Chapter 7
Faye
Fallon and Rhett’s wedding was coming up, and a group of us were going out for Fallon’s bachelor party.
Morgan and I sat in the backseat of the government-issued black SUV the Secret Service used to drive me around as we pulled up to The Illusion Lounge.
The place hosted nightly drag shows, and downstairs was a nightclub we planned to visit after the performances.
With Agent Pederson leading the way, we walked inside, and I immediately spotted our table because my brother’s agents were nearby.
“Hey.” Fallon stood as we approached. “I was afraid you two would ditch my party for a better offer.” He hugged me, then Morgan.
I lifted a shoulder. “The night’s still young. There’s plenty of time for us to get another invitation.”
He rolled his eyes. “Just sit down and order a drink.”
I stopped to greet Tyler, Fallon’s best friend, who was also Jase and Dylan’s older brother, before Morgan and I sat across the table from them.
“Tyler and I were just talking about his brothers,” Fallon explained, and my ears perked up. “You met them last year at our Fourth of July party. Dylan was drafted by the Carolina Crushers, and Jase was picked up by the Red Sox.”
I took a second to pretend I was trying hard to picture who they were. “Uh … I think I remember them.”
Morgan faked a cough, and I shot her a glare.
“Sorry, I swallowed wrong,” she lied.
I turned to Tyler. “So, that’s a big deal. I’m sure your family is super happy for them.”
He nodded. “For sure, but their egos are already ridiculous. Being drafted in the first round is only going to make them insufferable. It doesn’t help that Statler-Matthewson fan clubs are already popping up online.”
That wasn’t news to me. I’d seen them.
“Are you guys taking bets on which one will bring home some superficial jersey chaser first?” my brother joked, only reinforcing the reputation it seemed Jase and Dylan had.
Before we could talk any more about the two guys I couldn’t stop thinking about lately, another one of my brother’s friends walked in.
“Hey, party people!” Declan headed our way.
I’d known Declan for a couple of years, having met him back when he was hooking up with my brother regularly. Now he was working for Morgan’s dad at his law firm, so it seemed he was fully integrated into our circle at this point.
After saying hi to Fallon and Tyler, he took a seat next to me and loosened his tie. He looked like he’d sprinted over straight from the office.
“Hi, Faye. Hi, Morgan,” he said, grabbing a cocktail menu.
“Hello, Declan,” I replied, coolly.
Morgan didn’t say anything, but I wasn’t sure whether she was ignoring him or hadn’t heard him over the music.
I leaned toward her and said, “I’m going to the ladies’ room. Want to come with me?”
She stood, and I told the rest of the group we’d be right back.
Morgan and I were fixing our makeup in the mirror when she glanced at me. “So what’s the story with Declan? The two times I’ve seen you around him, you’ve given him the ice-queen treatment.”
“I have not.” I slicked on some gloss over my bright red lipstick.
She lifted a brow.
“Okay, maybe I do, but I have a good reason. He hooked up with my brother for months, and now that Fallon’s moved on and is getting married, I think it’s odd he’s still hanging around.”
“You think he’s like a stage-five clinger or something?” she asked.
“More like he’s someone who knows how to attach himself to people with power,” I stated. “He went from being a law school scholarship kid to working for your dad, who happens to be best friends with the president.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Do you think he’s using everyone?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just have questions.”
Fallon was always telling me to watch out for people who might not have the best intentions, but he wasn’t the only one protective of our family.
As I navigated my constant media appearances, and even in my so-called private life, nothing meant more to me than ensuring I didn’t do anything to harm my family's name.
After what turned out to be a super fun show, our group headed down to the nightclub. The bass thumped so hard I felt it in my chest. Pink and blue lights flashed through the room as a mass of bodies moved together on the dance floor.
As soon as Rhett joined us, he reached for Fallon, and they disappeared into the crowd. Morgan hadn’t even made it to the bar when someone asked her to dance. Even though most of the men in the club appeared interested in other men, Morgan never had trouble finding someone to have a good time with.
Tyler and Declan hung back near the high-top tables with a couple of Fallon’s other friends. They were laughing about something, and though they had waved me over, I didn’t really feel like I belonged with their group either.
I took a sip of my mojito and started scrolling through my phone. Out of habit, I opened my group chat with the guys and typed a message:
What are you two doing tonight?
Five minutes passed, and neither had replied.
It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.
It was a Friday night. They were twenty-two years old, gorgeous, and probably still riding the high from the national attention they had received because of the draft.
The odds of them just chilling at home were basically zero.
More than likely, they were out partying, surrounded by women, and taking full advantage of being able to call themselves professional athletes.
After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only another ten minutes, my screen lit up.
Jase: Just got home
Dylan: We were at the gym
My mouth curled into a smile.
The gym? On a Friday night?
Dylan: We can’t get lazy now. We don’t want to be stuck in Single A ball for long
I think I need photographic evidence that you were working out
It took a few seconds, then two images loaded. The first showed Jase with a towel slung low on his hips, beads of water rolling down his chest.
The second was of Dylan shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. His hair was damp, and he flexed his biceps, showing off how beneficial that time in the gym had been.
Jase: Is that good enough or do you need another angle?
Dylan: We can send a video if you need more than photos
I squeezed my thighs together and typed:
Those will do
Understatement of the century.
I locked my phone before anyone could look over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of two hot baseball players. Those photos were definitely going to be revisited later, though. Preferably in my bed, with my vibrator handy.