Page 44 of The Groupie

Fuck. This is precisely what Rylee didn’t want to happen. It’s the last thing she needs.

I manage to maintain my professional smile. “A friend. We were just leaving.”

Jonesy steps around me and takes a closer look, like I’m hiding something. Shit. He probably figures that out because I am hiding someone, and I’m a terrible fucking actor.

“Hi there, I’m Jonesy. Nice to meet you. I bet you’re proud of Zak. He’s having a hell of a season.”

“Sure.” Rylee reluctantly replies. But she stands straight with only her ball cap to protect her from recognition as she meets his stare. Hiding behind me wasn’t helping. Shit. She’s never going to come to a game again after this.

“And you are?” Jonesy says, back to reporter mode. The camera is off, but still close by.

“Look, we’re running late,” I say. “We have to get going—”

“Of course. Sorry to keep you, Zak. It’s just…your friend looks familiar, and I usually never forget a face.”

I smile, albeit with my teeth gritted, and wrap an arm around Rylee. “See you around, Jonesy.” I sweep her away to the garage and don’t breathe a sigh of relief until I shut the door of my SUV behind me.

“Fuck.” She looks at me. “I’m fucked if he remembers where he saw me before.”

“He won’t. The Olympics aren’t his beat. Even if he does, you can stick to your story that you’re in town for your mother.” I stop. “How is she by the way? Still out of sorts without the smokes?” I start the car and pull out of the garage.

Rylee snorts. “And still waiting for the results of her tests. Still coughing like there’s no tomorrow.” She takes in a shuddering breath.

I pull her in for a hug and kiss the top of her head. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure she’s seeing the best doctors—”

“We? There’s no we. I’ll see that she gets the best care. No matter what it costs.” She looks part defiant and part scared shitless.

“Right.” I drive the short distance to my building and pull into my spot in the garage near the elevator. Catching her before she has a chance to open the door, I kiss her on the lips this time, a long, lingering soft kiss, while my heart pounds madly because she’s wrong. There is a we. At least as far as I’m concerned.

And that lightbulb thought has me scared shitless.

Rylee’s phone pings, and she pulls back to check her phone. “Shit. I have to take this call.”

“Who is it?” The look on her face tells me she’d rather tango with a toad than talk to whomever it is. I watch her put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Chuck.”