Page 102 of Forecheck
“I don’t know what he sees in that Berkley girl anyway. She’s not even that pretty.”
“And not nearly as smart as she thinks she is.”
My blood pressure rose with each word, and Harper reached out to grip my hand. “Deep breaths, Berk. It’s fine. You know it’s all bullshit.”
Harper, of course, was right. Still…it was a strange thing to have your deepest insecurities trotted out and laid bare by people who didn’t even know you. Not to mention, beauty wasn’t everything. But I took my intelligence seriously, and my undergrad and law school grades proved I wasn’t the dumb blonde these women thought I was.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs, then letting it out slowly.
Then I took another breath.
And another.
Seeming unperturbed, and unaware of my inner struggles, Brent gave the room a tense smile and stood to approach the stage.
By the time he returned, I’d calmed enough to not lose my composure in front of the who’s who of the Detroit law scene.
He was halfway into his seat when I rose, collected my clutch, and tugged on his arm.
“Let’s go,” I said as a girl walked by and called me a slut under her breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Please, Brent,” I said quietly, not wanting to discuss this here. “Can we please just go home?”
Brent nodded. “Sure, babe. Whatever you want. I’ll go get our coats while you say goodbye.”
After hugging Harper and Ryan, I followed Brent to the coat check and watched as the attendant, having recognized him, asked for a selfie. Brent obliged, and I rolled my eyes.
When we were safely in the truck and on our way back to my place, Brent broke the silence. “You want to tell me what happened back there?”
“I just wanted one night about me,” I said. “And it ended up being about you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brent’s forehead crease. “What are you talking about?”
“Everywhere we go, you attract all of this attention.”
“Well, not to be insensitive here, Berk,” he started, “but I am a pro hockey player. It comes with the territory.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is tonight could’ve been amazing. And then you had to go and bid on some stupid vacation you don’t even need, announcing to the entire room that you were there. It would’ve been fine if you had just laid low.”
My words, though quiet, may have been a shout in the stillness of the truck cab. We’d parked at my building, and our breaths mingled with the quiet ticking of the cooling engine.
Brent angled his body toward me. “So let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You’re mad at me because I bid on a vacation in an auction that was raising money to help women who have been abused?”
“That’s not what I said.”
Although, it kind of was. Still, that wasn’t the biggest issue. But Brent just didn’t get it, both as a man and as someone thousands of women—and probably men—lusted after. He was used to living in the limelight, used to the public commenting on his looks, his body, his life.
What he didn’t understand was having to deal with the cattiness of other women, of the snide remarks, the superiority complexes, the drama and bullshit and backstabbing.
So yeah, my anger over the turn the night had taken really had nothing to do with Brent and everything to do with my insecurities.
“Then what are you saying, Berk?”
