by Alyssa Kale
“Softball. I lived and breathed softball. Played every year up until my junior year of high school. I would’ve continued, but….” She stops. She quit playing after her mom passed. “Anyway, that was basically my life. Family, school, and softball. How about yours?”
“Mine was basically the same.” I laugh. “Only with baseball. I started playing T-ball at age three, got invited to a select team when I was ten, and pretty much haven’t stopped since. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” she deadpans.
Not wanting the night to end, we choose a movie and settle in for a few hours of mindless entertainment. Less than halfway through the movie, Sophie settles her head on my lap and falls asleep.
Around midnight, I wake her up. “Sophie.” I brush her cheek.
“Hmmm,” she hums.
“It’s really late. You fell asleep about an hour ago, and I just didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
My words take a few beats to register, because she only cuddles into my leg instead of rising. Then, like someone lit a fire under her, she sits up quickly.
“Oh, crap. I’m sorry,” she apologizes before letting out a series of yawns. “I’ve just been so exhausted lately. And I think tonight’s bowling was the most exercise I’ve done in months.”
“Hey, don’t apologize.” I push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you just stay here? You can take my bed, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
Shaking her head, she pushes off the couch. “I can’t do that. Don’t you have a game tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but I can get you back home before I have to be at the field. We just have one evening game, so I don’t need to be there until ten or eleven.”
“I thought you guys got there at seven in the morning on game days, no matter what time it started?” she asks.
Tugging her by the hand, I pull her onto the couch and next to me. She settles in, another series of yawns escaping her. “Some guys do, but it’s not required. Just stay.”
“Okay, fine, but I’ll sleep on the sofa,” she offers.
I can see where this is going. We’ll battle this back and forth, neither of us backing down. There’s no way I’d let her sleep on this couch. Hell, if I wasn’t such a lazy-ass, I’d have a guest room.
“No way, you take my bed.”
I stand and begin to lift her, but she protests.
“We’re adults, Brax. Surely we can both sleep in the bed with no funny business?”
My dick jumps. Ha, if only she knew.
“If you can manage to keep your hands to yourself. I saw the way you were eyeing my ass at the bowling alley,” I tease.
Snorting a laugh, she almost falls over giggling when I turn to face her and shake my money maker.
It’s going to be a long night.
We trek upstairs, and after rummaging through my drawers, I pull out a T-shirt and sweats for her to wear and point her in the direction of the bathroom. While she’s in the other room, I change into a pair of basketball shorts. Normally, I’d sleep in my boxers, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. The door opens, drawing my attention from the bed to Sophie.
I’m not going to lie; seeing her wearing my clothes does absolutely nothing to stop the ache in my dick. I want her bad, but I can’t have her. She doesn’t see me that way. I’m friend-zoned. I think. Our chemistry is undeniable. We’re drawn to one another in a way I’ve never experienced. Still, I’m not going to push my luck and ask for more. No matter how much I want it.
“Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes,” she says shyly as she brushes her hands down the front of the T-shirt.
“Of course. You look kinda hot in my old college shirt.” I may not want to push my luck, but flirting is fair game. It’s inevitable when I’m in the presence of Sophie Thomas.
She blushes then climbs into bed. “No funny business, mister. I mean it.”
Hands held up in defense, I take her place in the bathroom. When I return to the bedroom, she’s curled onto her side, hair fanned out on the pillow, and sound asleep. I cross the room and kill the light before quietly slipping into bed. I want to reach out and touch her. To hold her. I settle with just watching her sleep peacefully under the city lights shining through my window. I should close the curtains, but then I wouldn’t be able to see her.
The next morning, I wake to the rays of sunlight shining through my window and a head and hand on my chest.
Sophie.
At some point in the middle of the night, she must’ve snuggled up to me, her hand splayed over my heart. I don’t hate it. In fact, I’m pissed when I hear my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I grab it without disturbing her and see it’s Karen, the team’s publicist, calling.
Quickly, I try to remember if I had any commitments today or interviews scheduled. I don’t recall any, but who knows anymore.
I get up out of bed slowly, trying not to wake Sophie. Quickly and quietly, I step into the hallway and close the door. When I’m a few steps down the hall, I pick up the call before it can roll to voicemail.
“Hello?”
“Braxton!” Karen shouts in relief.
“Yes?”
My confusion cannot be denied. She sounds like I’ve been found after being missing.
“Are you near your computer?”
“Yeah, why? What’s up?” I ask as I hit the coffeemaker to brew.
“Go look at today’s headlines,” she says briskly.
I hear papers shuffling around in the background as I power up my laptop and open the browser. I have a notification set up to ding when my name is mentioned anywhere, and it’s dinging like crazy right now. Shit.
I hear Karen tell someone to hold on in the background, and that’s when I see them.
“Braxton Lee Hooks Up with Magazine Photographer Sophie Thomas”
“Is Braxton Lee Off the Market?”
“Braxton Lee Seen with Latest Hookup Outside of Bowling Alley in Clarence”
“Is Braxton Lee Hooking Up with Baby Momma Number Two? What Happened to Amber?”
And the worst one, “Homewrecker Sophie Thomas Hooking Up with Braxton Lee. Baby Momma Nowhere to be Found.”
Fuck. It was bound to happen with me taking her out in public. I thought I was pretty inconspicuous with my hat. I should have known better. I do know better. How in the fuck did they figure out who she was?
“Dammit, Karen, how do they know who she is?” I yell.
“I don’t know, Braxton. The bigger question is why didn’t I know you were dating someone? After what happened last year, you need to keep me in the loop with this shit.”
Clicking on one of the headlines, I’m filled with regret as I read the inaccurate and shitty things they’re saying about Sophie.
Karen’s words pull me from my perusal. “This is not the sort of media attention the team needs right now. I’ve got my guys doing damage control, but this is not good, Braxton. Not good at all.”
Of course she’s only worried about the team. That’s her job. I’m worried about Sophie, because she’s my priority. My, how things have changed.
“I don’t give a fuck about the team, Karen,” I growl. My coffee gurgles as it finishes brewing. My stomach is in too many knots to even fathom drinking it now. I continue, “The Aces will survive. I’m worried about them knowing who she is. How this will affect her. I don’t give a fuck about anything else.”
“Braxton?” Sophie’s voice is timid. Quiet and sweet. Too pure for this kind of shit. I told her my world would ruin things.
“I’ve gotta go, Karen.” Not giving her an opportunity to respond, I end the call and toss my phone on the counter.
Moving to Sophie, I stop when she asks, “Is everything okay?”
“No. Yeah. I don’t know.” I’m unsure of how to answer.
“What do you mean they know who she is. Who is they, and who is she?” she asks.
I reach for the laptop and turn it toward her. I watch as her eyes widen, her fingers cover
ing her mouth as she steps forward and begins skimming the headlines like I had.
“How... how do they know my name?” Her voice has raised a few decibels, the worry evident in every syllable. She’s starting to freak out.
“I don’t know, babe, but we’ve got to do some damage control,” I say, walking over to her. I kiss her forehead and grab her arms, rubbing up and down her smooth skin. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I thought I was disguised enough that no one would recognize us. Apparently, I wasn’t.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just stares at the screen displaying the headlines we both just read. I close the computer, kissing her forehead again, and move to take a shower. Together, we’ll figure out what we need to do next.
If they already know her name, it’s just a matter of time before they figure out where she lives.
Fuck.
23
* * *
SOPHIE
It was only a matter of time before the press caught wind of us. We weren’t being cautious enough. Hell, we aren’t even really dating. Just friends out having a good night.
Friends. Just friends, I tell myself over and over again. Hoping I’ll eventually believe it. Knowing I never will.
Before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, I change back into last night’s clothes and find the notepad and pen I keep in my purse. Before scribbling a note, I open the app on my phone and order a car. Four minutes until it arrives. The insane number of social media notifications, missed calls, and text messages makes my stomach sour, and I choose to ignore them. My focus is on Braxton and getting the heck out of here.
What does one write to a friend who they have more-than-friend feelings for, who is a celebrity and fodder for every tabloid in the country?
Braxton,
Thank you for a fun night. I’m sorry it ended with such drama. Your bed is like a cloud. I’ll be watching the game. Go Aces!
XO,
Sophie
Placing the note on his pillow, I move to Braxton’s display of ball caps, and while looking for one that doesn’t scream “Aces,” I pile my hair onto the top of my head. Choosing a nondescript blue cap from the hook, I slip it on. If the press knows my name, there’s a chance they’re out front. One indication I’m me and we’re screwed.
Looking back toward the bathroom, I wonder if this is the right thing to do. It is. The Aces have a game, and he needs to focus on that and work with the team to do some damage control. This isn’t the kind of publicity he needs just as his reputation is starting to rebound.
Braxton’s home is nowhere near the front gate, and I have to alternate between a slight jog and speed walking to make it in time. Hopefully, I can make it there and slip into the car before Braxton hunts me down or the press sees me.
Looking down at my phone, my mouth dries as the number of notifications increases. Checking the app, I confirm the car is arriving and pick up the pace before calling the driver.
“This is Phillip.”
“Hi, this is Sophie. I’m almost to the gate. Is there… uh—”
“A crapton of people? Yeah.”
“Dammit. I’ll give you an extra fifty if you can get me in your car without them seeing me.”
The line is quiet for a few beats, and I worry he’s hung up to give the press a heads-up. That’d be my luck. I’m trying to avoid the press, and this guy rats me out.
“Are you still there?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh of relief.
“Okay, there’s a small gate about fifty feet to the east from the main gate. A landscaping truck is parked near it, and I think it’s open. I’ll pull up there and unlock the door. Just jump in.”
“Got it.”
Taking the directions Phillip has given me, I shift my direction. Thankfully, it’s early enough that the hot Texas sun isn’t at peak level. I’m sweating enough from stress and anxiety that I’d probably be leaving a trail behind me if it were any warmer out. After a few minutes of trotting along the brick wall, I spy the gate. A man with an absurdly large headset sits atop a riding mower, moving away from the wall. Saying a little prayer, I poke my head past the gate and see Phillip’s compact and not a reporter in sight. Diving into the back seat, I lie down and look up at the rearview mirror.
“I hope you’re Sophie.”
“I am.”
“Cool, cool. Still got that fifty?”
“Yep. Still not going to rat me out?”
With a smirk, he laughs before looking over his shoulder and flipping a U-turn. Not saying another word, I wait until I know he’s out of view from the complex and sit up in my seat. Just as I right myself, the screen lights up with Braxton’s name. Instead of answering, I hit Ignore and open the text app.
Me: Have you seen the news?
Kendall: Yes, did you read my texts?
Me: No, I’m ignoring everyone. My phone has about 200 calls and texts on it. I haven’t looked at any of them. I’m on my way back home in an Uber.
Kendall: Just go read the texts I sent before you texted me.
I reluctantly scroll up to see that she texted me about fifteen messages telling me not to freak out. Telling me to stay with Braxton, because paparazzi are swarming our apartment complex. Shit.
I quickly text her back:
Me: Crap. I’m already on my way home. Is it bad?
Kendall: Beyond. Have the Uber drop you off on the other side of the complex. I’ll be there waiting on you.
Me: Okay.
Me: Also, do you have $50?
Kendall: Do I want to know? NVM, yes.
“Hey, Phillip, when we get to my complex, will you ignore the address I gave you and turn right toward the back of the complex?”
“No problem.”
Lying back down in seat as we get closer, I suck in a breath and brace for the worst and scroll through the other texts.
Cora: Call me
Shit. She’s going to fire me for bringing negative publicity to the magazine. I choose to ignore that one for now.
Dad: You’re all over the news with that Braxton kid. Are you okay?
Me: Morning. I’m okay. I’ll call you later.
I let my dad know that everything is fine and not to worry.
And it wouldn’t be a shit day without a text from my fucking winner of an ex.
Jared: You sure moved on quickly. Slut.
I roll my eyes. Asshole.
Dozens of texts, many from unknown numbers, and missed calls from more numbers I don’t recognize fill my screen. Another call from Braxton. Ignore. I have about eight voicemails, so I tap the icon and listen.
A very cheery female voice makes me cringe. “Hello, Ms. Thomas, I’m Keri Garcia with CelebSlam, and I’d love to talk to you about your relationship with Braxton Lee. If you will, please give me a call at—” Delete.
“Hi, Sophie. This is Dale with The Scoop on KCTR. We’d love to have you on our show—” Delete.
I don’t bother to listen to the rest and set my phone face down next to me. Not only will I need to find a new job when I return Cora’s message, but I need to get a new phone number. The next one won’t be put on my website. That was my first mistake.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist reading some of the text messages. Opening the app, I start at the top.
Unknown: You’re a stupid slut!
Unknown: Homewrecker! What about Amber and the baby!
Unknown: Sophie, it’s Dale with The Scoop. Thought I’d shoot you a text in case you didn’t get the voicemail.
Yeah, Dale. I got your voicemail. Suck it.
Braxton has texted me about twenty times, but I ignore them and turn off my phone. I can’t do this right now. Memories of the first trimester nausea come back in full force as I have to suck down the sick feeling in my stomach.
“It’s safe to sit up. There’s a water back there too if you like.”
At his words, I rise and glance at the pouch behind the passenger seat. Taking the water bottle, I u
nscrew the top and take a sip.
“You can stop right up there on the left where that blonde is standing.”
Seeing Kendall eases some of my anxiety. When Phillip comes to a stop, my bestie rushes over, opens the door, and passes me a few bills.
“As promised,” I say, holding the money to Phillip.
“Nah. It looks like you’ve got a lot of shit going on. Don’t worry about it. Just give me five stars and a glowing review.”
Smiling, I nod and exit the car. Kendall pulls me to her in a hug and then grabs my hand, leading me to her apartment. Once we’re inside, I kick off my shoes and throw myself on the couch, powering up my phone. I need to give Phillip that tip regardless of what he said. Ignoring the incessant buzzing of notifications, I quickly add the large tip and tap out a quick review and five stars.
When I’m done, Kendall takes my phone out of my hands and starts tapping away as it continues to go off.
“Shit,” Kendall whispers.
I take another sip from the water bottle and watch as my best friend tries to run interference, tapping aggressively on the phone. I can tell by the movements of her finger that she’s deleting and blocking the unknown numbers. When she moves on to the voicemails, I close my eyes and try to ignore the words coming through the speaker.
“Good morning, Ms. Thomas. This is Leslie Clark with New York Post. I would like to speak to you about scheduling an interview. I’m interested in hearing about your photography business as well as your work with Clarence Monthly. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience.”
Leslie whoever must think I’m an idiot to believe she wants to talk about my business and not Braxton. Please. I roll my eyes.
Kendall deletes without listening to a few more voicemails, and then I hear Braxton’s voice. My heartrate picks up, but dread settles low in my belly. How was it just twelve hours ago we were laughing and bowling, and now our lives have imploded.
“Soph. I’m so sorry this happened. Please tell me you’re okay. You aren’t answering my texts and calls. I need to know you’re okay. Shit. I have to get to the stadium in a few hours…”
I tune out the rest of his message before it cuts him off. Looking over to Kendall, I hate the look of concern on her face. This is why I have to stop seeing him. Why we can only be friends. I can’t drag his name through the mud with a pregnancy. The press will eat that up and blow everything out of proportion.