Page 60 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
Saint unrolls his silverware from the napkin. “I’m not looking for the dirty details. I just want to know what’s up with you. You hooked up with Aspen. You guys stayed up there together all summer, and now you’re back and your mood is complete crap. I’m just . . . I’m here for you.”
I release a slow exhale and finally look up to meet his concerned gaze. ”Yeah. I hear you. The truth is, I guess I fell for her.”
“Shit. Really?”
I nod. “Yeah. But all she wanted was a rebound fling. She’s barely talking to me now.”
“That sucks,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, man.”
I’m not even sure why I told him. Maybe I’m just tired of pretending this summer didn’t happen. Tired of lying in bed at night with my phone, wishing a message would magically pop up from Aspen.
No longer hungry, I pick at my food. “I guess you won.”
“I don’t care about that.”
I shrug. “A bet’s a bet.” Maybe the piercing pain of a tattoo gun would distract me from the all-encompassing pain in my chest.
Saint grins. “Then let’s go get this tattoo, bro.”
I smile for the first time today. “Yeah? You pick something out for me?”
“I’ve got just the thing.”
When we leave the diner, we drive straight to a nearby tattoo parlor where I get an emoji face with heart eyes tattooed onto my left ass cheek.
The sore spot on my ass? It can only be summed up one way.
You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.
24
* * *
ALEX
Waking up to over a thousand tweets, all featuring the hashtag #BanishBraun, is an experience unlike any I’ve had before. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
With bleary eyes from a night of restless sleep, I read the tabloid headlines. Looks like the prosecution decided to play dirty. And as usual, the press took it and ran with it.
Braun Sued On Sexual Harassment Accusations
ALEX BRAUN — Bad Boy or Just A Bad Guy?
Braun’s Harassment Victim Tells All: Her Night Out Turned Nightmare
A cold feeling sinks into my skin like an ice bath, freezing my insides. And yet my brain is boiling. I didn’t do this, I want to scream. Instead, I sit alone in my house, sulking.
I want to call someone, to talk to a teammate or maybe family, but how do I talk about this?
Nelle wouldn’t handle it well. I’m thankful she’s not on social media these days, so maybe she hasn’t heard yet. I can’t trust Saint not to make some kind of joke, even well-intentioned, about the situation. And Aspen . . . well, Aspen and I aren’t exactly on talking terms, are we?
My head throbs as I imagine her waking up to this news like I did, her hand flying up to her mouth to cover her gasp. I spiral into worst-case scenarios—Aspen believes the tabloids instead of me . . . Aspen regrets our time together . . . Aspen doesn’t ever want to see me again. That last one stings the most.
I don’t realize my hands are shaking until my phone buzzes in my grip. It’s Eden. God, it’s not even seven in the morning. Regret that I didn’t tell her about the lawsuit before it exploded all over social media makes my head throb even more.
“Hey.”
“Fucking hey. Get your ass to my office. Now!” And just like that, Eden hangs up.
I toss my phone onto the bed and try to drown out the onslaught of notifications by shutting the bathroom door behind me and cranking the shower knob. After an icy shower, I somehow manage to make myself presentable, and I’m out the door. My heart is racing, but trying to slow my breathing only makes me dizzy. On the drive to the arena, I deal with the unpleasant task of calling my lawyer, Hugh.
• • •
When I arrive at the office, Eden’s door is cracked open, but I knock anyway.
“Come in.”
Without a greeting, I enter and seat myself across from Eden, who won’t look at me. She just stares at her phone, scrolling through what I can only imagine is the wildfire of my already damaged reputation, burning to ash.
A minute crawls by in awkward silence. Finally, she meets my gaze. Her eyes are red-rimmed and furious.
“What the hell, Alex,” she hisses, switching her dinging phone to silent.
I shake my head, feeling lower than I’ve ever felt before. “I’m sorry, Eden.”
“Wanna tell me what the hell I’ve been reading all morning?” She raises her phone like a gavel.
“I should have told you—”
“Oh, so you knew this was happening? Great. Way to blindside me.” Her voice isn’t raised in any sense, but the words sting my ears as if she were yelling at the top of her lungs.
“I deserve that. I’m sorry.”
Her scowl is pained. “For what?”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry for not telling you about the lawsuit as soon as I was told about the possibility of it happening.”
