Page 70 of Relationship Goals

As for me, despite my extrovert self, I feel oversocialized, overstimulated, and pretty much talked out. There’s something wildly different about posting on social media or being on while acting compared to being on and aware of people out and about in real life, and the paparazzi made it all too clear that they were just as interested in me being there as they were in the game. Maybe even more so, which makes me feel uncomfortable.

A long sigh rips out of me, and the kitten startles, her sharp claws digging into the front of the jersey, where she sits licking the admittedly fragrant (and not in a good way) meat tube.

“Sorry, baby girl,” I murmur, and she settles back in on my chest warily.

Carefully, I slide my phone out of my purse, and, sure enough, there’s several new messages from Jean, who apparently has decided to enter the modern age and learn to text.

Jean:You did well at the game, the press is eating it up. -Jean

Jean:Paparazzi says you left with Luke Wolfe? -Jean

Jean:We discussed you keeping a respectful distance from gossip while the film production begins ramping up. -Jean

The last message is simply a devil emoji, and I puzzle over it for a moment before deciding Jean must have hit it on accident.

I bite back another sigh and decide to call her back in the morning. There wasn’t anything in the contract Jean negotiated about my personal life, unless it was so egregiously rotten that it fell under their morals and ethics clause.

Going home with Luke Wolfe hardly counts as that.

Jean can wait until tomorrow.

A new text pings in, and my stomach sinks with anxiety, because I really don’t want to deal with my agent and self-proclaimed PR specialist at the moment, until I see it’s from Michelle.

Michelle:Thanks for coming with me tonight! It was way more fun with you there. See you next week? We can go over some of the other questions you had about the IFF.

Funnily enough, as much as I like Michelle, I don’t really feel like chatting with her right now, either. Problem is, if I don’t respond rightaway, I’ll probably forget to text her back for a few days…but right now? That doesn’t sound so bad.

Just me and the newly cleaned and fluffy kitten, who wants absolutely nothing from me besides the treat in my hand and a warm place to hang out.

That? That I can do.

My eyes are getting heavy, and I’m about to give up and sleep when the couch dips slightly next to me.

“She likes you,” Luke’s voice makes me blink sleepily at him. As for the cat, she’s out, though her little paws are still kneading as she snoozes.

“It’s amazing how fast she went from angry to angel,” I tell him quietly, then talk through a yawn that grips me. “I didn’t think she’d ever warm up to me.”

“I had a feeling she would,” Luke tells me, his blue eyes holding mine firmly. “How could she not? I warmed up to you right away. That doesn’t happen often.”

I laugh at first, thinking he’s joking, but he simply stares at me. Tiny crinkles form at the corners of his eyes as he smiles gently, and it hits me that he’s being sincere.

And I laughed? Awkward.

“Thank you,” I finally say, then purse my lips. “I have to say, I wasn’t sure about you at all at first.”

He sets his arm behind my shoulders, pulling me closer to his warm body, the smell of his bodywash and aftershave spicy and enticing. The kitten makes a soft noise, still asleep but aware enough to dislike the jostling.

“I wouldn’t have trusted you if you’d been anything other than what you were.”

Luke Wolfe makes it sound like him trusting me is the equivalent of passing the hardest lie detector test in the world.

“She’s just so dang cute, I don’t want to do anything but stare at her.”

“I know the feeling,” he says.

“Yeah, I bet you do. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to give up these little cuties to their forever homes.” I shake my head in disbelief, already totally besotted with the cat he dubbed Princess.

“I wasn’t talking about the kitten,” he says in a low, soft voice.