Page 15 of Not a Perfect Save

“Well, Ma’am, Sir. Ella did her own rescuing,” Connor says, blushing a little. I take a sidelong glance at him, surprised he admits it. After all that spin from Dan, Jessica, and the press, it’s kind of chivalrous for him to confess that since it would have been easy for him to take the credit.

“Ella?” Hannah blinks once, twice. Her attention shifts to me for the first time. The rest of the family mirrors her surprised expression.

“No way.” This comes from Hank.

I hide my scowl and shrug. “Guess those self-defense lessons finally paid off.”

“I guess they did.” Dad eyes me thoughtfully, then turns to Connor. “My Ella-Bella didn’t want to take dance classes with her sister.”

Yeah. Coz I sucked.

“I’m sure you’re just being nice.” Hannah finds Connor’s bicep. The makeshift smile falls off my face and I dart a look at Hank. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with his fiancée caressing another man, given he’s ogling Connor the same way. Hannah begins to stroke Connor’s arm, her fingers running up and down his tailored sleeve. I think she’s about to offer to star in a three-way, which Hank obviously wouldn’t mind.

I pretend my legs are giving out, and Connor jerks out of her grip to catch me.Predictable, Boy Scout. Right on target.

Mom gasps and steps forward, also reaching out a hand. “Honey, you need to come home with us. You can’t go back to your apartment.”

“Mom, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Of course, my plan to disengage my sister from Connor has backfired on me.

“No, you aren’t,” my father says, crossing his arms over his chest, his lips tightening.

“Dad,” I growl.

Mom wrings her hands. Like, truly wrings her hands. “Ella…”

“You’re coming home with us, young lady.” This comes from Dad.

“No, I’m not.” I can look after myself.Or die trying.The last thing I need is to have my parents coddle me, tempting as it is right now. I lived with them until six months ago—at twenty-four years old, that was kind of pathetic. But working for myself as a vintage clothing restorer isn’t the most lucrative profession. Mom and Dad have always been overprotective, and they’d be thrilled for any excuse to have me home. But I get my stubbornness from somewhere, and I can tell Dad’s about to dig in his heels.

“Then who’ll take care of you?” Mom asks.

I open my mouth to argue that I was perfectly capable of looking after myself, but in that same second, a rough voice says, “I will.”

I gape in tandem with the rest of my family as I whip around, eyebrows to my hairline. I’m about to contradict Connor, but the words that emerge from my mouth are, “That’s what friends do. Look after each other.”

“Is that right?”Oh, no.I know that tone. Mom’s already mentally measuring him for a wedding tuxedo.

The throbbing in my head increases a thousandfold when Hank and Hannah’s gazes turn predatory. My sister only confirms it by saying, “Friends? You know, if you stay at home, I’m sure yourfriendwill come visit.”

And she and her fiancé will camp at my parents’ place for the duration. I shudder.

Hank’s smile resembles a shark’s as he tacks on, “Well, any friend of Ella’s is a friend of ours.”

At this point, I will happily throw myself back into the melee of photographers still milling about to escape my family. I never thought I’d be so glad to see Dan signaling Connor from beside the stage. “Hey, I think we’re needed back over there.” I grab Connor’s hand and tug.

We saygoodbye to my family, and Connor helps me hobble along, his hand resting on my lower back. It’s a brand on my tingling skin.

As soon as we are out of earshot, he leans low, his breath warm against my ear, “So that was your family.” It’s a statement more than a question.

I nod, eyes trained straight ahead.

“And you didn’t want to call them last night.” Again, not a query.

Before he can persist with his non-questions, two other giants intercept us. Connor introduces them as his closest friends and teammates, Logan Barnes and Jake Cunningham.

Meanwhile, Dan is still flailing wildly. Connor grits his teeth and shoots a frustrated glance at his agent before turning to me, his expression stern. “Stay here,” he orders, displeased at this interruption.

“Sir, yes, sir,” I say, giving him a salute.

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