Page 33 of Ace My Heart

He laughed nervously and reached into his pocket, pulling out a tennis ball. He thrust it under my nose, followed by a Sharpie marker.

“My son Randy’s a big tennis fan. Would you sign this ball for him?” Coughlin asked shyly. I managed the remnants of a smile, plucking the ball from his hand and scrawling a signature onto it.

“Oh, thank you Mel! He’ll be stoked!” Coughlin gushed, finally returning to his job.

My phone pinged. My Uber had arrived.

The driver was polite and silent, which suited me fine. I rested my head against the seat, staring vacantly at the city buildings as we crept through traffic.

Blood.

Gaping mouth.

“Stop!” I shouted. The driver smashed on the brake and looked worriedly at me in the rear-view mirror.

“Do you want to get out?” he asked in clipped English. I couldn’t speak, my throat was locked. I shook my head and coughed.

“Keep going,” I grated. He looked at me sternly for a moment longer, until the car behind him honked and he accelerated once more.

“I thought you’d call when they were through with you, Stink,” Joel said as he opened the front door to let me through.

“I didn’t want to bother you – I Ubered instead.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed and he pressed a knuckle under my chin, tilting my head up, “Everything okay?” he murmured.

I tried a smile. It felt too tight. “Just peachy,” I replied. I wasn’t going to explain what I’d just seen at the police station.

“I put your stuff up here in the biggest guestroom,” he said after a pregnant pause. He led me up to the top level of the house, along a loft-style hallway and through a door on the left.

Connor was lounging on the bed, as if he already owned the place. I noticed with surprise that Joel had set up his kitty litter and put bowls of food and water down for him in the enormous en suite.

“Connor won’t want to leave if you start treating him like a king,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Joel.

His grin nearly knocked my feet out from under me. Damn it, why did he have to have such a gorgeous smile?

“So, Stink, what did the cops have to say?” he asked as he sat on the bed beside me. Trust Joel – his curiosity would always get the better of him.

“Well, Pete gave me an alibi, but it turned out to be more of a curse than a blessing.”

“Why?”

I shook my head, lying back against the plush mattress and putting an arm over my eyes so he couldn’t see me. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

I waited for Joel to insist, but he was distracted by his phone buzzing. As I peeked at him, he pulled it out, staring down at the screen for what seemed like forever.

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up again.

“There’s this sports gossip blogger: tennisfanboi. He always Tweets about you. I have Twitter set to notify me when he posts. I just got a …”

And then I heard a sound that I had hoped never to hear again in my life. At first, I thought I must have just been reliving thehumiliation, but then I heard Joel make a choking noise. I sat bolt upright, looking at him. His eyes were wide, and there was a strange, shocked expression on his face.

“What is that?” I demanded. Joel didn’t look away from the screen. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and stared intently at what I wishedwasn’tthe video of me and Pete. But I knew it was.

“Looks like Levine’s alibi has gone viral … Jesus … is that … even possible?”

Joel’s voice had taken on an odd tone. I groaned and reached over to snatch the phone from him. He pulled away from me, eyes still fixated on my gyrating hips on his phone screen.

“Thisisthe alibi, right?”

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