Page 73 of Let Me Love You

My eyes well with tears, but I blink them away, praying he can’t hear the way my heart beats unsteadily beneath his ear. But the reminder of our harsh reality sucks, leaving me even more tired than before I’d fallen asleep.

“We don't know if it’s just me and you anymore, Colt,” I whisper. “Not yet.”

His breath soaks into the thin cotton of my pajamas, but he doesn’t deny it. How can he?

“Goodnight, Colt,” I whisper.

“Love you, Sunshine.”

26

THEO

Buchanan slaps the magazine onto the desk in front of Colt and me, jabbing his finger onto the title of the article he’d turned to as if to prove his point.

“What the fuck happened last night?” he orders.

Colt and I knew we were in for a lecture when we both received a text message this morning from him, along with a link to the article, demanding we meet with him in his office at B-Tech Enterprises.

I look around the spacious office, ignoring Buchanan’s glare branding the side of my face from behind his desk. The room is nice. Fancy. Massive. I’d ask for a few fingers of his Poppy Van Winkle on the bar cart at the edge of the room if I wasn’t sporting a hangover from the engagement party at SeaBird last night. After the shit storm with Colt and the bunny, I decided being the designated driver for the evening was overrated. I got shitfaced with Blake and hired an Uber to take us home.

It was crazy.

Wild.

Hell, I can still see Colt’s shocked expression when the girl’s ass hit the floor after she’d bumped into Blake and me.

Yeah. None of us expected it, and we sure as shit didn’t anticipate how the article would paint Colt as an abusive asshole who’s cheating on his girlfriend.

Needless to say, it hasn’t exactly been a stress-free morning.

Without bothering to look at the photograph of Colt and the nameless bunny on the floor, I shift in my seat and spread my thighs wide. “So, the engagement party got a little rowdy…”

“I’ll get to you in a second,” Buchanan snaps. “This reporter is saying Colt hit a woman.”

“I didn’t hit anyone,” Colt growls beside me. The guy looks ready to blow a gasket, and I can’t blame him. For once, the Lions’ golden boy has been painted as an asshole. It’s gotta chafe. “The girl wouldn’t keep her hands off of me.”

“Where was Ash? Huh?” Buchanan seethes. “Do you have any idea how bad this makes you look?”

“Yeah, we get it,” I interject, but Colt ignores me and answers, “It makes me look like I was cheating on Ash with this random girl and then hit her in public.”

“Yeah,” Buchanan returns. “That’s exactly what this looks like. First, me covering your ass after hitting a reporter outside SeaBird, then the baby allegations, and now this?” He waves his hand toward the magazine again. He rounds his desk and sits on the edge of it, towering over us as he crosses his arms. “You’re making it awfully hard to have your back, Colt. I didn’t invite you to play for the Lions so you could create headlines like this one.”

Fuck.

I always knew Buchanan was a hardass, but I didn’t think he was a dick.

Staring out the window behind Buchanan, his expression unreadable, Colt mutters, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be. We need good publicity, boys.Goodpublicity. Not shit like this. Do you have any idea how bad this makes the team look?” Buchanan turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “I agreed to let you propose during the banquet because you promised it would help with ticket sales. Instead, the entire shit show is being overlooked and twisted to make it look like I’ve recruited men who not only cheat on women and produce illegitimate kids but also beat women. Not to mention promoting underage drinking with minors. Blake isn’t twenty-one yet. What’s she doing in a bar with the entire Lions team? Huh?”

Aaaand, there it is.

My fuck up. To be fair, Buchanan warned me he’d get to me in a second. Guess it’s my time to shine. I hadn’t even thought about the repercussions of Blake being under twenty-one in a bar because half the girls who hang out there all have fake IDs and are the same age she is. Doesn’t make it right, but all the college kids hang out at SeaBird. It’s not exactly out of the ordinary. Still, Buchanan’s not wrong. It didn’t matter before the paparazzi were involved. Before our names could be splashed across social media. Before we were representing the Lions organization. Truth be told, we fucked up, and we both know it.

“What? Nothing to say?” Buchanan growls.

“She wasn’t drinking,” I offer blandly.