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

“Thankyou, Mr. Dalton,” the barista said. “I’m a big fan! And I’m so excited to hear Brett Mercer’s podcast tomorrow—he talks about you all the time!”

Luke froze. His arm remained suspended in mid-air with the paper straw almost touching his lips.

Nice, I thought.That’ll show him. I can’t be silenced! I have fans who want to hear what I have to say.

I could tell that Luke had no idea how to respond. I knew thathe knewthat I could hear their conversation.

One point, Brett Mercer.

Zero points, Luke Dalton.

“Thank you,” Luke said with a strained voice and forced politeness.

“My pleasure!” the barista chirped, completely oblivious to the seething, burning rage that I knew was coursing through Luke’s veins.

Finally, Luke turned and looked at me.

I raised one eyebrow as I slowly—dramatically—lifted my straw to my lips and sipped.

I win.

But suddenly, Luke started walking toward me. I turned, looking behind me to see if there was anyone else Luke might have recognized.

Like an idiot.

But nope. Just me.

Luke was aggressively walking toward me like I was a football, and he was a player on the field.

The star quarterback was ready to punt me off the grass.

All six foot four, two-hundred-and-something pounds of muscle were walking toward me with a serious expression on his face.

I was screwed.

But I forced my face to remain stoic. Even though I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Luke could see right through me.

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