Page 43 of Thunderstruck
“We should go before one of them takes your nonchalance as an invitation,” I grumble and start heading for my car.
Carissa laughs as she follows me, and I hate how much the sound improves my mood. Jealousy and enjoying her laugh are two things that are going to make a friendship difficult. “For the record,” she says, “I didn’t see anything because I wasn’t looking. The only person I talked to was Moxie.”
I stop so suddenly that she runs into me. “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?” I ask, turning to face her.
“Like what?” She rubs her arm, probably where she collided with my bag.
If Moxie knows I’m in a bad mood after talking to the coach, he’s going to ask why. I roll my shoulders as discomfort builds inside me. “I don’t know. Anything.”
“I just asked him which locker was yours. Does your bad mood have something to do with Mox—”
Without thinking, I press a hand over her mouth and pull her in close by the strap of her bag. “Not here,” I repeat, only my words have nooomphbecause her eyes have gone wide. Looking at them up close, I marvel at the gold ring around them and the way the rich brown is broken up by threads of the same gold. Like little lightning strikes running through the irises.
They’re kind of beautiful. More than kind of.
My hand slowly slips from her mouth, but instead of stepping away, I lean in closer, mesmerized by the soft pink of her parted lips. What if…
“Cole, is this your new girlfriend?”
Crap. Crap crapcrap! I step back, but the damage is already done as the paparazzo who spoke snaps several photos from his car window. He shouts more questions, but I grab Carissa’s hand and tug her forward, ignoring the way she stumbles behind me. We have to get out of here.
As soon as Carissa gets close enough to the car for it to unlock, I shove my bag into the backseat and slide into the driver’s seat. Carissa’s past is going to be dredged up, her privacy dropping to zero. The guy likely got a clear shot of her face. That, and the fact that she’s here at the stadium and wearing a Los Angeles Thunder polo, is plenty for someone to figure out her name and her connection to the team.
With a stream of swears on my tongue, I impatiently wait for Carissa to get settled in the passenger seat, and when she fumbles with her seatbelt, I grab it and buckle it for her.
“Cole, maybe I should—”
I throw the car into reverse and back out of the spot too quickly, but I’m desperate to get out of the parking lot before the pap can follow. I have a good route planned out to my house in case I ever need to make a hasty retreat—a trick I learned from Derek—but I don’t know if it will make a difference. The photographer is already on my heels.
Does he plan on following me home?
“I should never have become your friend.” I grip the wheel tight as I speed from the lot. “I should have let you leave on your own. I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Cole.”
I hit the call button on the steering wheel and tell the Bluetooth to call Ethan.
“Who is Ethan?” Carissa asks as the speakers start ringing with the call.
“A publicist.” I don’t work with him personally, but Derek, Bonnie, and Liam all do. If anyone will have good advice, he will.
“Cole?” Ethan’s voice is full of concern. Probably because I only call him when there’s trouble. “What’s going on?”
“I need to hire you.” I take a turn too quickly and swear under my breath when Carissa grips the door handle. I force my foot to lift off the gas a fraction and check the rear view mirror to make sure no one is behind us. With enough turns, I should be able to lose the paparazzo entirely. But I won’t relax until I know he’s gone for sure.
Ethan’s quiet for a minute. “Okay. What’s up?”
“I did something I shouldn’t have.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not…” I growl as I reluctantly stop at a light. Now that we’re not moving, the anxiety is starting to creep in, but I do my best to ignore it. “I just got photographed.”
“Doing what?”
Technically nothing, but with how close Carissa and I were and the angle at which the pap was watching us, I’m sure it looked like I was doing a lot more than I was. I take a deep breath, and when the light turns green, I gun it. “We have a new rehab specialist on the team. Carissa.” I glance at her, and she stares back at me, her face full of fear. I don’t know if it’s from the paparazzo or from my driving. Probably both. I force myself to slow a little more, my fingers tight on the wheel. “She’s already been onHot Scooponce.”
“The blonde?”
