My love life.

  I wait for what seems like a lull in the conversation before I excuse myself. The way Kris’s lips turn down makes me think I interrupted her, but really, she hasn’t stopped talking since we sat. How am I supposed to get a word in edgewise?

  I’m sure there’s a mad flurry from the cameraman to shoot me walking into the bathroom, but I don’t dare look around. They better not actually follow me in here. To think I was excited when McNally pitched the idea to me over a year ago. He used words like heartthrob, good for the team, and give people a piece of you. But this feels more like an invasion than a tiny sliver of my life. With everything going on, it’s been too much.

  I open the door, then lean my back against it, staring up at the fancy chandelier in the middle of the room. A chandelier in the bathroom. This is definitely not my type of place. These are not my people. This is not my girl.

  There’s nothing wrong with her, really. Either of them. They’re both gorgeous. They’re flirty. Smart. One of them is a lawyer, and the other works in PR. Which begs the question why they’re on this show. I spot a velvet settee in the corner and have a seat, bowing my head to stare at my lap.

  My hands have done a lot of amazing things. Caught touchdowns, lifted big weights, and held Tab’s soot-covered body. I’ll never forget the way she looked up at me, eyes bright where everything else was dark. Her pink lips dusted in gray, except for the creases. “Am I going to die?” she’d asked.

  A chill runs up my spine. Yes, my hands have done a lot of good things, but maybe the best of all was bringing her hand to my lips and kissing it. Two seconds later, they put her on oxygen and wheeled her into the ambulance while I watched and Reid texted Micah the update everyone wanted.

  How she was even alive, no one knows. They couldn’t find her in the chaos. They had already doused most of the flames when they ran across her body.

  I can’t get over it. The look on her face, the state of her body. It irrevocably changed me.

  I pull out my phone and text Micah.

  Me: How’s she doing?

  He knows by now who I’m talking about, and he doesn’t like that I’m interested.

  Micah: Aren’t you on a date?

  Me: Hiding in the bathroom.

  Micah: Great idea. Hide and everything will go away.

  Micah: She’s fine, btw.

  Me: A little more info than that maybe?

  Micah: She’s fine, Newb.

  Micah: Ha. My phone knows this is your name now. It started capitalizing it.

  I clench my jaw, squeezing my phone until my knuckles ache. He acts like her caretaker, or a guard. I start typing out another text, but I’m interrupted when the door opens. My head snaps up, making sure it isn’t the production crew coming in.

  Worse, it’s Kris.

  I sit up straighter. “What are you doing?”

  She walks toward me, her heels clicking off the marble floors with purpose. “Levi Soucy.” A smirk tears her lips apart. “Are you avoiding me?” She hikes up her dress and straddles me on the settee, sitting on my thighs. “Or was sex in the bathroom part of your plan?”

  My hands start to move of their own accord—because what else do you do when a woman sits on your lap?—but then she breathes out, “Yes, touch me.”

  And it’s so fake. It’s so fake I can’t even convince myself it’s anything else.

  I retreat and hold her at arm’s length. I search her dress for the microphone, and I place my palm over it, hoping to give us some privacy. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving people a show. Something you’re not doing.”

  The accusation in her tone pulls at my stomach. I sit up, forcing her off me. “This is all a show to you?”

  “Isn’t it a show to you, superstar? So a guy like you can get some scripted pussy? I’m sure you’re not hard up for it. I mean, I’m offering it to you.” She starts to tug at her dress again, pulling it high enough that I can see she’s not wearing panties.

  A smile forms on her lips as if she’s won, but then I place my hand over her microphone again. “Would you stop?”

  She chuckles. “You think messing with the mic will make a difference? What do you think everyone assumed when I followed you in here?”

  “I came in here to be alone.”

  “Well, according to the show, you and I arranged to meet in here because you like fucking in public.”

  I swallow hard. She’s right. That’s all anyone will think. This woman is devious. “Why are you even on this show? Aren’t you the lawyer?”

  “I’m the PR girl, and you are desperately losing the audience’s attention.”

  “I’m not doing this for the audience,” I snap, moving away from her. I didn’t want to do this at all. If I wasn’t bound by contracts, this is the last place I’d be right now.

  “Oh, come on,” Kris protests. “Don’t kid yourself.” She reaches around the side of her dress and unzips. Then she pulls the straps down until the fabric pools at her feet, revealing a black lace bra that would have previous Levi begging to get his mouth on it. “The show owns you and the show owns me. We might as well have some fun.”

  I kneel to pick up her dress and maneuver it back onto her slight frame. She scoffs when I feed her arm through the strap. “You’re making a mistake.”

  I zip her dress back up. “We’re going to go back out there and sit at the table to finish our meals and forget this ever happened.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “It’s not that you’re not…desirable⁠—”

  “Oh, save it.”

  She rearranges her dress to make sure it’s in place and then marches toward the exit, pausing with her hand on the door.

  Slowly, she turns to glare at me. “Whatever your reason is for doing this, you’re failing at it. Miserably. If your dates with the other girl are anything like mine, you come across as a jackass, pompous, dickhead football player who can’t be bothered by anything. Have fun with that media firestorm when the show airs, and don’t call me when you’re in the thick of it.” She swings the door open as if it personally offended her and disappears.

  My shoulders deflate like a slow tire leak. How have I not noticed before that this is a lot of work? The games. The conversations. The awkwardness afterward. And it’s not even just the show. It’s my dating life in general.

  I breathe in deep and stare at the velvet cushion longingly. My phone is still lying there, and I check it for messages again, hoping Micah sent me something else, but he hasn’t. I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. It’ll piss him off, but I feel connected to Tab. That moment we shared was like a time stamp in my life’s timeline. An instance I keep coming back to again and again.

  I scroll through my contacts and land on McNally. Pressing on his name, I call him before I can talk myself out of it. He answers on the second ring. “I think I’m done with this,” I say. “This woman just accosted me in the bathroom and threw herself at me.”

  “Oh, I hope they got that on camera.”

  My shoulders stiffen. “I was in the bathroom.”

  “They don’t follow you into the bathroom?”

  “Why? So everyone can hear me take a leak?”

  “Soucy.” An exaggerated sigh comes from the speaker. He’s so smarmy. Like a snake oil salesman. He could’ve picked so many other players on the team, but I’m beginning to think he chose me for a reason. Because he thought I would be into it. Because he thought I was too stupid to see what this would actually do to me. “I have you by the balls. You’re under contract to finish taping the show, so you’re going to go out there, give one of those girls your final necklace, and then we’ll bring you all on to talk about it afterward. You’re almost at the finish line, son.”

  “Don’t call me son.”

  “What I can call you is mine. At least until the contract is settled. Final necklace. Then after-show taping.”

  “Then that’s it,” I warn. “I’m done.”

  He chuckles. “Have a good night, Soucy.”

  The line goes dead.

  God, I hate that guy. But he owns my ass. He’s not wrong about that.

  I inhale again—long and slow—then let it out. I had no idea not being true to myself was so exhausting. Like each step forward is another weight added to my shoulders. The steps to the dining room add up to a Mack truck, but when I sit and smile, that one takes the biggest chip out of me. I want to tell this girl that she’s insane, but I can’t really do that now, can I?

  Then that necklace glitters at her throat, and shame hits me. I really am a fuckup.

  Time to play the part.

  I lift up my water glass. “To us.”

  She clinks it with hers, eyeing me suspiciously under the guise of a genuine smile. “To us.”

  I force down what happened in the bathroom and slip into a different skin. It never felt like this before, but now it does. As if I’m wearing a costume for everyone to see. Smile. Charm. Add a wink here and there. When did my life get so fake?

  Lock in, Soucy. Soon, it’ll all be over.

  3

  Tab

  There comes a point in everyone’s life where they are sick of their own shit, and I’ve been at that point for the past two days now. I’m sick of my own inner monologue. It replays the fire. It relives the suffocation. It even has made-up conversations with people because the only people I see are Raeann and Micah.

  I’m used to being so busy. Helping at the shop, packing orders, posting on our social media⁠—

  Wait… Who has been doing that? How did I forget to do that?

  I walk over to the house phone that Micah helpfully placed in my room and call the shop. Jace answers.

  “How’s my favorite employee?”

  “Tab!” I can practically hear the grin on his face, and it makes me smile. I’m so glad Micah dropped the idea of firing him because he really was a lifesaver, and from what I hear from Raeann, he’s continued to be.

  “Hey.” Emotion suddenly clogs my throat, and I have to poise myself before starting again. “Is she right there? Don’t let on that it’s me, but I was sitting here thinking and wondered who has been doing the social media? Please don’t say Rae-bae.”

  Jace chuckles then his voice moves to a whisper. “She’s in the back, and you’re safe. Sunny took it over. She’s good, too. Hey, I’ve tried reaching out.”

  I take in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t have my phone. It was lost in…the fire, and Raeann thinks I don’t need one right now.” That last line is a bit of a copout, and a gross underestimation of what’s been going on. As one can imagine, Micah Freeman’s girlfriend being involved in a house fire was big news. Reporters, social media comments, the whole nine yards. Both of us decided we would lay low while things died down.

  “Well, she certainly is handling everything, so no worries on that front. I just wanted you to know I’ve been thinking about you. We miss you around here.”

  “Is that Tab?” a female voice asks. For a second, I think it might be Raeann but quickly realize it’s Katya when she squeals. “Tell her I say hello.”

  The phone muffles for a second. “Hello?” I pull the phone away and look at it when no one responds right away, then put it back to my ear.

  “Excuse you,” Raeann’s voice rings out with that cute, country twang that seems to deepen when she’s all up in her attitude. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “I was, but then I decided to torture myself with real-life stuff and remembered that I usually do Pet Threads’ social media and then proceeded to worry someone forgot about it.”

  “That someone being me?”

  “Well, you have a lot on your plate.”

  “I have a lot on my plate?” The question sits out there before she sighs. “Everything is fine here. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Rae-bae, I’m going crazy. I think I’ve literally entered the dimension of psycho where I’m answering my own questions, but it sounds like the me that is me is a completely different person.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re saying.”

  “See! I’ve completely lost the plot!”

  “Do you want to go out to lunch? Maybe we can find a quiet place somewhere to chat for a little while.”

  A murmur sounds in the background before Raeann covers up the phone, whispering, “It’s fine. I can do that, too.” Then the line unmuffles.

  I want so badly to leave this place, but I can’t bother Raeann. Not when she’s holding down the fort. I already feel like a burden with my bandage changes and keeping her and Micah from moving in together. “No, it’s okay. I suddenly feel tired. I think I’ll lie back down.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  “See ya.”

  I drum my fingers against my thigh. Just because she can’t go with me doesn’t mean I can’t go out by myself. I heave open the closet in my room. I vaguely remember Raeann hanging up clothes in here after we first moved in. She told me we’d go on a huge shopping spree when I felt better since all of our things were lost in the fire, but these clothes would do for now.

  I find a pair of sweats and an oversized sweatshirt—something that hopefully won’t rub against my bandages too badly but hide them enough that I won’t get embarrassed—and then grab a purse from the hook on the wall. Perfect.

  I make a brief pit stop in the attached bathroom to throw my hair on top of my head, but then I get an almost instant headache, so I put it back down again and spray nearly a whole can of dry shampoo on it, making it at least look presentable.

  My stomach churns as I head to the elevator. I haven’t walked out of this building in weeks, and never by myself. It’s just coffee, I tell myself. A quick little trip, something I would’ve done without thinking before the fire, so why my stomach feels like it’s gnawing on itself when the elevator doors open and I walk inside, I’m not sure.

  Maybe because if Raeann finds out I left on my own, she’d lose it.

  I breathe in deep, trying to relax. The elevator deposits me on the bottom floor, and when the doors open, I’m taken aback. I forgot how opulent the foyer was in this building. My gaze is drawn toward ornate columns that rise to the ceiling and split into carved arches, all spotlighted by the most intricate, show-stopping chandeliers I’ve ever seen. The fanciness of this building does nothing to help loosen the unease inside my stomach. In fact, it pulls tighter.

  You don’t belong here, whispers through my brain in an echo chamber, and judging by the looks the doorman sends me, he thinks the same.

  Once outside, though, the fresh air hits me, and I stand for a moment, feeling the sun on my face and the breeze lift my hair. Perfect. Normal.

  I stand there for entirely too long, feeling the brush of my prior self. The girl who wasn’t scared to go out in public. The girl who didn’t avoid people or feel sorry for herself.

  It fuels me as I glance left, then right. Raeann has been bringing me coffee from a place called The Daily Perk, and I spot it on my second look around. They have the best caramel lattes I’ve ever had.

  People brush by, engrossed in their own minds, talking on their phones, and in general, ignoring my very existence, which does wonders for my confidence. I’ve been shut up in my room, but the whole world kept turning. Things kept happening. It goes to show you how disconnected we all are. We see some tragedy on the news, but what can we do but go on with our everyday life? Raeann must have felt this way after her world turned upside down. Like everyone else kept on living while she was stuck in her own nightmare.

  I cross the street when traffic clears. Once I’m close enough to the building, the smell of delicious coffee reaches my nostrils, and I smile, picking up the pace. Though the aroma of coffee beans seems like such a small thing, it’s big to me.

  There are a few people here and there when I walk inside, some sitting at tables with their laptops open or chatting low on the phone. I walk up to the counter and make my order, making sure the sleeves of my sweatshirt are down to hide the bandages.

  The barista smiles. “That’ll be $9.83.”

  I open my purse to swipe my card and freeze. My stomach drops. There’s no wallet in here. Nothing is in here. “Oh my God.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat. I haven’t seen my wallet since before the fire. I’m sure Raeann has it somewhere or for all I know, it burned up, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have it now. I reach for my back pocket to use my phone wallet, but I don’t have a phone either. I knew that.

  “Okay, this is embarrassing. I…um…”

  “Cancel that last order,” the barista yells out.

  “I usually do have money.” I pitch my voice lower. “I’m actually a business owner, I just…”

  The barista looks me up and down. Not in a judgmental way, but her lips turn down all the same. She feels sorry for me. Which is so much worse.

  “I’m fine. I’m just⁠—”

  “Tab? Holy shit.”

  That accent? Unmistakable. I might keel over and die right here.

  I peer up to find Levi Soucy walking toward me, looking like the hunky dreamboat he is. Dark hair perfectly styled. Larger-than-life muscles. That face. It’s even more gorgeous with the surprised smile he’s giving me, and suddenly, I’m thrust into the past, staring through sooty lashes at this face. Unmarred. Hopeful. A beacon of light when I was pretty sure I was dying.

  He wraps his arms around me and squeezes, pulling me out of my fascination. I hiss a little at the contact, and he immediately backs away. “I’m so sorry. I forgot for a minute.”