Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Normally, I would have been answering their call with a smile, excited to hear how they were and to tell them about my life, too.
But today, I answered with anxiety bubbling in my gut.
“Hello,” I said just as I slid into the back of a cab. I quickly told the driver which building to take me to before my dad’s voice rumbled through the phone.
“Are you dating this hockey player?”
I chuckled, letting my head fall back against the seat as I stared out the window. “Well, good morning to you, too, Daddy. Yes, I’m doing well, thank you for asking. What was it like in Pittsburgh and Baltimore? Well, the weather was—”
“I don’t care about the weather,” he said, and even though his voice was deep in its severity, I still smiled. My father loved to act like a protective Rottweiler when it came to me, but in reality, he was just a teddy bear. “I care about this young man with a reputation who seems to have become very comfortable with my daughter.”
“What your father is trying to say,” my mom interjected, her voice sweet like maple syrup. I could picture her gently placing a hand on my father’s arm, could see the deep inhale that touch would force him to take. “Is that we wanted to check in on you and make sure you’re doing okay.”
“And that you’re keeping your head on straight and remembering that this is a job,” Dad added.
Mom sucked her teeth, and I tried not to bristle with defense as I slid in my earbuds so I could talk hands-free. “I’m not dating him, Daddy. It was a publicity stunt. Just giving the people something to talk about.”
My throat tightened a bit at that, because it had been an unplanned stunt that I did not actively participate in. I was trying not to blow a gasket. My bosses were clearly fine with that photo and the implications behind it, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like a fool.
An unprofessional, simpering fool.
That’s how everyone else would see me. I was no longer the woman behind the camera, the one on assignment with my job at the forefront of my mind. I was no longer a content creator, a reporter, a force to be reckoned with, taking the sports world by storm.
Now, I was a joke.
The fact that my parents were calling me was proof of that.
“Some stunt,” my father said on a harrumph. “Don’t let your guard down, Maven. I know he’s a handsome young man, but keep your wits about you. He has a reputation, and no matter what he says to you, he’s probably only got one thing on his mind.”
“Dad,” I chastised.
“We just worry,” Mom said softly, and those words hung in the silence between the three of us like a loaded gun.
My parents had been there for me when everything blew up with James. They quite literally had to peel me off the floor and convince me that life was still worth living, that I needed to walk across the stage at graduation, that life would go on without James Baldridge.
And maybe they had a right to be worried.
Because had that stewardess not interrupted us on the boat, I might have let all sense leave me.
My skin burned from the memory, as if Vince were still naked in the water behind me, his knuckles dragging over my skin. I heard his words in my ear, felt my skin prickle with chills just like they had last night.
My stomach fluttered, but I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to snuff him out with the motion.
“You don’t need to worry,” I promised my parents. “Trust me — I am in no hurry to have my heart smashed again.” My next swallow was dry and painful. “Besides, like I said, it was just a stunt. Vince and I are nothing but professional.”
I’d never lied to my parents, and was surprised my voice didn’t shake more with that one. Because being half-naked in a hot tub with Vince rubbing my shoulders did not feel professional.
I was caught between being ashamed and angry, with a little dash of why do I feel like I would go back and do it again thrown in, too.
“You tell him to keep his hands to himself, or he’ll have me to answer to,” Dad said. I could picture his bright blue eyes hardening into the cerulean they did when he was angry, could picture him wagging his finger at me like he does the crew on work sites.
I chuckled, despite feeling like a senseless little girl. “I will do that.”
My phone buzzed in my lap, and when I glanced at the screen, I was already telling my parents I needed to end the call. I figured it was Reya, or Livia.