Page 24 of Who's Saving You
I scoff. “That’s the part where you say, ‘No, man, it happens to everyone.’”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t happen to you. Not like this.”
The words“not since that game”linger in the air but aren’t spoken. I cut my steak like it’s the one who dropped two passes the other day. Sure, I made the one that counted, but I can’t get those other two off my mind. “This reporter is getting under my skin.”
Dane chuckles. “In myprofessionalopinion, you should take her to dinner and feed her some lines. Let her get her story and move on.”
“And dare I ask for your unprofessional opinion?”
He takes a bite, eyeing me with laughter as he chews before saying, “Fuck her until she can’t remember why she was writing about you to begin with.”
I roll my eyes. “She’d probably have that damn voice recorder on to document the whole thing.” I lean back and sigh. “I don’t know, there’s just something about her. She’s just too,”close to uncovering something and sexy and tempting, “nosey.”
“That’s what reporters do. They nose around. Is this your first day? We’ve gone over how to handle this, Nik. She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.”
I grunt. My appetite’s dead, though, so I move the food around the plate more than I eat it. I need to get out of here. I want to check in with Dante and see how the spreads did. Rage won but didn’t cover, just like I said, so I want to see the final numbers.
But then I hear a familiar voice. It has a different tone, warm and fun, not the business tone she uses with me, but I’d still know it anywhere.
Noelle.
She doesn’t see me at first. She’s walking with a junior producer I vaguely recognize from the network. He’s tall, and she’s leaning into him as they walk up the stairs, approaching the floor where Dane and I sit. As she approaches and walks by my table, I take note of her black heels, slim legs, and dark green dress coat, making it look like she’s got nothing underneath.
Fuck, stop it.She turns her head slightly, and her smile falters just the slightest bit as she recognizes me. My heart skips a beat.
Why is this woman affecting me?
Instead of stopping, saying hello, or even giving a slight wave, she lifts her head and walks right past our table. I don’t say a word, and she doesn’t either. Our eyes meet for half a second, and then she’s gone. She’s not the woman who found me at my worst the other night in the hotel. No, despite her laughing and having fun a moment ago, seeing me put her shield back, and now she’s back in reporter mode.
Dane whistles low. “Isn’t that–”
“Yep,” I cut him off and stab a piece of my steak.
“Damn. That was cold.” Dane chuckles and waves me off with a brush of his hand. “Maybe you’re right, sex won’t work with the ice queen.”
I give him a dry look and shake my head. “You heard PR. They told her to do a legacy piece. That means pull some old footage from the pee-wee team, talk to my high school coach, get a couple of non-usable quotes from the Nicks, and move on.”
He puts his fork down, wipes his mouth, and takes a sip of his beer. “You're worried she’s going to bring up sophomore year.”
I close my eyes but ignore him.
“Nik, everyone has a bad game. You can’t let that game dictate every article or press conference you do. It will fade and?—”
“It’s never going to fade,” I bite out.
Dane doesn’t know what I did, so he doesn’t understand why I get so mad or upset when someone mentions it. For him, it’s just a question to get under my skin, or a way for reporters to get insight as to how I rallied past a downfall. For me, someone bringing it up could bring the whole damn thing down. I’ve done my due diligence in making sure the name Nik Papas stays clean, but if someone is smart enough, they could tie the club to me, the game, my dad, that night … all of it. And it's not just me who would be hurt. There are so many people who don’t even know they’re relying on me to keep this and my double life buried.
I let out a breath. “I just don’t like that she’s digging. She thinks I’m hiding something.”
“Then give her a fake story. Let her sniff out something that isn’t there.” He eyes me. “You’re too bothered by her, and by the looks of your last game, you know it, too. As youragent, I’ll tell you to be professional, but as your friend? Drop her. Stop playing with fire. I’ll request someone else to be assigned to your article.”
“No,” I answer a little too quickly. I clear my throat. “I’ll be professional. Give her what she wants and move on.”
I can’t let her go because I’m already burning. Because when Noelle looks at me, she doesn’t see Saint Nik. She doesn’t see the brand, or the press-made version of myself that I’ve sold for years.
As scary as it is, she seesme. The real Nik. The broken player, the scared kid, the only son. And for one single stupid second, I want to let her keep looking. Because maybe she’s the one who can save me from the darkness.
~~
