“We live in a secure building,” he says.
“Doesn’t matter. You know people can just push a bunch of buttons and someone will buzz them through.”
“What are you suggesting?” he asks.
“I’m not sure yet. We’ll just have to see what happens and how far the press is willing to go.”
“You’d better be willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
“It’s part of the contract,” I remind him. “It’ll be taken care of. How about you go out with us next time? See for yourself how things are.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“Can you find a date who won’t go bat-shit crazy around me?”
He laughs. “Not everyone worships you, you know.”
“Good. Find one of those for Saturday night. We’re going to the Knicks game.”
“We are?”
“How do courtside seats sound?” I ask.
“I’ll wait until you hang up before I go bat-shit crazy,” he says.
“Okay, see you then.”
I hang up the phone and wonder for the hundredth time, what the dynamic is between Aspen and Bass. They claim they’re not a couple. And based on the way Aspen acted the day we met, I’d tend to agree. But they seem to be more than friends. They seem a little like the way Caden and Murphy were before they realized they liked each other and started dating.
Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him. Maybe she won’t be convincing enough with him around. Then again, maybe Bass can end up being the reason for our breakup. I’ll have to ask Murphy about it. She seems to be the expert on this sort of thing.
One thing’s for sure, Aspen’s roommate is a big guy. And I don’t doubt for a second he’d make good on his threat if I let anything happen to her. I crawl into bed, exhausted, and fall asleep thinking about Bass Briggs kicking my ass to protect the woman he loves.
~ ~ ~
“What the fuck happened to you?” my father asks, taking a break from his six-pack to look at me.
I reach up and touch the tender skin around my eye as I make my way to the freezer to see if we have any frozen peas.
“I’d give you a shiner myself for being such a screw-up,” he says. “But I see someone else already took care of it. You couldn’t even win a schoolyard fight?”
“Who says I didn’t win?”
I could swear I see a hint of pride cross his face before he goes back to being his asshole self.
“Is this why the school tried to get in touch with me today?” he asks. “You get suspended again? You know if you get suspended again you’re off the team, right?”
“No. It wasn’t on school grounds. I’m not stupid. They can’t touch me.”
“Then why the hell did someone from the school leave me a voicemail?”
I shrug. “Beats me. Didn’t you listen to it?”
He shakes his head. “Figured you’d tell me whatever I need to know.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
He picks up his phone and taps around on it. I see a smile curve his lips. Then he chugs the rest of his beer. “Seems a scout is coming to Thursday’s game. They want permission to tape you, and since you’re not eighteen yet, I have to sign something.”
“A scout? But I’m only a sophomore.”
“Doesn’t matter how old you are, just how well you play. You’re on their radar now. You play your cards right and we’ll be set for life.”
“We?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said it so sarcastically, because the ashtray he just threw at me barely missed my other eye.
“Yes, we!” he shouts. “Why the fuck do you think you are where you are? You think you would have gotten there if I hadn’t spent ten years driving your ass around to practices and games? You think all that money I shelled out during your travel ball years was so you could have fun? I made you the player you are today. You’ll do good not to forget it.”
I hold the frozen bag against my sore face. “I’m going to bed.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asks.
I nod to the bags of greasy take-out food on the counter. “That crap is bad for me. I’d rather not eat.”
As I walk away, I’m hit in the back with one of said bags of food.
“You ungrateful shit,” he says. “Sit your ass down and eat the food I provide you.”
I pick up the bag and walk it over to the trashcan, dropping it inside.
My father stands up. He’s pissed. I can see his jaw twitching. He’s a big man, but not as big as he used to be. My mother’s dying broke him and now he drinks more than he eats. And in the past few years, I’ve gotten bigger and stronger than he is.
I walk over to him. “I’ve already won one fight today,” I say, not backing down from his threatening stare.
We participate in a stare down before he walks around me to get another beer. “Go the fuck to bed then. Get out of my sight. You really are worthless.”
I walk down the hall and slam my door. “Yeah, well, I learned from the best, you asshole,” I say to myself.
Then I sit on my bed and wonder if the reason he didn’t fight me was because he knew he wouldn’t win, or because he might hurt my chances on Thursday night.
I wake with a start, relieved he can no longer control me. I wake up happy that he got what was coming to him.
I wake up grateful that he’s dead.
Chapter Fourteen
Aspen
I sit and stare at the covers of the tabloids sitting on my coffee table. I’m not sure why I don’t throw them away. All they are doing is causing me anxiety.
I knew it was going to happen. They warned me. It was part of the deal. But that doesn’t keep me from dreading it happening again. And once the press finds out who I am, it will only get worse.
I need to get over it. I’m used to being looked at when I’m up on stage and all eyes are on me. But I know I’m just kidding myself. When I perform, people are awed. They are inspired by my music. They applaud me for my talent. Being on stage with Sawyer is entirely different. People, women mostly, will want to tear me down. Find my flaws. Insult me.
I pick up the magazines and rip them into pieces, refusing to let them eat away at me anymore. I turn on the television to see if I can catch the end of the second game in Sawyer’s double-header today. Bass took a buddy of his to the game, the first of many I’m sure he’ll see. I’m not supposed to go to any games yet. Not until our relationship is more established.
Sawyer must have done something good, because the announcers are talking about him. Then the cameras pan the stadium and show women holding up signs declaring their love for him. ‘Marry me, #55,’ one of them says. Another reads, ‘I want to have #55 of your babies.’ My jaw drops when I see the one that proclaims, ‘I’ll do #69 with #55.’
I can’t believe they showed that one on TV. I can’t believe some girls are stupid enough to think he might notice them because of their signs. But then I realize who they’re talking about and maybe he does. Maybe that’s how he picks out his nightly conquests, from the signs they hold up.
Suddenly, I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It should be disgust. But, oddly, it feels a bit like … jealousy. I shake my head at myself and turn off the television. I walk back into my room and sit at my keyboard. I need an escape, but I don’t have enough time to go to school and practice on a real piano. I only have a few hours before our double date tonight – the one that will have us plastered across every magazine and tabloid because of where we’re going.
Bass is beyond excited. First, he went to the Hawks game this afternoon and then tonight we’re going to see the Knicks. I’m not sure what is so exciting about basketball, about watching grown men run around and sweat. I mean, at least in baseball, the guys look good in their uniforms.
I sigh, thinking of just how good Sawyer looks in his. But then I remember all the women who want to strip him out of his uniform and how willing he is to let them do it. In fac
t, he’s so willing that his team wants to kick him off and he had to hire someone to make him look respectable. He’s the definition of a playboy. I’ll bet if I Googled the term, his face would show up.
I let my fingers wander across the keyboard, composing a tune that makes me forget about tabloid magazines, rabid fans, and the number fifty-five.
Before I know it, Bass walks into my bedroom, reminding me we have to get ready for our double date. I hadn’t even realized how long I was playing and now my fingers are painfully sore. I take a pill to ease the muscle tension and then hop in the shower.
“Who did you find to bring tonight?” I ask Bass, walking out into the kitchen as I towel-dry my hair.
“Do you remember Brooke?” he asks.
“Brooke from school? Cello-playing Brooke?”
“That’s the one. Do you ever see her around?” he asks.
“Sometimes. But we don’t really talk.”
“You should. She’s nice. We’ve kept in touch since I left school and I’ve always gotten the idea she wouldn’t mind if I asked her out.”
“Then why wait until now?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Been too busy I guess.”
“Remember, we can’t say anything in front of her. This is a real date as far as she knows.”
“I’m perfectly aware of it, and I think that will make this all the more fun.”
“Fun?” I ask.
“Yeah. The three of us have a secret that she can’t know. Everything you guys do will be like an inside joke.”
I give him a nasty look “This is no joke, Bass. We can’t screw this up.”
“I know that. It’s one of the reasons I asked Brooke and not some random girl. I think we could trust her if one of us slipped up. Tonight will be like a rehearsal to see how the next six months will go.” He studies me thoughtfully. “But honestly Penny, I think of the three of us, you are the most likely to screw up.”
“Me?”
He nods. “You have to take this seriously. You have to put on a performance. You know how to do that. You’re no stranger to the spotlight. But for some reason, you can’t seem to get into character. You never talk about the guy. You don’t seem the least bit interested in him. That’s going to hurt the public’s perception of you.”
“What is it you want me to do, pretend he’s my boyfriend even when he’s not around?”
“I don’t know, maybe. If that’s what it takes to get you through this. There’s a lot at stake here. I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. You’re a strong-willed woman, and I’m afraid Sawyer will say or do something that will set you off. But you can’t let that happen. You have to keep up appearances. Your future depends on it. And so does Denver’s.”
I want to disagree with him, but I can’t. Everything he said is true. I need to pretend Sawyer is the guy I met when I was standing on the street soaking wet when neither of us knew each other from Adam. I can’t look at him as the guy who might take one of the sign-holding girls home for the night. The guy who tells me what to do instead of asks me. The guy who has undoubtedly had more women in his bed than a piano has keys.
~ ~ ~
I’ve never been to a basketball game before – professional or otherwise. But I’m fairly sure this is not how most spectators watch the game. We are sitting in courtside seats. And alongside us are faces I recognize from movies and television.
I have to hand it to Brooke, she doesn’t seem to be star-struck. At least not about the people who surround us. She only has eyes for Bass.
Bass, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have a clue about how Brooke is worshiping him. He’s too busy doing other things, like watching the game, celebrity-spotting, and making sure I play the part of Sawyer’s dutiful girlfriend.
“Lean into him,” he tells me. “You’re sitting closer to me than you are to Sawyer.”
“Maybe that’s because I feel safer with you,” I whisper.
He smiles. But then he scolds me. “Whisper in his ear, not mine. Come on, Penny. Everyone is watching, and you guys seem more like two people who just happen to be sitting next to each other. Nobody even knows you’re here together.”
I scoot closer to Sawyer, who is watching the game intently. I lean in. “Bass told me I should whisper in your ear because people are watching.”
He looks at me and then around the arena like he just realized we are here for show and not the basketball game. “Shit, right.”
He grabs my hand and brings it into his lap, resting our clasped hands on his thigh. Then he goes back to watching the game.
I really think the guy doesn’t know how to date. He’s absolutely clueless.
“I think you should pay more attention to me,” I say. “I mean, ignoring your date is not something one in a new relationship would do.”
“I’m not ignoring you,” he says. “I’m watching the game.” He lifts up our entwined hands. “And I’m holding your hand.”
I throw my head back and laugh, like he just said the funniest thing ever. When I make eye contact with him again, he’s studying me in amusement.
“Kiss me,” I say out of nowhere. “Not with tongue. Just a peck.”
He leans forward and gives me a chaste kiss on the mouth.
“Now take your fingers and brush my hair behind my right ear as you look at me.”
He does what I ask, poking my ear in the process. “How’s that?” he asks. “Did I do it right? I don’t feel like I did it right.”
“Are you telling me that’s the first time you’ve ever done that?”
He shrugs. “I told you before, I don’t date. I’ve never had to try to impress anyone, and I couldn’t give a shit who likes me.”
I paste a smile on my face, knowing we’re being watched. “Well you better give a shit if I like you, because I promise the next six months will be a whole lot better if I do.”
“Is that so?”
I give him a sultry nod and he laughs.
“Well, then, let me try it again.”
He reaches up and gently pushes a lock of hair behind my other ear, then he grabs the nape of my neck and pulls me to him until my lips touch his. He kisses me longer this time. It’s only a couple of seconds, and still with no tongue, but those few seconds have every synapse in my brain firing at full throttle.
“Now you’re talking,” Bass says. “You guys are getting better at this.” He leans over me and bumps fists with Sawyer.
My lips burn with the remnants of his light touch. Flashes of having more of him, of having all of him, bombard my thoughts. I try to push the visions aside, but then I remember what Bass said. Maybe these thoughts aren’t so bad after all. Maybe they will help me play the part.
I look over at Sawyer, letting my heated gaze permeate his profile. I take in his face, the heavy stubble on his jaw giving him a hint of roguishness. I look at his t-shirt that fits him so well I can see the outline of his toned pecs. I follow his shirt down to where our hands rest on his strong thigh, admiring the way his jeans fit while remembering how his backside looked in them when I was following him in.
When the game is over, Sawyer introduces us to a few people who come over to greet him. “Mason and Piper, I’d like you to meet Aspen, Brooke and Bass.”
We all shake hands and I wonder just who this Mason is, because Bass is having a conniption. “Oh, man, it’s an honor to meet you,” he says.
“Do you guys want to join us for a drink?” Sawyer asks them. “I know a nice club not too far from here.”
Mason looks at Piper and she shrugs. “Why not?” she says.
As we are escorted out of Madison Square Garden through a private exit, camera flashes go off in all directions. Mason and Piper walk out ahead of us and pose for a few pictures. Then Sawyer pulls me close to his side.
“You should smile for this one,” he says. “You have a great smile.”
“Okay.”
I smile, but I don’t look at the cameras. I look at him. When he re
alizes what I’m doing, he does the thing with the hair behind my ear again. He’s getting good at it. It’s almost believable thinking we could be a couple with the way he’s looking at me and touching me.
“What’s her name?” several photographers shout from the other side of the barrier.
“Not a chance,” Sawyer says to them, pulling on my hand so we can walk down the sidewalk and get away from the commotion.
Bass and Brooke follow behind us, a few photographers taking pictures of them as well. Maybe the press assumes they’re famous since they came out the same door we did.
A few photographers follow us down the street, but as soon as we get into the club, we’re whisked upstairs into a private VIP area.
While the guys order drinks, I stand at the railing, looking down on the people below. Down to where I would be if I weren’t on the arm of someone rich and famous. It’s all so surreal. I step back and take a deep breath.
Piper comes over and looks at me sympathetically. “It gets easier, you know.”
“It does?”
She nods.
“I’m sorry, you have me at a loss,” I tell her. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t even know who Mason is. Does he play baseball, too?”
She laughs. “Well, then that’s quite refreshing. No, he doesn’t play baseball. He plays football for the Giants.”
Bass butts into the conversation. “He doesn’t just play for them. He’s their quarterback.”
“Wow,” I say. “He must be really good.”
“Just like Sawyer is really good playing for the Nighthawks,” she says.
“I guess. I’ve only seen him play a little bit on TV.”
She cocks her head and studies me. “You don’t watch him play?”
I look at Bass and he gives me an encouraging smile. This is where I might have to start lying through my teeth. But we said we’d try to keep things as truthful as possible so we don’t mess up.
“No. I’ve never even been to a game.”
“Oh? Well, now I’m intrigued. I hear the rumors, and they say he’s got himself a girlfriend. I guess you’re it.”
Stealing Sawyer Page 11
