“Oh? How do you figure?”
He stared me down. “Tearing at the guy like that, like the guy’s trying to fuck up his life. That’s not what he’s doing.”
“I dunno, it looks like he keeps making bad decisions. He lives his life in the public eye, shouldn’t he take the bad with the good?”
Lance pursed his lips. “Sure, the public eye is fine and all, but just remember, Charlotte, no one wakes up in the morning and decides to make one bad decision after another.”
Now it was my turn to stare at Lance. “That…might have been the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Yeah? I thought the best thing I’ve ever said to you was ‘Hi’ or ‘wanna get out of here?’”
“Jerk. I think I said the last one, not you.”
“Was that how it went? Yeah, that was probably it. You couldn’t resist taking me home with you, could you?”
I knew I was getting red in the face with embarrassment, which was strange, because those long weeks ago in the club I hadn’t thought twice about taking the world’s sexiest man home with me. “Shut up, Lance.” I swatted at him across the bed railing halfheartedly. “That was a long time ago.”
“Forgotten about me already, then? Moved on to another man, perhaps?”
I must have been getting redder by the second, because Lance kept pushing. “No, there’s no one else,” I said, whispering.
“But you’ve got someone in mind, yes? Tell me about him.”
“I don’t think it’ll work out between him and I,” I started, clearly meaning Lance and me.
“Oh really? Why’s that? Storms on the horizon already?”
“Well,” I gave a small smile, “he’s a little famous, and could be even more famous soon. I’m not sure how to deal with that.”
“The limelight doesn’t excite you? Plenty of women would love to be dating someone famous.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not other women, Lance.”
“So you don’t want to be famous, or famous by association?”
I shook my head, looking deep into Lance’s dark brown eyes, barely lighter than black. “Not even for a second. Never excited me.”
Lance considered that. “That would make dating a famous guy a little difficult, now wouldn’t it?”
“And that’s even assuming he’s into me in the first place. I mean, he must have girls throwing themselves at him all day long.”
“And twice on Sundays,” Lance added, “if he really is at all famous.”
I nodded. “And on the verge of getting even more famous.”
Lance leaned toward me, sitting up in bed. “That is quite the pickle you’re in, Charlotte Calloway. I wonder what you’ll do.”
“Thank you for your support, Lance Parker,” I replied. “I’ll surely keep you updated on my personal life.”
“Please do, I find it fascinating.” Ugh, some twisted part of me loved it when we played verbal sparring games like this, but the rest of the time I just wanted to jump into his arms and forget that either of us knew how to speak at all.
And when Lance looked at me like that I was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing. And it tore me apart inside.
I had to ask him. “How do you deal with it?”
“Deal with what?”
“All the attention, the scrutiny, the media. How do you deal with it?”
“I wasn’t a first round pick, Charlotte, no one knows who I am.” Lance pointed at the TV, which showed the rapidly-becoming-infamous young player partying in Las Vegas surrounded by scantily-clad young women when he claimed to be back in Cleveland studying for the next game. “I don’t have nearly the trouble that guy’s got.”
“Yeah, but you still have cameras on you all the time when you’re on the field, before the games, after the games, press conferences…doesn’t it all get kinda old fast?”
Lance smiled at me, that smile that made me melt inside and want to do naughty, unconscionably naughty, things to him and with him. It was the kind of smile that could turn heads, and probably did. “Some guys work their entire lives for that kind of attention, Charlotte.”
“Are you one of those guys?”
Lance yawned, making a big show of covering his mouth with one of his giant and calloused hands. “Oh, my, suddenly getting verrrrry sleepy in here. I think I’ll take a nap.” He gave me a big, exaggerated wink, then turned over so I was faced with his muscular back, just barely covered by the thin sheet. I could see his tattoos criss-crossing his back and I wanted to study them like an art history major would study a Monet painting.
I stood up. “I know what you’re doing, Lance Parker, you’re avoiding answering my question. Don’t think I didn’t noti-“
Lance cut me off, snoring so loud it made the cup of water at his bedside shake as if a dinosaur had wandered by.
“Oh, very fun-“
Lance snored again, this time even louder, rattling the knife and fork on the plate he’d recently been snacking from.
I put my hands on my hips. “You really are the worst, you know that?”