High school was hurtful. But it wasn’t like I thought we’d get married. He was my crush and I was insanely into him, until I wanted to bury him alive. But this weekend, I met a whole new side of Troy—one I wanted to know, like an itch I couldn’t make go away no matter how much I tried to ignore it.
It was that stupid kiss.
“Where are you today?” Nic nudged me from the side.
I released a breath, knowing Nic wasn’t a simple “I’m fine” response. “I just need to snap out of it. I need to go home, soak my feet, have a glass of merlot and pass out.”
“That sounds amazing. I say we close up early, no one’s getting coffee at this hour and I’m sure Frankie won’t mind.
“Well let’s do it fast, I’m hearing some commotion at the security desk,” I warned her.
That was not out of the ordinary for Brooklyn Lines headquarters to have reporters, photographers and other media chasers stalking the doors of the building for the occasional appearance of athletes who come in for interviews or photoshoots.
“I’ll cash out, you go give Frankie the heads up we’re taking off,” I offered.
Nic scrubbed the last spot of grime off the steamer and threw in her towel. “Be right back.”
Ignoring the growing disturbance coming from the lobby, I focused on counting my twenties.
“I don’t care if you were the GM, no one gets in without an appointment.” Larry, one of our No-B.S. security guards barked.
I chuckled to myself as my fingers worked quick to scribble down the bill count before my mind wandered again.
Just who did this trespasser say he was? I shut the register and looked up. All the way across the atrium shaped lobby, my eyes locked with ones that belonged to no other than Troy Hartman.
“H—her. I know her.”
Larry glanced over at me for confirmation. My mouth broke open as I took in Troy’s appearance. He wore a stained white t-shirt, ripped jeans and a baseball hat. I blinked to be sure I wasn’t justthatmore delusional today than I thought.
“Troy?” I whispered but doubted anyone heard me.Shit.I ripped off my apron and spun in the other direction.
“Hey, Harp,” Larry’s voice echoed across the lobby, and I turned back with a heavy breath.
“Harper Maxwell, Iknewthat was you,” Troy called in a slurred and strained voice. “Can you please tell them who I am?”
“We know who you are, man, but that doesn’t mean we’re letting you in the building without an appointment.”
I locked my jaw before slowly striding over to security. When I reached the arguing duo, I whipped back from the alcohol reeking out of Troy’s breath, hair and clothes.
“Troy, what are you doing here?” I hissed.
His lazy grin made my insides twist. But not in any good way, in a way that made me wonder what it was about him I found so powerful yesterday and the night before.
He tossed an arm over me. “Boy am I glad to see you. You work here?”
I blinked.
“Awesome, I need help finding the person who wrote this.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his grey hoodie and held it out to me. I stared coldly at him in response.
“Okay, allow me.” He pulled it open and held it up for me. It was the article from the magazine that hit the web the morning after the game. I’d already read it so pushed it aside.
“Troy, you should leave. They’re not joking, it doesn’t matter who you are, they’ll have you arrested if you give them any problems.”
His smile grew wider, and he leaned down, his weight heavy against me and I nearly fell backwards.
“Hey, hands off buddy—” Larry pushed forward but I held up my hand, while the other just barely supported Troy’s massive upper body at my side.
“It’s okay, Larry, I’m just going to walk him out myself.” I pushed us both through the revolving door, with Troy’s weight practically pushing it for us, and stopped outside. I considered hailing a cab and throwing him in it…and to hell with wherever he ended up…or what kind of pictures people would get of him in the process.
