Chapter 15
“Did you eat yet?” Bennett asks, leaning forward to press a light kiss on my forehead.
Despite the eight-foot ceilings, he looks like a giant in my condo when he stands upright, and I have to crane my neck to look at him.
“I’m not sure if Mom left any food at the house, but we can run out for breakfast, then go to the grocery store later. ”
His words catch me off guard. The idea of going out to breakfast with him, grocery shopping, and cooking lunch at the townhome while we plan out the next few days, as if this is our everyday routine, makes my head spin.
How did I get in so deep? This was not part of my plan.
And yet, when he showed up at my door ten minutes ago, I felt an overwhelming sense of giddiness.
I raced out the door, not even bothering to make sure it closed, because all I cared about was getting to him.
But now, the reality of my situation has come back around to smack me in the face, reminding me of the real reason I’m even in this position…
“Sloane,” he says, catching my attention. “Yeah, we’re definitely going out for some breakfast. You’re spacing out on me.”
“Breakfast, yes. Good idea. I, uh…I need to pack first.”
Bennett catches my wrist when I try to push by him, and the touch ignites an electric current beneath my skin. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Y-Yes, of course. Why?” I ask, earning a raised brow in response.
“Sloane,” he says, bending down to hold my gaze. “What’s going on? Why are you suddenly freaking out?”
“I’m not freaking out.” I kiss his cheek, but his gaze is still narrowed when I pull away. “I’m just hungry. I’ll be okay when I get something in my stomach.”
When I try to take a step back, Bennett pulls me into a hard kiss.
His hands fall to my hips in a possessive embrace, pulling me even closer.
My own wander over the soft cotton covering his chest, snaking around his neck and threading at his nape.
Maybe we don’t need breakfast, after all.
Maybe, this is all I needed, because right now the only thing I can think of is—Bennett nips softly at my bottom lip when he pulls away, and I can’t withhold the soft whimper.
He clears his throat and takes a small step back.
“I’ll find somewhere to eat. Go pack,” he says, turning me toward the kitchen.
The walk to my bedroom feels never-ending, like I’m trapped in a labyrinth where I can see the end, but I can’t reach it.
Finally, I grasp the handle and push it open, falling back against the door and breathing out for what feels like the first time since I left the living room.
Even though I knew he couldn’t see me once I turned the corner in the kitchen, I could still feel his gaze on my back.
“I am so screwed,” I whisper, scrubbing my hands down my face. What did I think was going to happen while we were together? I’m supposed to be dating this man. Of course, we’re going to do things like eat brunch and go grocery shopping and kiss and—Screwed. I am so screwed.
No. No, I’m going to do this. I can do this, and I won’t let this—him—distract me. I’m going to write this story, no matter the consequences and bloodshed that may come with it.
I’ve spent the last five minutes scrolling through dirt sheets to find anything that might be a lead, but there’s nothing.
Absolutely nothing. How in the hell can they call themselves dirt sheets when there’s no fucking dirt?
Who cares if the heat between Brooks Taylor and Damian Drake was based on real tension between the two?
So what if Colin Ryker struggled to adapt to the professional style versus the indies?
I don’t care that Spencer Austin and Viviana Ridley ran off and got married in Vegas, or that Rae’s heel turn back in 2016 got scrapped because of these damn gossip mongers. Where are the real issues?
Bennett went upstairs when we got back to the townhouse, following our walk around the Common, to ice and stretch out his leg.
That extra half mile to the bandstand monument and back, after already having walked from my apartment to the James townhome to brunch to the grocer and back, wasn’t as fine as he said it would be.
And while I worry about Bennett pushing himself, his absence gives me the chance to catch up on some work I can’t do when he’s around.
Amos Rafferty dirt sheet stories is the next thing I type into the search engine.
The results that populate go along with what I’ve heard time and time again: Amos Rafferty can be a hard-ass with high expectations for the people he employs, but he’s one of the best people in the business, and generous.
Overly generous, donating billions of dollars over the years to medical research, veteran services, and disaster relief.
The further I scroll, the more annoyed I become.
How has not one single person who has worked for this man—
“Who are you?” A woman stands in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, face scrunched in confusion. Her long blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail, so tight it makes my scalp ache. Her arched brow frames narrowed blue eyes that bore straight through me. “Do I need to call the—”
“Oh, relax, Lex,” Bennett says, walking around the corner with an eye roll.
“Wolf? I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were in—”
“They cut me this weekend.”
“Okay, and you decided to come here instead of your own house in Tampa?”
“Look who’s talking. You basically live here full time when you’re not jet-setting off to God knows where with whatever-his-name-is.”
“His name is Troy.”
“That’s what I said.” Bennett offers her a tight smile, and she glares at him. “Sloane,” he says, pivoting to look at me. “This is my sister, Alexa.”
“Lexi,” she corrects him, then turns to look at me. “So, you’re the new Harper, huh?”
Well, that’s a little harsh, not to mention presumptuous.
“I’m not a wrestler,” I say.
Lexi’s head whips to look at her brother.
“Not a wrestler? You mean, you’re dating outside the industry?
I never thought I’d see the day. Sloane”—she looks back at me with a sweet smile—“you would be the very first girl my brother has dated since joining EWE who isn’t part of that industry in some capacity. ”
Bennett rolls his eyes. “Most people find it easier to date—”
“Yeah, and it’s bullshit. If you like someone enough, you make it work regardless—and clearly, you agree, because that’s exactly what you’re doing.” Lexi motions toward me before looking my way again. “What do you do for work, Sloane?”
“She’s a freelance writer for a mag—”
“Oh, so you’re cheating.” His sister scoffs. “You didn’t really step outside your comfort zone. You just found someone to work around your schedule.”
“Why are you here?” Bennett asks.
“Because, as you said, I live here. If you wanted some alone time, maybe you should’ve gone to your house in Tampa.”
“He was coming to visit me,” I say.
Their heads turn simultaneously, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were twins, their facial features almost identical.
Besides her platinum blonde hair—which cannot possibly be natural based on the color of her roots—the biggest difference is the color of their eyes.
His dark brown orbs look black in comparison to her pale blue ones.
Are they twins? Esther didn’t say they were.
She only mentioned Lexi as his sister…not his twin.
That seems like something she would say if it were the case.
“I live a few blocks away, but my apartment is smaller than his bus, so we thought it would be better to stay here while he’s in town.”
Lexi hums in reply, glancing back at her brother with a smirk. “Where’d you meet this one?”
“Her name is Sloane, and stop making it seem like I’m some serial dater or something,” Bennett says, but her only response is a seemingly playful eye roll. Bennett rubs the space between his brow and sighs. “We met at a show.”
“Holy shit, you’re dating a fan?” She practically screams it. “Bennett James, I never thought I’d see the day! Brooks, maybe. Brody, definitely. But you? Never. This is juicy. Do Savannah and Rae know?”
“Yes, Lexi. Everyone knows, and if you had been at the Jubilee, you would, too.”
She sighs. “I wasn’t going to listen to Mom complain all day that she thinks I’m wasting my potential.
I’m tired of dealing with these politicians.
They’re idiots, all of them. None of them know what they’re doing, and I’m not pushing shit I don’t agree with, on either side. I’m done. I’m opening my studio.”
“You went to law school to become a yoga teacher,” Bennett says. “Sounds reasonable.”
Damn, is the only thing I can think of in that moment. What a waste of an education and money.
“Yeah, so?” Her scoff shocks me. How can she act like she didn’t waste up to hundreds of thousands of dollars and countless hours in a classroom, to throw it all away? “And I paid Mom and Dad back every cent they put out for it. She doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“And what does Troy think about it?” he asks.
“Not that it matters because I’m not speaking to him right now, but he supports me,” Lexi says and struts down toward the eat-in area of the kitchen.
She pulls a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator of the wet bar.
“And, get this, he finally dropped that godforsaken writing side job he was doing, but before he left, guess what story they wanted him to write?”
“I don’t care—”
“EWE.”
The breath catches in my throat, and my chest tightens. Did she say…No, it’s not possible. There’s no way she is talking about the same Troy. Troy Prescott, who just got fired from The Baller? It can’t be.
“What about Amos?” Bennett stands up taller, crossing his arms and widening his stance.