Page 8 of Siren's Game

"Sorry, I was distracted," he answers while almost running into the wall where the corridor drops to the left.

"So I've noticed." I raise my eyebrow at him but don't comment further.

He's a grown man. I'm not going to insert myself into his love life, even if I find it ridiculous. I’ll watch from the side-lines and have a laugh at his expense when it inevitably goes wrong.

"Say 'hi' to Jade and Ellis from me, will you?" he asks, still distracted, but I've decided to let it go. Let him be distracted. I’m surprised he even remembered that I’m meeting my parents later on.

Maybe his brain will return to its natural state once he's slept. He's probably still jetlagged and it's making him delusional.

"Of course. Such a shame you can't come along." We're finally in the parking lot, dodging a bunch of men who walk past us and inside the stadium quickly, wearing creaseless suits with their hair slicked back. They look a bit like serial killers.

Well, as long as we’re not the target.

"We'll find another day," Luca assures me with a nod, then climbs into the car.

"There's my favorite son," Mom exclaims so loudly, all heads in the restaurant turn to us as she jumps up from the table to give me a hug.

"Hi, Mom," I greet her with a chuckle.

Whenever we hug, the awkward pose reminds me of how much smaller she is. On the contrary, my dad is just as tall as my six-foot-five, so it's not exactly hard to figure out which half of my genes are responsible for my height.

Her genes shine through in my face. I’m told I have her eyes and mouth. I can’t exactly say I see it, but with so many people going out of their way to let me know, I guess they have a point.

"Are they putting you through the wringer?" he asks with a hearty laugh as all three of us sit down at the table.

"It's so lovely that you're staying in Philadelphia, sweetie," Mom adds before I can answer him and beams at me. “We already ordered your favorite pasta for you.”

“Thank you,” I say gratefully and shoot her a smile.

We don't get to spend too much time in the same city nowadays, so when we do, it's always a highlight. I know Mom would love for all of us to meet up for weekly dinners and do family holidays, but with her working in her flower shop and Dad being tied to his fancy c-suite office job here in Philadelphia, while I’m traveling all over the world for movies or press tours, it's hard to even meet up once a month.

"Yes, they are putting us through the wringer," I answer my dad with a chuckle. "Nothing I can’t handle, though. Luca is already complaining about it. Such a lazy bum."

"You say that as if you won't start complaining too in. . .” He takes a second to think. “Let’s say, a week," Dad points out and I shush them. He might be right, but that doesn't mean anyone else needs to hear it. "You're not the youngest anymore, my son. Be careful with those bones of yours."

"Sure," I tell him and roll my eyes. I might not be twenty anymore, but I'm definitely the fittest I've ever been.

The superhero movie I did two years ago got me into the best shape of my life, thanks to my amazing coaches. That’s when I fell in love with the gym. It’s where I spend most of my free time nowadays, much to the dismay of my mother who wants me to date and make grandbabies.

It would be a lie to say that my gym results don’t have an effect on my dating life. And contrary to popular belief, not necessarily in a good way.

Do women want to get with me? Yes, of course. I'm good-looking and a pretty known actor by now. But it's like my muscles are like bait for fish - they bite and we have a good time. Yet once they realize how much hard work and time it takes to maintain my figure takes, they run for the hills.

And itdoestake a lot of time. Now that I’m in this match, exercising is basically my job for the next weeks. I don’t even know what to do with all the free time it gives me.

"Well, anyways. What else is new? Mom, how's the shop going?" I ask, grinning when the waiter brings our plates. God, I’m hungry.

"Oh, it's going amazing," she says with a smile, which widens when I dive right into my pasta. God, it’s garlic-y goodness, just like the last time we were here. "We have a wedding coming up and, listen, I'm not one to judge, but they want orange lilies." She grimaces and shakes her head disapprovingly.

"I feel dumb for asking, but what's wrong with orange lilies?" I scrunch my eyebrows and look at her, confused. Orange lilies are pretty, right? What's the big deal?

"Well, according to Victorian Flower language, they stand for hatred. Not exactly what you want to have for your wedding now, is it?" She clicks her tongue as though she's disappointed that I don't know this. "I just think they should have put a little bit more research into theirweddingflowers."

"So, did you tell them that?" I raise my eyebrow at her, biting my lips to keep the grin that wants to break free under wraps.

"Of course not," she says like I’ve just asked her when she’s last seen a unicorn and clicks her tongue.

I burst into a chuckle. That's just like my mother. Complaining about their flower choice but not being arsed enough to speak up. God, I love her for it.

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