Page 50 of Goal Line
“Maybe you just need to use it until the battery dies, then? Need anything massaged?”
I can tell he’s trying not to laugh as he teases me, and I’m beyond mortified. “I’m just going to throw this whole box in the dumpster in the parking lot.” I bend to wrap my arms around the box. “Be right back.”
Luke’s hand slams down on top of the box before I canpick it up. “You’re not supposed to lift anything heavier than twenty pounds.”
I roll my eyes as I stand, leaving the box on the table. He wouldn’t let me lift a single box while we were packing, not even the light ones. “You’re taking this a bit far,” I say, my irritation growing with every pulsating vibration that comes from the box sitting on the table between us. “Stop treating me like I can’t do anything.”
His voice is gentle when he says, “Hey, twenty pounds is the limit. We can’t have you potentially injuring Baby Squash.”
I move his hand off the top of the box with an annoyed sigh. I want to be done with this conversation so I can crawl back into bed, bury my head in my pillows, and dream that I live in a world where this entire interaction never took place.
Opening the flaps of the moving box, I pull out the decorative box inside. The pulsing is embarrassingly loud in the silence as we stare at each other. “Fine, I’ll just throwthisbox away, then.”
I set it on my hip as I use my other hand to close the flaps of the larger box—not that there’s actually anything else in there that I don’t want him to see—and then head to my front door.
“I’ll do it for you,” Luke says, coming up next to me as I slip my feet into my flip-flops.
“No!” I don’t mean to snap at him, but my response comes out harsher than I intend. I just need to get this box out of here and away from him.
He holds his hands up and takes a step back in response. “I really don’t want you walking through a parking lot by yourself in the middle of the night.”
“Luke, I’ve lived here by myself for years. The parking lot is well lit. I’ll be fine.”
“At least take a sweatshirt. It’s cold out there.”
“I’m fine,” I grumble as I turn the deadbolt, knowing he’s going to watch me like a guard dog until I return.
And with that, I step onto the walkway outside my front door and follow it to the parking lot. But damn if he isn’t right. Summer nights in LA usually dip into the mid- to low-sixties, and in my shorts, tank top, and flip-flops, I’m shivering by the time I reach the dumpster. Heaving the top open above my head, I toss the box in as far toward the back corner as it will go. Not that I think Luke’s going to come looking to see what’s in that box, but...just in case.
As I turn and run back across the parking lot, sure enough, Luke is standing there in the open doorway. He’s leaning up against the frame with his arms crossed against his bare upper body. And if the cut muscles of his abdomen and chest, and the tattoos wrapping around his muscular upper arms, didn’t stop me in my tracks, the look on his face would.
“What’s wrong?”
His voice is grim. “AJ called.”
Chapter Twenty-One
LUKE
Holding my phone out, I show Eva the missed call from about half an hour ago, while we were both sleeping—before the constant pulsing sound from the moving box woke me up—and my ringer was off. Even while we made a conscious choice to ignore the messages from our families we saw coming in yesterday, I can’t ignore this one from my boss.
I tap play on the voicemail and AJ’s voice fills Eva’s small apartment, which, until this moment, had felt like a sanctuary where we could avoid having to deal with real life.
I’m being proactive and sending Morgan out to LA to meet with you and Eva. She’s getting on a plane right now and will be there late morning, your time. You’d better be ready to work with her on how you’re shaping this story for the media.
Eva glances over at me. “Is this the same Morgan I met last week at the Neon Cactus?”
“I think so?” I’m as confused as she is. Aside from being my agent’s daughter, I have no idea what Morgan’s connection is to AJ or the Rebels.
“Why...” It’s like Eva doesn’t know what questions to ask and, honestly, neither do I. She shakes her head. “How does AJ know where we are? And do you think this means our parents know, too?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” I say. “I think we need to listen to our messages.” When she gives me a brief nod of agreement, I hit play on the first voicemail that came in yesterday morning after we texted our parents.
Luke, my mom says,help us understand what’s going on. You and Eva got married? When? Why? How? Your father and I are really confused and, quite frankly, hurt that you would keep this from us. Please call me.
There are several other similar voicemails from both my mom and my dad, and then the voice of Preston, my eldest brother and the new CEO of Hartmann Enterprises, thunders from the speaker of my phone.
What the fuck, Luke? You better have had a prenup in place before you made this impulsive decision. We love Eva, but you’re a goddamn Hartmann—you can’t just get married out of the blue like this without having certain safeguards in place.
