Page 9

NINE

Blake

I’VE ALWAYS LIKED BEING ALONE. There are no variables I haven’t accounted for, nothing that can throw me off. I can depend on myself, and life is predictable. Ella staying with me in Monaco is a shock to my system. And to my house. Her shit is all over the place—a purse on the kitchen counter, a stray sweatshirt on the recliner, a book left open on the patio. Don’t even get me started on the strands of hair everywhere. It’s like having a goddamn shedding dog.

I’ve let Ella interview me every morning for the past week and although I hate to admit it, George was right when he said she’s the best person for the job. Her interview style suits me. She’s straightforward but respectful. She knows when to push and when to pull back. She makes it feel like a conversation instead of an interrogation.

I don’t like when she rolls her eyes or tells me to “try again” when I give her a short or half-assed answer. And I definitely don’t like when she bites her lip in concentration. It makes me want to push her up against a wall and kiss her until she can’t think straight. It also makes my pants uncomfortably tight, so my right hand has gotten a massive workout this past week. Especially when I saw her in a bikini the other day. Bloody fucking hell. I have no idea how I managed to hide the tent in my pants.

I’ve been spending my afternoons away from the house and yes, Ella. Taking my boat out, grabbing drinks with friends, going on insanely long runs. All because I don’t know what to do with someone in my space. Am I supposed to hang out with her? Pretend she’s not there and ignore her? Give her a tour of the town? Offer her snacks? Make sure the air conditioning temperature is to her liking? I fuck women; I don’t … cohabitate with them. I’m completely out of my element.

For the third afternoon in a row, I make my way down to the dock that houses Lucas’s pride and joy: his sailboat. He owns a place down the street from me—which has been very convenient this week—but spends more time out on the water than in his own bed.

“Ahoy, Hollis,” he calls out from the bow of the boat. It’s eighty degrees out, but he’s wearing a long-sleeved Under Armour shirt and holding a beer can in each hand.

“New tattoo,” he explains as if reading my mind. He’s annoyingly perceptive like that. He rolls up his sleeve to show me the latest addition. Right above the Roman numerals representing his parents’ anniversary date is his niece Madison’s name in cursive script.

“Looks good,” I comment. “Assuming you told her you weren’t flying in for her birthday?”

If I told Millie I was missing her birthday, I’d never hear the end of it. My sister would drive to my house in London and drag me by the ear to a princess-themed party. Lucas’s family lives in Boston and doesn’t have that same luxury.

“Yep.” He flicks up a brow. “I’d rather deal with my parents’ disapproving looks over FaceTime than in person.”

I take a moment to study my friend. “Listen, I know I’m not one to speak on family shit—”

“Then don’t.” The sharpness of his voice surprises me, but I don’t mention it. Luc’s never pushed me to talk about what led to my “shit-show of shenanigans”—thank you for that lovely description, Ella—so I won’t push him either. I go to therapy; Lucas gets new tattoos. We all deal with our shit differently.

We spend the next few hours cruising along the shoreline, sipping on beers. Whereas Theo loves to fill any silence with mindless chatter, Lucas is happy to sit in comfortable quiet and leave me to my own thoughts. Unfortunately, my mind keeps circling back to the American journalist with an annoyingly cute dimple. Cute?

My stomach gives a curious twist at the memory of Ella trying to help me with my crossword the other morning. I wonder what she’s doing right now. Reading on my patio? Exercising in my at-home gym? On the phone with her friend Poppy? The most likely scenario is she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, working. When I left for Lucas’s boat, she was making edits to a chapter called “The Art of Karting.”

Since I’ve started letting her interview me in-depth, she and George have made massive strides. The two of them work well together, bouncing ideas off one another, giving constructive criticism. Not that I’ve been eavesdropping on their calls, but Ella talks loudly and she wasn’t wearing headphones. Sue me . Both Keith and Marion praised my cooperation after George sent us a detailed chapter-by-chapter outline.

Turns out Ella spent her afternoon watching basketball. I got the cross-legged part right, though.

“Hey,” I say, settling on the couch next to her. “Who’s playing?”

“Utah Jazz versus the Lakers.” She briefly glances away from the TV to greet me with a smile before focusing back on the game.

There’s that dimple.

“Anthony Davis may’ve just lost me some money.”

“You gamble?” I ask, surprised.

“Low stakes with my brother and his friends,” she admits with a laugh. “I won the pot last year.”

I let out a low whistle as I check out the score. Ella’s more entertaining than the actual game. Her alarmingly astute and comical commentary reminds me why her podcast was so successful. When she calls a forward on the Lakers the “human equivalent of period cramps,” I nearly fall off the couch with laughter. Who says shit like that?

Once the game is over, I crack my knuckles and gear up to ask a question I may quickly regret. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

I cough to hide how awkward I feel. I don’t think I’ve ever asked a woman to hang out with me unless I know we’ll be making each other come. Get a grip, mate.

“I have a date with Elliot Stabler.” She sucks in air between her lips as if debating something. “But I can cancel if you have something better in mind.”

How does she have a date with someone in Monaco? When did she meet them? Why do I even care?

“No need to cancel,” I respond gruffly.

Ella looks at me with fascination. “Do you watch any TV or are you Patrick Star?”

When I don’t answer, she covers her face with her hands. “Patrick Star is from Spongebob Squarepants ,” she explains as if that means absolutely anything. “Spongebob lives in a pineapple under the sea and Patrick’s his best friend. He lives under a rock, which clearly you do too.”

“Have you been doing drugs or something?”

“C’mon, you’re a nineties baby!” She laughs and shakes her head. “You should know this stuff. It’s a Nickelodeon cartoon, Blake.”

It’s not one Millie or Finn have ever watched. What a weird children’s show.

“Elliot Stabler is from Law there’s only so much rejection someone can take before it hardens their heart to stone.

“I honestly can’t remember the last date I went on,” she admits with a shrug.

I tilt my head as if I just learned classified information. “Really?”

“Yep. It’s not that I don’t date,” she continues. “I’ve just had bigger priorities than that the past few months.”

“Got it.” I want to know what she’s been focused on instead but keep my mouth shut. “Makes sense.”

“I mean, if you know a guy who thinks with the head on his shoulders instead of the one in his pants, by all means, send him my way.”

I release a low laugh. “I’ve read your stuff, you know,” I confess. This seems to surprise her, but she doesn’t comment on it. “Your writing doesn’t indicate you have a dirty mind.”

“Did you expect me to write about Travis Kelce’s tight ass?”

“He has a tight arse? I’ve never noticed.” I may not get a lot of her television references, but I do understand her American sports ones.

“It’s why I liked podcasting so much. I love writing, don’t get me wrong, but there’s only so much subjectiveness allowed. Podcasting is a lot more flexible. It allows me to talk about whatever I want, however I want.”

“Including my season last year?”

She grimaces, her brows knitting together. “I didn’t mean to go so hard on you.”

“It’s okay. Comes with the territory,” I say, waving off her worry. “Plus, I wasn’t at my best last year. I can objectively say that.”

“It doesn’t make it any less hurtful.”

“Well, I also read your article about my Monaco win from a few years ago. That helps soften the blow.”

She knows exactly what I’m talking about. My win had been “nothing short of astonishing”—her words, not mine. It was a true testament to my driving skills over the car’s performance, thank you very much. The Monaco circuit is wedged into the narrow spaces of city streets with nonstop twists and tight turns. There’s no run-off area to correct yourself if you’ve made a mistake. One error and you kiss the wall and your chances of winning goodbye. Pole position tends to dictate the winner and with a P3 starting position, it was expected that Mateo Bertole would win. It was me who ended up securing first place instead.

“Your driving speaks for itself.” Her cheeks turn a shade similar to the wine. “You don’t need me telling you that you’re the best.”

Refilling her empty glass, I give her a small smile. “It may not be the best, but your podcast isn’t half bad either.”

I’ve almost binged every episode of Coffee with Champions , but I don’t feel like admitting that.

“Yikes. Was that your attempt at a compliment?” She cocks her head to the side. “Because it sucked.”

I roll my eyes. “So, how’d you get into sports journalism? Tough industry.”

“My family’s always been big on sports, so I grew up around it. I’ve always liked writing and asking questions, so sports journalism seemed like a natural fit.”

“Well, you’re a good journalist. Your podcasting and writing styles are different. It makes you versatile.”

Ella doesn’t say anything. She just pushes the vegetables around on her plate. She may be open about some things, but she shuts down immediately over most things related to PlayMedia.

“Would you ever do your podcast again?”

She simply shakes her head.

“Why not?” I probe.

“It’s not my podcast.” She fiddles with the fork in her hand. “I mean, yes, it is, but legally no, it’s not. It was developed and created by a PlayMedia employee”—she points to herself—“for PlayMedia. Meaning that they own it. The intellectual property and copyright are theirs.”

My wineglass stops in front of my lips, and I peer at Ella over the rim of the glass. “I thought you left amicably?” That’s what I gathered after my detective work online. PlayMedia tweeted: We are very appreciative of all the hard work Ella Gold has done over the years, and we wish her the best in all future endeavors.

“There was nothing amicable about how I left,” she says wryly. It’s the first glimpse she’s given into her sudden departure. “It’s a shitty situation, but it is what it is.”

“But you seem okay.”

“I mean, I accepted a job to follow around a guy I barely know for a year,” she answers, parroting my earlier interview words back to me. Theo uses humor as a defense mechanism, so it’s easy to spot that Ella does as well. “So I don’t know how okay I actually am.”

She sips her wine, averting eye contact. “Do you collect postcards? You have a bunch on your counter.”

Yup. It’s clear she wants to talk about anything but this. There’s a lot more behind the dimple and loud laughs than she lets on. A soft smile passes across my face as I tell her about Finn and Millie. I may not like Ella digging into my past, but I am starting to like spending time with her. I’m starting to like it a lot.