Page 9

At the end of the catwalk, Ricky stands and crosses his arms over his chest, a stern expression on his handsome face. He nods to the exit, and I don’t argue.
When we leave the building, my cheerful demeanor toward the paps is no longer phony. My muscles may be sore, but my energy is high.
Not everything can be perfect,however, and finding an apartment in the city is more difficult than I expected. I’ve never searched for a rental, and once again, I’m reminded of my inexperience.
We tour a complex in the Fashion District reminiscent of Gram’s old nursing home—white-painted cement walls, stained Berber carpet that trigger terrible memories.
After seeing my revulsion and being less than pleased with the flimsy locks on the doors, Ricky insists on taking a much-needed break.
“I didn’t realize Central Park was this big.” I link my arm with his. “It’s beautiful.”
When I glance up, his gaze is already on me.
“It is,” he agrees. “You should sit. You’ve been on your feet all day.”
I refuse to answer, knowing he’s right but wanting to enjoy the park.
He flashes me a playful glare. “Don’t you dare sayI’m fine.” He mimics my girlish voice, and I burst into laughter.
A few heads turn our way, and my anxiety kicks up a notch. We’re an odd pairing, and I’m likely being paranoid. He’s massive. He garners attention in all black, including combat boots, whereas I’m in leggings, an oversized New York Stars hoodie, and matching red Converse.
I found this hoodie hanging in my dressing station; I may have smirked slightly when I put on the replica jersey of the competing hockey team.
Fuck it—a feral grin split my face, mirroring the reckless fury burning inside me.
Ricky leads us to an open stone bench, and we get comfortable, his arm behind me and my head on his shoulder. We watch the falling orange leaves and chat about his time in the military. Having someone else’s past to focus on is a welcome distraction.
A photographer kneels and lifts a camera. I have no reason to be awkward or anxious, but my heart rate spikes, and I scan our surroundings for more.
In the distance, I spot a familiar face and gasp.
No way.
Nofreakingway.
“Are they bothering you?” Ricky asks, misreading my panic.
My body tenses. “Did you do this?”
I know I’m not imagining him. I would recognize that tall figure and assertive stride anywhere.
Ricky offers a sly smile. “Maybe he reads the society pages.”
I slap his bicep. “It’s a five-hour flight!”
His smile turns into a deep chuckle.
I steal a glance over my shoulder, and heat rushes through my veins. Ethan’s stormy gray eyes lock on me, and a shiver runs down my spine. The weight of his stare feels tangible, a touch that caresses my skin and electrifies every nerve ending.
Ricky jumps up from the bench. “And this is when I make my exit.”
Ethan gets closer, and my mind scrambles. Do I throw myself into his arms? I want to, but if I do, tears will follow, and it may go viral. Or do I play it cool, as if this is a random encounter with the coach of my ex’s team?
With each step, the tension grows. When he’s in front of me, time stands still. I’m frozen, staring up at him, caught between wanting him and not wanting to harm his reputation.
Before I can react, he fists my hoodie and draws me to him. “Hey, baby girl.”
I’ve listened to his voice over the phone, but nothing compares to hearing that deep, husky tone in person.