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Stifling the threat of lingering on any more of Easton’s predictions, a little laugh escapes me as Dad looks at me like I’m growing an extra head.

“Just another embarrassing media bookmark of my crappy streak with men. Awesome.” Dad winces at my candor. “Come on, Daddy, we arepress. It’s ironic.”

Dad fumes, and for a hot second, I fear for Tye if they ever again come face to face. “Don’t you even think about calling a favor in to smear him, young man,” I jest. “It’s poor form.”

He presses his lips together as I nail his line of thinking.

Guilty.

“No-no, Daddy,” I scold playfully. “You’re not allowed to punish my exes with a rolled-up newspaper.” Nate Butler has far too much integrity to carry out one of the dozen revenge scenarios forming in his mind, which only makes me smile.

He crosses his arms, fatigue in his posture as I do my best to ease his worries. Since the Super Bowl, we’ve become a lot closer to where we used to be, in a time I now define as B.E.C.—Before Easton Crowne.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve decided to give dating a rest for a while.”

I get nothing but a sad, blue stare in return.

“Tough room. Dad, I’m okay, better than okay,” I say honestly. “Tye was an attempt at a rebound, reigning Super Bowl champ or not.”

“You liked him.”

“I did, from what I knew of him, but love was never in the cards. I think he knew it, and that’s probably why he dipped out—orintosomeone else.”

Dad cringes at my frankness, and I join him. “Sorry, too far.”

“Don’t blame yourself for another man’s poor fucking choices.”

“I’m not. Trust me, and I won’t.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, just take off. The building will probably be surrounded within the hour.”

“God bless Texas,” I say. Paparazzi are nowhere near as prominent in Austin as they are in other cities, though in this age if you’re recognizable enough,everyone’sa pap. We’re lucky that people still rely on the news at this point with so many rogue reporters out there. Sadly, being Easton Crowne’s ex and now Tye’s, I am highly recognizable, but in theworstpossible way.

Regardless, I have no doubt whoever is in the vicinity is making a beeline forSpeak. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll jet. Promise.”

Seeming satisfied, Dad stands and heads toward my office door. My courtship with Tye made headlines for the five weeks we ‘dated,’ which did nothing to aid my belief that we had some sort of fairytale future. Easton did his part to taint the idea the day of the Super Bowl, but Tye and our reality as a couple—which was nonexistent—finished it off.

There were few sparks without a single trace of fire. I’ve had fire, and even if I lost it, I refuse to settle for anything less. I also refuse to believe that my chances of ever having it again are as slim as my ex claims. Case in point, my father celebrated his twenty-fourth wedding anniversary after losing who he thought was the love of his life.

Even if a large part of me believes Easton, I’m determined to die on my stance to keep my eyes open in search for smoke. Otherwise, well . . . fuck the alternative. I’m too young to consider myself damned and believe it’s already a curtain call for me in the love department.

I’m not aiding Easton’s ridiculous belief that I have no hope of any real romantic future or buying into ‘the one and only’ notion anymore, no matter how true it feels at times and especially on days like today.

Screw Easton Crowne and the awareness that loving him brought me.

Screw men in general, aside from theoneman I’ve almost always been able to count on.

Dad lingers at my office door as I do my best to relieve him of the burden of being a concerned parent. “Please tell Mom just howfineI am and be gone, good media king,” I wave him away, “thisprincesshas a deadline. Find someone else to hover over and terrorize.”

Dad lingers a bit longer when my intercom buzzes, and I snatch the cradled phone like the lifeline it is, willing to talk toanyonewho will get the overprotective guardian out of my office.

“Line one—”

“Got it,” I say, with the phone already to my ear, continuously shooing my father away. When he’s out of earshot, I hit the button with a ‘no comment’ ready on my tongue. “This is Natalie Hearst.”

“Beauty . . .”

Stunned, I focus on the blooming flowers of my screensaver and school my expression.

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