Page 89 of The Player

“The student writing it did some digging. Your girlfriend’s been photographed with her father plenty of times.”

“Did he talk to her?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’d he call you for, then?”

“To confirm that you’re seeing each other. See if you wanted to comment.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“That I’d speak with you.”

“The answer is fuck no.” He’d been looking forward to calling Nicole tonight and hearing how her day went. Now he had to tell her they were putting her father’s name in the fucking headline.

“It could be a good piece,” Jed went on. “With the attention on you right now, that connection is going to interest people.”

Drew lifted his head. “You had a problem with me telling them she was my girlfriend.”

“I had concerns about how it would be received.”

“Guess being Melvin Wright’s daughter makes her a little easier to explain.”

“I’m giving you a heads-up, Drew.”

“And telling me it’s good publicity.”

“I said it could be a positive story.”

He’d heard enough of this shit. Drew picked up his bag. “Don’t give them anything else about her.”

He headed down the hall, already dreading the call he’d have to make tonight.

Before going over to his parents’ hotel, Drew stopped home and changed into a sweater and a clean pair of pants. They’d flown into Birmingham yesterday and driven down in a rental car, and between practice and getting Nicole to her flight, he hadn’t seen them yet. Their dinner reservation wasn’t until five, so they had some downtime at the hotel.

His mother opened the door before he’d finished knocking.

“Well, come here. Let me look at you.”

Drew barely got out a hello before she reached for him. He leaned down to hug her, her arms tight around his back, and let her hold on until she was ready to let go. She smelled like the same perfume she always wore. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that.

“Ma, you’re gonna squeeze the air outta me.”

“Let me. I haven’t seen you since September.”

She leaned back with her hands still on his arms. Her blond hair, lighter than his, was permed into the same tight curls she’d been getting since he was in grade school. It brushed the shoulders of a plain blue sweater, and she had on about as much makeup as she ever bothered with. A little something around her eyes, maybe, though he couldn’t really tell. It was good to have her standing in front of him instead of asking over the phone whether he was getting enough sleep.

“You look tired.”

There it was. “I’m good.”

“Well, come in. Your father’s been waiting for you.”

His dad was getting up from the chair beside the window, the TV still talking behind him. There was more gray in his dark hair than Drew remembered from September.

“What’s up, son?”

Drew grabbed his hand, then pulled him into a hug. His father gave him a couple of hard pats on the back before letting go.