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“She writes under a pen name, but that secret is burned. Her readers figured it out, and Amber Kostas made it worse.”
Kelsie’s frustrated sigh hits me before, “Bronson, please tell me you love her. This is two mill or more you may lose over her.”
I watch Blair, who’s now watching me. Her head tenderly cants, like she can sense my distress, asking, “Babe, are you okay?”
So I let her see how she makes me smile, answering, “Yes, I love her. I love her books. I love her job. I’ll punch her philander dad in the face before I’m sure I’ll hate to love him, too. So any endorsements I lose over Blair Monroe can kiss my ass. I’d be ashamed to be associated with them anyway.”
“Damn,” Kelsie marvels. “That shrink’s really doing a good number on you, and it’s about time. You deserve some love.” She laughs. “Maybe we’ll sign all the sex-positive companies needing endorsements.”
Though I’d be proud, I have to be careful.
“Nah, just keep me to sports brands. I may not be squeaky clean enough, but I sure win enough.”
Over dinner, I bring it up. Since Coach and Kelsie, I’ve been thinking about it all day.
We’ll be back in Atlanta in no time and have to be ready.
Scratch that.
We have to be careful.
I know Colt feels the same way. He earns millions and donates his fame to raise money for cancer research. Endorsements are not his priority; football is.
But Blair has a lot to think about.
I can’t lie to her about being my girlfriend. I’ve lived in a fishbowl since I was eighteen, and it’s only gotten smaller. You can’t tell someone how it is until they’re stuck, swimming in it, too.
“It’ll affect your career and your books,” I tell her. “Some will buy them because of me, and some will hate them because of me. You’ll gain just as many haters as fans, and some won’t even be romance readers. They’ll only associate you with me, and I’m sorry.”
She reaches for my hand. We’re finishing off the bottle of Hennessey she snuck in while Colt tosses back a sip.
“Fine then,” she answers. “I had loyal readers before you, so as long as I keep them, I don’t care. I don’t write to be a best-seller. I write because it makes me happy.”
“Like ball.” Colt understands.
“Yeah, like big blue alien balls,” she jokes, and I hope she doesn’t lose her sense of humor.
She’s going to need it.
“So what do we do about dates and shit?” Colt asks. “You two are about to be the it couple, for better or worse, but what do I do?”
It clenches my heart. It feels like we’re teens again. Like Colt’s dating another cheerleader while I have to watch.
“Do you want to date even though we’re… ”
I point between us and don’t know how to describe it. I just worry. I’m just jealous.
“Nah, man.” Colt reaches for my hand. “This? You and me? Her and us? This is my dream, but we’re no fools. I can’t be stag in public forever. Rumors will start.”
“He’s right.” Blair sucks a creamy bite of flan off her fork before wagging it between us. “We have to make it look like you and I are America’s sweethearts, and he’s our best friend, America’s bad boy. And on one meet-cute sports romance day, our wholesome love inspires Colt to fall in love with his sweet someone, too. There’s your happily-ever-after. It’s a classic tale, and folks literally buy it all the time.”
“But,” I stammer, “it’s just the three of us. We haven’t even moved in, and now we’re adding a fourth? I don’t want a?—”
“Slow your worried roll,” Blair soothes. “We’ll give it a month or two. He’s still brokenhearted over Amber, right?”
Colt laughs. “Yeah, I’m devastated. I’m gonna get nine cats and date Ben & Jerry’s.”
Blair scoffs, “That’s such a cliché. That’s what they make wine, vibrators, and smutty books for.”
