Page 35 of Wild Blades

“Yes.” I look over to the striking redhead.

“You’re so beautiful. Are you and Wade dating?”

“No, we are not.” He appears by my side and every girl in a ten-mile radius goes starry-eyed. “Beasts only get beauties in fairytales.”

Thank God, he decided to play along. But that response is really sad and makes me feel things I don’t like. It hurts my heart. Is that what he believes? If so, it’s not just sad, but heartbreaking.

“Can I be your girlfriend, Wade?” someone shouts from the back of the crowd, making everyone laugh.

Staying behind the wall for safety, Wade gets to work, signing whatever is placed in his hands. Although he drew the line at signing a girl’s cleavage though, so she settled for her shoulder instead, informing him she was going to get it tattooed to make it permanent.

Eagle’s fans are intense.

“Love you, Wade. Didn’t like you breaking Zane’s nose though,” another girl shouts.

“Boys will be boys.” I brush that comment away like it’s yesterday’s news.

I’m waiting on a contact at the newspaper, who published the story, to get back to me about who sold it to them. There are only two sources it could have come from: a member of staff, or a player. The in-house marketing and public relations team should have a handle on these things, but it appears they don’t. There have been several articles about Wade’s behavior that have been leaked, and it all points to an internal source. Whoever it is, I will get to the bottom of it.

For the next ten minutes, reluctantly Wade signs autographs and takes selfies, smiling for everyone, though I can tell it’s forced.

I had to have a chat with him about that last week. About the smiling thing.

“It’s quite simple,” I said at the time. “You just say the wordArmaniand it makes you look like you’re smiling and not some miserable celebrity who doesn’t give a shit about his fans.”

I’ve since caught him a couple of times testing my method. It’s adorable.

Finishing up, we wave the girls goodbye, but it doesn’t stop some of them lingering.

Hand on the base of my back, like you would do to a girlfriend, Wade surprises me with his gentlemanly gesture to usher me back to my seat.

Lowering myself down, I show him the photo of him with the crowd. He’s at the front and his hands are in the air. “That’s a great photo. We’ll use that for your social pages tomorrow.”

He lifts an eyebrow, almost looking like he’s agreeing with me.

Tough gig sometimes. You never quite know what he’s thinking.

And then we are back to radio silence between us again.

“I like people watching.” I lean in to talk to him so he can hear me better over the music, trying to fill the gap and break the tension. I’m not nervous, more awkward than anything. I don’t know him well enough yet and he’s not much of a talker.

“Woman in the purple dress.” I point at a random couple I’ve been fascinated with since we arrived. “She’s with the guy she’s dancing with, but…” I look for his friend and I point in the opposite direction. “He had his hand up her dress earlier.” I swear I should have been a detective. “And her…” I find another couple. “She likes her.” I wave my hand at a girl with red hair and another with pink. “They’ve been making eyes at each other since I sat down. They’d look hot together, don’t you think?”

Wade grabs his almost empty bottle of water from the table I tested earlier, finishes it, and then places it back.

I twist my neck to look at him. Maybe he didn’t hear me and my observations.

Although maybe he does really hate me like he has said a few times now and doesn’t want to speak to me. I think he finds me annoying. His often pursed-together lips are a dead giveaway. Much like they are now that he’s finished his drink.

“You have my lipstick on your lips.” Unconsciously, I reach up to wipe it away. Then it dawns on me I’m too close. Far too close, and my thumb is on his bottom lip. I’m touching him in a moment of madness, but I don’t move. Instead, I stare at my blood red lipstick staining his skin and imagine what his big, pouty mouth would like covered in it.

I look up to find him staring at me and something like a shot of electricity shoots through my hand, jolting me back to reality.

“Sorry.” I pull my hand away.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and then back down. “It’s fine.” Forefinger pressed to his lips, he haphazardly rubs it off the way men do, as if lipstick will poison them.

“Missed a bit.” I point to a tiny residual speck, making him rub with more vigor. His eyes stay fixed on mine still.

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