Page 78 of The Worst Pucking Deal

“Are you threatening me?” the reporter shouts, looking indignant.

“It was a warning,” Sy snarls.

The surrounding crowd is growing rapidly, and there are questions coming from every angle. “Come on, I’m starving,” I whine, tugging Sy toward the restaurant door.

He relents, and we head back inside. When some reporters try to follow us, a big guy gets up from one of the couches lining the walls. “No press,” he barks, pointing at a sign on the door.

A server comes over, wasting no time finding us a quiet corner to sit in. One far away from the glass windows so we can’t be seen by the people outside. After seating us, the guy leaves to get us some menus. When he returns, he’s carrying a silver tray with two fresh OJs and our menus.

“Just let me know when you’re ready to order,” he says, smiling.

Perusing the menu, I find that everything is organic and fresh, and every single item looks delicious. “What’s good here?”

Sy leans forward, pointing at my menu. “Their omelets are great.”

Judging by the large portions of food being carried to the table nearby, I decide against it. So when the server returns and Sy orders a mushroom omelet, I ask for an avocado toast and a bowl of fresh fruit.

While we wait for our food, I study Sy while he’s scrolling through his phone. His long fingers dance across the black device, so he’s probably texting or emailing. From the little I know of him from working for the Sabertooths, he never looks at his socials. He’s more than happy forgetting they exist. It’s something I’ve tried to get better at recently. I don’t want to see all the comments about me, and I know there has to be many by now. Luckily for me, the accounts I manage have been quiet the last few days, and I’ve actually managed to forget they even exist.

It’s still weird to think of him as my husband, a term that’s never meant anything but pain to me until I married Sy. My stomach churns as guilt settles deep inside me. Like a frigid cold, it spreads through my veins. I should have walked away without dragging him into my life. Yet, I can’t make myself regret marrying him. I acknowledge my selfishness, yet my current state of mind disregards it completely. I deserve happiness, even if it’s doomed to be fleeting.

“What’s up?” I ask as he frowns down at his phone like it’s offending him.

Before he can answer, the server carries our food over. “Oh my God,” I moan, taking a bite of the avocado toast. “This is amazing.”

Sy chuckles. “Been coming here for years. Can’t beat the quality.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And here I thought you only frequented fast-food joints.”

He feigns offense. “Hey, I have a refined palate too, you know.”

Our banter continues as we enjoy our breakfast, the atmosphere light and easy despite the tension simmering beneath the surface. I know he’s going to demand answers about Fabian soon, and I’ll either have to give them or… there isn’t really another alternative anymore. Not now that we’re married. But as both our phones buzz incessantly, our lighthearted conversation comes to an abrupt halt, replaced by a sense of foreboding.

“Ignore it,” Sy grumbles when I go to get mine out of my bag.

I frown. “Why? Who is it?”

He shakes his head, locks of his long hair falling down his face. “Let’s just enjoy our food.” Agreeing, I finish up the toast and move on to the fruit, which is equally delicious. “If you lick that strawberry one more time, I’m going to drag you into the nearest bathroom and fuck you,” Sy rasps, watching me through hooded eyes.

“Oops,” I grin. Too busy enjoying the red berry, I hadn’t even noticed I was playing with it.

The persistent buzzing of my phone is starting to make me nervous. I look longingly at my bag, considering what could be so urgent. “It could be Gail,” I say, reaching for my bag again.

“It’s not her,” Sy rumbles. “Just leave it.”

Reluctantly, I fish my phone out and answer without checking the called ID. I’m greeted by Jo’s terse voice on the other end. Her tone is icy, her words clipped as she demands our immediate presence at the arena. My heart sinks, a wave of apprehension washing over me as I hang up.

“That was Jo,” I say, wringing my hands.

“I know,” Sy replies. “Tom’s been texting and emailing me. They want us at the arena, but I say we blow them off. Fuck them.”

“You know what it’s about?” I ask, accusatory.

Sy finishes his food before leaning back in his chair, stretching before resting his hands on the back of his head. “They’re not happy about the marriage.”

Crap.

“Fabian wants proof it’s real as he’s apparently worried this will mean the Sabertooths’ reputation will suffer if it’s a stunt.”

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