Chapter Four
Serena
"You should have pushed Austin into oncoming traffic when you had the chance last year," I mutter to my best friend, Peyton, over lunch a full day after seeing Austin. The cool-down period hasn't helped. I'm still mad as hell. "It would have saved me so many problems."
"It's not that bad," she says, peering at me with her fork hovering in front of her lips. "I mean, neither of you is naked."
"It's worse than bad!" I cry, stabbing the lettuce in my salad like it's Austin's eyeball. "Do you know how many people were in my DMs this morning, asking what that mouth do?"
The last few days were awful.
Today is an entirely new level of hell. Somehow, the media found out my name, which led them to my social media. I deactivated most of my accounts after opening my ninth dick pic of the day.
Does Austin care that my life has devolved into a circus? Oh no. He thinks it's hilarious. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he leaked my name, just to torture me a little more.
I hope he gets pushed into traffic.
Okay, maybe I don't want that. But maybe part of me hopes they meme his dick for the rest of his career. I hope that erection haunts him for eternity. It'll serve him right for refusing to tell the truth about what really happened.
I mean, blackmail? Seriously?!
My brother is pissed. He offered to murder Austin for me, and I don't think he was joking. I contemplated taking him up on the offer, but I actually like my brother. I probably shouldn't let him go to prison for murder.
"He could not be more infuriating if he tried!"
Peyton sputters laughter.
"It's not funny."
"It's a little funny," she says.
"My boss saw my ass, Peyton."
"Okay, so maybe it's not great," she concedes, fully aware that my boss has no chill. Frankly, he'll probably run the paperwork section of hell when he dies. "But it's not like you two were actually doing anything wrong. The pictures just look bad."
"The pictures are awful."
"They could be worse."
"Now, you sound like Austin." I huff out a breath. "He actually had the nerve to try to blackmail me yesterday."
"He likes you," Peyton says, smiling.
I glare at her across the table. "I liked you so much better when the thought of professional athletes gave you hives. Why did you have to go and fall in love with one?"
"Blame Logan," she says, shrugging. "It's his fault."
"At least he isn't Austin."
"What did Milo think?" she asks.
"He wanted to murder him." I roll my eyes. "I had to talk him down, and then he said at least it's my ass and not his. So I guess he's over wanting to kill Austin."
Her lips curve into a smile. "Want some advice?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Nope."
"That's what I figured." I sigh, motioning for her to get on with it.
"Who cares what the rest of the world has to say?" she asks. "Trust me when I say, you can spend a lifetime stressing over it, and it won't change a damn thing. Take it from someone who has been there…don't do that to yourself. Ignore them and live your life. You'll be far happier that way."
I tip my head to the side, eyeing her. Maybe she's right.
If anyone would know what it's like to be media fodder, it's Peyton.
Her dad is a politician who lied to her mom about being married and has spent her entire life pretending she doesn't exist just to advance his own career.
He even sent her to foster care after her mom died.
And then she fell for Logan and ended up right back in the papers. Somehow, she's survived it all.
If she can do it, maybe I can too.
But…it'd be really nice if I didn't have to do it. I don't want to be gossip. I don't want to be the girl the whole world thinks is blowing the league's golden boy. I just want to be left alone.
Unfortunately, I don't see that happening anytime soon.
"He's such a jerk."
"You really like him."
"Do not," I mumble.
Peyton smirks at me across the table. "Oh, yeah? Then why are you blushing?"
"I am not blushing." It's a dirty lie. I'm absolutely blushing. But it doesn't even matter. There's no way I'm going out with him. No way in hell. Not even if I really… Nope. I cut that thought off at the pass, refusing to even go there.
"You're allowed to like him, you know," Peyton murmurs around her straw. "He's a pretty good guy. When the whole world accused me of cheating on Logan with him, he was really nice about it."
"And yet…he refuses to tell the truth now," I mutter, my tone black.
"That's because he likes you."
"You mispronounced torture."
Peyton sets her drink on the chipped table, leaning back in the booth to look at me critically. "Be honest. You like him, don't you?"
I shrug.
"So…what's the problem?"
"You mean, aside from the fact that my entire ass is on the internet, everyone thinks I was blowing him, and he won't fix it?" I shrug, avoiding her gaze. "Maybe he's just not my type."
"The man is sex on legs, Serena. He's everyone's type."
"Exactly. He's everyone's type." I don't want to be in constant competition for someone's attention.
I know what that's like. My dad cheated on my mom when I was four.
They divorced, and he's been throwing other women in her face for the last twenty years just to hurt her.
There's no way in hell I'm repeating that history.
Hell no. I'm never falling in love or giving anyone the power to hurt me like that.
And I'm not interested in being a fuck buddy or a hookup to a professional athlete, either. Austin's reputation might survive that. Mine? Not so much. I'm already skating on thin ice with my boss after those photos. And since modeling is only a sometimes kind of thing, I need my job.
"From what I've heard," Peyton says, "he's not like that."
"That's even worse," I groan, burying my face behind my hands. The last thing I need is a guy like Austin falling for me.
"I say this with love, but we aren't our parents, you know. If I can find happiness, why can't you?"
"Because the odds of both of us breaking the curse are non-existent?" I retort, one brow arched.
"Coward," she says.
I shrug, willing to let the insult slide. Honestly, I'd rather be a coward than…whatever my parents are. Peyton grew up in foster care. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
But the only time my parents seemed to see me at all was when I could be used against the other.
My brother was old enough to make his own decisions about where he lived, but I wasn't. If Dad wanted me for Christmas, we had to fight it out in the courts.
If Mom wanted to take me on vacation, we had to fight it out in the courts.
If Dad bought me a car, Mom sold it to buy me a better car.
They used me to hurt the other over and over again, not caring what I wanted or needed.
With my brother focused on hockey all the time, I bore the brunt of their bullshit, and all that mattered to them was winning.
They're still the same way. It's why I live on the opposite side of the country, as far from their wreckage as I can get.
I don't want to spend the rest of my life in the same chaos. I'm happy that Peyton found her person, and that she's happy. But maybe love isn't meant for all of us. Maybe some of us are better off alone. It's safer that way.
"I should go," she says after a minute, glancing at her phone. "I promised to meet Logan before he films this commercial. If I'm not there, God only knows what he'll do."
"He's not that bad," I say with a smile.
"Please. He's a terrorist," she says, rolling her eyes before tossing several bills on the table to cover lunch. "You just don't agree because he's your favorite goalie."
"I mean, he doesn't suck."
She laughs, hopping to her feet.
I rise with her, reaching across the table to squeeze her.
"You're coming to the next game, right?"
"Uh, duh!"
"Good." She kisses me on the cheek. "I'll see you then."
"See you then."
She turns to walk away and then pauses, glancing back at me. "Give him a chance, Serena. You deserve happiness, even if you refuse to believe it's possible."
"I'll think about it."
She shakes her head at me, frowning sadly. "No, you won't."
I don't tell her that she's wrong.
By late afternoon, I think maybe I'm losing my mind.
I'm not even sure why I'm in an Uber, heading toward the stadium.
I keep telling myself it's because there was a throng of paparazzi outside the office where I work when I got there after lunch, and my boss made me leave, but I'm not entirely convinced that's the truth.
I want to see Austin again, dammit all. I don't even know why, because he's the most infuriating person I've ever met. But…I want to see him.
I think Peyton's gotten into my head.
I keep replaying our conversation over and over. The more I play it, the more I think maybe she's right. Perhaps I am being a coward. But…there's safety in cowardice. There's no safety in actually dating Austin, especially with the whole world watching.
"You are not dating him," I growl to myself.
"What's that?" my driver asks.
"Oh, uh…nothing," I mumble, my cheeks hot.
He meets my gaze in the rearview, his eyes narrowed. "You seem awfully familiar."
Great. Just great.
"I get that a lot. I model sometimes."
"Must be it." His gaze flicks back to the road, and I slink lower in the seat, praying he doesn't figure it out.
Unfortunately for me, my luck doesn't hold. As soon as we pull up in front of the practice stadium, he puts two and two together.
"Holy shit. You're the girl!"
Kill me now. Seriously. Just…put me out of my misery.
"You're the one fucking Austin Hawkes."
"No," I growl, clawing for the door handle like my life depends on it. "That's not me. Austin Hawkes is gay. He's even starred in a few ads for that one gay hookup app."
"Wha—"
I fling myself out of the car before it fully stops, cursing Austin's very existence. I mean, honestly. Satan himself could not have invented a more perfect demon.