“Yes, ma’am,” Mirabelle says, and I wait for her to walk next to me, because that’s where she belongs. Not five feet behind me.
“What do you like to do outside of football?” she asks, and I’d actually prefer she tell me what an ass I am again over the politeness.
“Surfing, reading, swimming. You know the answer to that question already,” I point out, and Mirabelle doesn’t look at me as she writes it down.
“What are your weaknesses as a person?”
I chew the inside of my cheek as I think of how I want to word my apology, now that I actually have the chance to give it without Stacey listening in. “I worry too much about people I’m close to, and I can come across as an asshole, instead of trying to show how much I care about them. I’m sorry about this morning, Mirabelle.”
Mira sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I shouldn’t have called you an ass. I don’t exactly like being told what to do.”
“You forget I’ve known you since you were in diapers,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’m aware,” she mumbles quietly, her cheeks flushing pink as she clears her throat. “So you were worried about me?” Mirabelle asks, sounding more like herself as she looks up at me.
“I was.” My voice unintentionally deepens, and I shift back, putting distance between us. “Are we okay?”
She smiles hesitantly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Yeah, we’re cool, Henry, but I did book a suite at a hotel nearby. I don’t want us to have any more problems, so I think it’s best if I stay somewhere else.”
“No,” I blurt out, causing Mirabelle to jump at the abruptness. “I just mean . . . I’d rather you stay at my house until the police figure out what’s going on.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’ve never fought, and not even twelve hours into me staying with you, we’re fighting. Plus, I don’t want to cramp your style or Wilson’s,” she says, but I think those reasons are bullshit.
“We were fighting because I stupidly tried to tell you what to do. That’s a bad excuse, too. Season is about to start, and our ‘style’ is usually just us going somewhere to hang out where we have cameras shoved in our faces the entire time, which isn’t exactly my definition of a good time. Besides, I’m not supposed to be going out anywhere like that, remember?” I point out, trying to reason with her, but Mirabelle proved earlier how easily she could tell me to fuck off. Her mouth turns downward, and I definitely need to start thinking before speaking. I didn’t get much further than my initial apology. “Not that I’m complaining or anything. I don’t want to go out to those places anyway, I’m much happier with a book at home, but the media portrays it to be worse than it actually is.”
Mirabelle hums a response, unfolding her arms as she scrutinizes me.
“Please stay. I can’t promise I’ll be less protective of you, but I’ll work on being less of an ass.”
She laughs briefly, a smile cracking through, and a warm feeling flutters in my chest. “If you insist, then I’ll cancel my suite. But you need to promise that you’ll tell me if you want me to go.”
Yeah, fat chance of that happening.I take a half step forward to pull Mira into a hug when Stacey approaches, looking like she’s on a fucking mission.Awesome, I’m sure this means I’m getting roped into something else I want nothing to do with.
“Did your family’s house burn down last night?” Stacey asks, looking to Mirabelle for answers. I can’t say I’m not relieved for the reprieve in questions being directed my way.
Mirabelle freezes like a deer in the headlights, and for that sole reason, I wish the question was for me.
“I wouldn’t say it burned down, but it was on fire. Why are you asking?” Mirabelle recovers quickly, straightening her shoulders back.
“Are the two of you involved in a romantic relationship?” Stacey asks curtly as my brain struggles to process the question.
“No, we’re not,” Mirabelle answers quickly, her face pale.
Stacey looks at me for further confirmation, and I shake my head. “I’m not dating anyone. We’re just friends,” I repeat, trying to piece together where Stacey is going with this line of questioning.
“Well, fortunately for you, Henry, someone took pictures of you hugging and leaving the scene together last night. Gossip magazines are reporting that you have been in a secret relationship for months, and it’s trending across all social media outlets.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blurt out, waiting for either one of them to begin laughing and admit this is a bad joke.
Stacey’s gaze bounces between the two of us as my head spins. “It could work. I’ll be damned.” She chuckles under her breath.
“What could work?” I ask, glancing at Mirabelle who is frozen.
“It’s already having a positive effect on your socials. Mirabelle is a decorated Olympian who already has the support of the public in multiple demographics, including football because of her father.”
“But we’renottogether,” Mirabelle says, dragging out each word.
“Mirabelle, your press team just called me, and they mentioned that you asked them for suggestions to help Henry,” Stacey explains, and Mirabelle looks worried.
