Chapter 12 #3
The guy thanked us with a quick nod and drifted back into the swirling crowd of the lounge.
The heavy bass of the music shifted again, dropping into a deeper, smoother rhythm, and Nia disappeared toward the center of the dance floor with a group of girls she’d been talking to earlier, her laughter trailing behind her.
Jalen stood up, towering over the table as he cleared the edge of the leather booth. He adjusted the collar of his overshirt and then held his hand out toward me, his palm open and waiting.
“You coming?”
I raised an eyebrow but took his hand anyway.
The dance floor was packed but the VIP section had its own little space. The bass ran straight through the floor.
For a few minutes we just moved with the music.
Nothing dramatic.
Just vibing.
At one point he stepped closer behind me and grabbed my hips playfully, pulling me into the rhythm with him. His head dipped slightly toward my neck as he laughed under his breath, his warm breath brushing against my skin and sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down my spine.
I laughed too, turning my head slightly to look at him over my shoulder. “Are you tipsy?”
He shook his head, a bright, easy smile cutting through the dim, golden light of the dance floor. “Off life.”
I smiled at that, my heart doing a dangerous, unstable flip against my ribs.
The music was loud, a heavy, thumping bass that vibrated straight through the soles of my shoes, but out here in the crowd, surrounded by flashing lights and moving bodies, he had managed to make the entire room shrink until it was just the two of us.
Then he leaned closer again, his big frame shielding me from the rest of the club as his voice dropped into a low register that only I could hear. “You being around makes me happy.”
The words were simple, but they landed with a heavy, grounding weight that completely shattered the last of my professional armor.
This wasn't strategy anymore. This wasn't a rehearsed line meant to feed the blogs or protect an image.
The raw sincerity in his light brown eyes was undeniable, and as his hands lingered on my hips, I realized the terrifying truth.
I was incredibly happy too.
I turned slightly and looked up at him. He was serious.
There was no humor behind his tone, no teasing glint in his eyes to offer me an easy out.
It was just pure, unadulterated sincerity, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
My brain, usually so quick to calculate the next move, completely short-circuited.
So I did the only thing that made sense in a moment of utter panic.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I said lightly, offering a quick, practiced smile to mask the sudden racing of my pulse.
He nodded, his hands slipping off my hips as he remained completely relaxed against the backdrop of the flashing lights. “I’ll be here.”
I slipped off the dance floor, threading my way through the swaying bodies and making my way down the long, dimly lit hallway toward the restroom.
The second the heavy door closed behind me, the thumping bass of the music softened into a muted rumble, and the sudden quiet felt like a physical relief.
The space was lined with dim, golden lighting and sleek mirrors everywhere.
I walked over to the marble counter and leaned toward one of the mirrors, checking my reflection.
My makeup was still perfectly intact, my lip gloss still shiny, and my hair fell in immaculate, glossy waves over my shoulders.
I looked completely fine on the outside. Like the polished, untouchable version of Mars I always presented to the world. But as I gripped the edge of the sink and forced myself to take a deep, steadying breath, I could see the truth in my own eyes.
Jalen wasn't just executing a public relations strategy anymore. And the scariest part was, neither was I.
I pulled my lip gloss out of my bag just as the door swung open behind me.
The waitress from earlier walked in with another girl, their heels clicking sharply against the tile.
They pretended they didn’t notice me, entirely focused on their own conversation as they moved toward the adjacent sinks and began pulling lipsticks from their pockets, talking quietly under the hum of the ventilation.
“Girl,” the second one said with a sharp laugh, leaning into the glass to check her eyeliner, “all I’m saying is he completely lives up to the hype.”
The first one—the waitress who had purred at Jalen earlier—let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I know.”
My stomach dropped, a sudden, icy weight hitting me right in the chest. I kept my face perfectly calm in the mirror, my hand steady as I reapplied my gloss like I wasn’t hearing a single word of it, using every ounce of my professional training to keep my expression completely blank.
“But she’s acting like she won the lottery,” the second girl continued, rolling her eyes as she blotted her lipstick with a paper towel. “Please.”
The waitress smeared a fresh layer of gloss over her lips, looking at her reflection with a smug, knowing tilt of her head.
“Exactly. Like, we all know how this goes with franchise quarterbacks. Enjoy the VIP suite while it lasts, sweetie, because guys like Jalen Carter don't keep the same company for long. The minute the season gets tough or a prettier face walks into the lounge, she’ll be right back to wherever she came from.”
The words were a direct, ugly needle, piercing right through the beautiful, fragile bubble Jalen and I had spent the last forty-eight hours building.
I capped my lip gloss with a clean, deliberate click.
My reflection stared back at me—the smooth hair, the immaculate makeup, the fitted dress—but the sudden influx of reality made the whole outfit feel like a costume again.
They didn't know I was Cal's sister. They didn't know this started as a clinical crisis management plan.
They just saw a temporary girl occupying a permanent space.
The waitress shrugged.
“Let her enjoy the moment.”
They both laughed.
My stomach twisted tighter, but I finished smoothing the gloss across my lips before slowly lowering the tube.
Then I looked at them through the mirror.
They froze slightly, their lipsticks hovering mid-air as they finally realized I had been analyzing their entire performance. The smug confidence draining from the waitress's face was an absolute masterpiece.
I smiled slowly. Unbothered.
“Well,” I said calmly, sliding the gloss back into my bag and zipping it with a smooth, deliberate click, “good thing I get to experience all that for myself now.”
I turned and walked toward the door. My hips swayed naturally as I left the room, the woven heels of my espadrilles clicking a steady, rhythmic goodbye against the floor.
Behind me, the bathroom went completely, utterly silent.
The sudden absence of noise was deafening, and I knew they felt stupid. Very stupid.
I left the restroom with my shoulders back and my face entirely calm, letting the heavy door swing shut on their gossip.
But as I stepped back into the dim hallway, the muffled vibration of the club's bass rushing back to meet me, the adrenaline of the petty victory began to fade.
I had held my own in the mirror, but the cold weight in my chest hadn't entirely disappeared.
They were just jealous girls looking for a reaction, but their words had still managed to find the exact fracture in my armor. Enjoy the VIP suite while it lasts.
I walked back toward the main floor, my eyes searching through the sea of flashing lights and moving bodies.
Even in a packed room of Houston’s elite, he wasn’t hard to find.
Jalen was standing exactly where I had left him on the edge of the dance floor, his tall frame cutting a distinct silhouette against the golden glare of the lounge.
He was talking to one of his wide receivers, but the exact second I cleared the hallway, his head snapped up.
For a split second it almost felt like he had been waiting for me.
I slid back into the booth beside him, crossing my legs and reaching for my glass like nothing had happened. Because that was the plan. Don’t let them get to you.
Still, the conversation from the bathroom kept replaying in the back of my mind like a broken record.
I mean… who was I kidding? He was Jalen Carter.
All-star player. City hero. The kind of man women probably threw themselves at without a second thought.
The sexiest man in the entire state of Texas—or at least the entire city of Houston—if the internet had anything to say about it.
Of course he’d slept around. Of course he had a past. That shouldn’t have surprised me, and it certainly shouldn't have stung.
Jalen leaned slightly toward me, his broad shoulder cutting off the rest of the VIP section and trapping me in his space. “You good?” he asked quietly.
I glanced at him. For a moment I wondered if he could actually feel the sudden, icy shift in my energy despite the loud music pulsing through the booth.
“I’m good,” I said smoothly, offering a flawless, practiced smile that usually fooled everyone.
His light brown eyes studied me for a second longer than usual, narrowing just a fraction as he looked past the smile. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said, lifting my glass and taking a small sip. “Just tired.”
I could feel the room around us actively buzzing.
Cameras. Phones. People watching our every move from behind the velvet ropes.
And I knew exactly how these things worked.
The blogs would have clips of us up before the night was even over, dissecting our body language and guessing our next move.
So I kept it cool. I anchored my shoulders, took another sip of my wine, and forced the corporate armor back into place, determined not to let a couple of jealous bathroom comments ruin the narrative we were running.A few minutes later Nia grabbed my hand.