Page 26 of The Wedding Deal
“And a lot of money,” she said.
“And a lot of money,” he echoed. That was another worry that only cranked up the stress level. That he’d make all these changes and spend millions of dollars and still lose. But he couldn’t think like that, because that was a good way to end up defeated before they even started.
Their hotel loomed ahead, and he decided to shove his worries away for a few more minutes. They’d still be there when he arrived at his room. For now he was going to enjoy walking next to a woman in the moonlight, the waves crashing to his right.
“I like your family, by the way,” she said. He wasn’t sure how that wasby the way, but he happily embraced the change in subject.
“They like you, too.” His arm grazed hers again, and she sucked in a breath. Earlier tonight he’d squeezed her hand, the same way he’d done on the plane when she’d needed a hand to hold. His fingers itched to grab hold of it again, but he was sure she’d pull away. More than that, he shouldn’t touch her more than necessary because it only made him want to touch her more.
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Your mom’s getting the wrong impression of us, though.”
“We can’t control what other people think.” Right now he couldn’t seem to control whathewas thinking. There was a tug between them, a push and pull like the tide that came and receded and then came back stronger and claimed a little more sand.
“Says the guy who’s been in hot water with tabloids before for what they think.” Her teeth sunk into her lip like she thought maybe she shouldn’t have said it, but it was out there now.
Earlier in his career he’d often responded without thinking, the whiplash sensation of living and breathing the game to having to answer a barrage of agitating questions getting the best of him. “It took me years of repeatedly telling myself that I couldn’t control what they thought to make peace with what they printed. Whether or not I only got the gig because of who my grandfather was, or if I was the hero or the whipping boy that week. And sure, sometimes when a reporter was in my face with a microphone, asking ridiculous questions after a game we lost, I temporarily forgot it and lost my cool.”
The PR department and his coaches had both gotten on him.Don’t lash out at the reporters. Remain gracious no matter what they say.And if he didn’t talk to the press, he’d get fined. Slipping up in the post-game interviews hadn’t been what landed him in hot water, though. It was the other part of his past he kept in a tightly locked box in the darkest corner of his mind. “Same with my personal life.”
A raw mix of anger and old hurts churned through him. His ex had constantly talked to reporters, and then they’d want to confirm with him what she’d said. It put him in a tough spot. If he didn’t corroborate what Sage had said, she’d be pissed, but he hadn’t wanted them to analyze and rip apart his relationship like they did with the way he played ball. He also thought his relationship wasn’t anyone’s business. Sage wouldn’t stop talking to them, though, and his relations with the press had turned especially ugly when the rumors about her cheating on him with a teammate had come out.
Even uglier when it turned out to be true. He’d threatened to rearrange a guy’s face and shove his mic where the sun didn’t shine, and every other reporter there had raced to print up everything they could about his horrible temper and how his knee injury had cost him more than just his career. There’d been jokes about how maybe he’d had one too many concussions, too—how maybe that was why he was too dumb to see what’d been happening right under his nose.
“I get that,” Charlotte said. “I’m sure it’s hard to have that added pressure to say the right thing after hard losses and to have your personal life splashed across the internet for entertainment, and I’m sorry I blurted that out without thinking.”
“The past is always harder to outrun than we’d like.”
“True that.”
A chuckle slipped out. He doubted she had much of a shady past, considering she always followed the rules. “I’d also like to think I’m a different person than I was then.” He was, but even that eligible bachelor article bothered him more than it should. Stupid tabloid rags. “So yeah. I’m back to my mantra of we can’t control what other people think.”
“Again, it’s a solid idea and all…” She sighed. “I just hate to disappoint people—that’s more what I meant with your mom and her getting the wrong idea. I’ve never had that family dynamic, and I like your family, so I don’t want things to get messed up because of someone like me.”
He dragged his finger lightly down her forearm, the back of her hand. “I’m guessing this has something to do with the raised-by-nuns and a gambler father.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe. I wasn’t actually raised by nuns, for the record. After my mom passed away, I just went to Catholic school and spent a lot of time after school with a few. Mostly because my dad tended to forget he had a daughter. I always had to work so hard for his attention, and when he discovered what my brain could do with facts and figures, suddenly he wanted to spend more time with me. So I milked it and studied stats and percentages like my life depended on it. And if I helped, he also won more often, which left us both less stressed.”
Lance frowned, his hand automatically curling around hers so she could hold on if she needed the support.
She faked a smile that looked completely wrong on her features. “It’s not a big deal. Thanks to that and my freakishly good memory, I landed a job I love. Anyway, I was just thinking about family dynamics and—”
“That sucks. He sucks for making you feel that way.”
She blinked at him and then slowly shook her head. “He…he’s trying. Getting help and… Wow, this got real quick.” She cleared her throat and increased her pace, pulling her hand from his grasp.
“Oh, look! There’s my room.” Her voice was too high, and her words had a flighty edge to them. “It’d be nice not to have to walk all the way to the door in the middle, but unlike your room, it doesn’t have a fancy walkway, and I’ll never be able to climb that balcony in this skirt.”
“That tiny balcony? I could chuck you right over it.”
She paused long enough to cast an eye roll at him from over her shoulder. “I’m not a football.”
“I noticed,” he said, his gaze running down her before he reined himself in. “Come on. I’ll boost you.”
She glanced around as if they were doing something illegal. Her shoes were tossed over the railing and landed with aclunk, and she reached for the rails.
He linked his fingers together to make a foothold, and she stepped into it. Halfway up, she was clearly rethinking the plan. “I’m not sure I can get over without flashing you, and this was a mistake.”
“I’ll avert my eyes. Just throw your other leg over.”
