Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Adrian
Driving home later, I couldn’t erase the smile from my face if I wanted to.
The only damper on my mood is that Sam and I have to spend twenty minutes apart since she’s following me in her car.
I wanted her to ride with me to my house and then I’d drive her back to where her car was parked outside the restaurant.
I couldn’t convince her to let me make the extra trip, so we stopped to get her car after an epic afternoon of miniature golf.
After lunch, Sam directed me to a massive mini-golf park with both outdoor and indoor courses.
Since it was a Monday afternoon during the summer, the other patrons were primarily groups of teenagers and some moms with younger kids trying to keep them entertained.
I got asked for a handful of photos and autographs, but Sam handled it all in stride.
For the most part, though, people left us alone and let me enjoy the time with Sam—aside from the fact that she whipped my butt.
Opening the garage door at my house, I pull the truck in and watch the rearview mirror as Sam parks in the driveway. I think about the last time she was here, about how much has changed in the weeks since Jason’s graduation.
I’m so glad she’s here under completely different circumstances. Although, I wouldn’t mind her hands in my hair again.
Sam walks up to the garage, and I pretend to sulk.
“Still salty that you suck at mini golf, menso?” she teases.
“You set me up. You’ve been secretly practicing every day for weeks and suggested we go there,” I tease back.
“Such a sore loser,” Sam says as she squeezes past me in the garage, walking up to the door like she owns the place—which I would not object to. She looks back at me with a smirk and adds, “Better put that attitude to good use keeping the Crowns on track to win it all this year.”
How did I manage to score the sexiest woman on earth as my girlfriend?
I pinch Sam’s side as I walk behind her up the step from the garage into the house. “I think being a sore winner is worse than being a sore loser,” I chide. “And you are the sorest winner I’ve ever seen.”
Sam whirls around, walking backward through the hallway that leads to the open kitchen and living room. “I know for a fact that’s not true because I watch some of the teams you play. Flagrant taunting. Very bad behavior.”
“Okay, fair point,” I concede. I’m about to find something new to tease her about when my phone rings in my pocket.
It’s a call from my agent, Marcel. Unexpected calls from him can either mean very good or very bad things.
Considering my present company, I have a guess what the topic of this call is.
“It’s Marcel,” I tell Sam, holding up the phone. She motions a hand to indicate I can answer, so I swipe the green button. “Marcel, épale, chamo!”
He skips all greetings. “Look, I’m very used to the phrase ‘Ortiz and West’ trending on social media. Care to explain why the phrase ‘Ortiz and West 2.0’ is trending this afternoon?”
Sam watches me closely, and I play up a grim smile.
“Uhhh,” I say.
“Oh wait, I know!” Marcel continues in a game show–host voice. “It could be the dozens and dozens of candid photos of you and Sam West together today, looking an awful lot like you’re on a date. Fancy lunch and miniature golf—you’re such a well-rounded guy!”
I don’t think I have the volume up loud enough for Sam to hear every word, but I’m sure she’s piecing together the gist of our conversation. At least, that’s what the deepening line between her eyebrows would indicate.
Not wanting to give her any reason to believe I regret our public appearances today, I secure my hand on Sam’s waist, pulling her closer to me. “Yeah. Sam and I were out on a date because she’s my girlfriend.”
Her eyes shine as a smile chases away the worry line from her forehead. She’s gazing up at me with a look of such pure happiness, I’m tempted to let my phone drop to the floor so I can cup her beautiful face in my hand.
I refuse to let go of her waist, so I settle for leaning close and grazing the tip of my nose along the side of her face, which makes her shiver.
“Were you planning to tell me this information anytime soon?” Marcel asks. “Were you planning on announcing it to the public anytime soon? Because news flash—I think the public knows.”
“We don’t care who knows,” I state, although I give Sam a questioning look to make sure she agrees. She nods. “But we’ll talk and figure out how we want to officially announce it. I’ll get back to you.”
I end the call and look down at Sam. “So. There are some photos of us circulating online.”
“I gathered as much,” Sam says sagely. “And now we decide how to handle it?”
“I’ve never been a big fan of gossip,” I say.
“Agree.”
“I’ve already made it clear that I’ll shout from every rooftop that I tricked you into dating me.”
Sam smirks.
I resist the craving to kiss her.
“So we send our own photo to Marcel so he can give it to whatever reliable press source he chooses?” Sam suggests.
Tugging her waist to turn her back to me, I pull her into my arms and hold out my phone to take a selfie. Her smile in the phone screen is so gorgeous, I can’t help but look at her instead of the screen at the last second before my thumb hits the shutter button.
With my arm still around Sam’s waist—I’m not letting her escape—I click to the photo and show it to her for approval. She leans her head back to look up at me, grinning.
I ignore the ache to kiss her.
“Approved,” she says. “You can send it to Marcel.”
“I have a more direct option,” I say, opening Instagram on my phone.
I almost never post there on my own—most of the photos on my grid are collaborations from the Crowns social media team.
I hit the plus sign to create a new post and select the photo of Sam and me.
“This okay with you?” I ask her. “Should I tag you?”
“Yes, this is okay with me, but no, I haven’t reactivated any of my personal social media accounts,” she answers.
I type out a short caption and hit the share button.
Sam turns around to face me and asks, “What does feliz de la vida mean?”
“Mmm, it’s not the literal translation, but it basically means ‘as happy as can be,’” I explain.
Her eyes search my expression, though I’m not sure for what. She murmurs, “You really feel that way?”
Narrowing my eyes and cocking my head to one side, I say, “Have I not made it clear how I feel about you? Apparently, I’m not as fluent in English as I thought I was.”
A laugh startles out of her, and she shakes her head as she leans her forehead against my chest. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
Both of our phones erupt with a barrage of message notifications and phone calls.
“Well, if you didn’t believe it before, I hope you do now. Because the entire world believes it,” I joke. “I’m gonna order us some sushi delivery for dinner, and then this thing is going on silent for the rest of the night.”
“Sounds good to me,” Sam agrees, switching her phone to silent and setting it on the kitchen counter.
A few minutes later, the sushi is ordered, and I set my phone next to hers.
The sight catches me off guard—our two cell phones, sitting on the kitchen counter together.
A glimpse of what everyday life looks like when you’ve found your person.
“Adrian?” Sam’s voice pulls my attention back to her.
“Yeah?”
A smile starts at one corner of her lips and slowly expands to a full grin. “I’m glad the entire world knows. Because I’m as happy as can be that this is happening.”
“We need to talk.”
I lose one of my nine lives when Griffin ambushes me. I’m walking through the hallway on the way to the Crowns locker room for warm-ups, and his booming voice catches me completely off guard.
“Where’d you come from?” I ask. “How’d you even get in here?”
Griffin rolls his eyes. “I played here longer than you have. I know people.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me into one of the empty training offices, closing the door behind us.
This feels uncomfortable.
“You need to pump the brakes with Sam,” Griffin commands.
My defenses spring to action. “What do you mean? Why?”
“I’m not saying kill the engine completely,” Griffin clarifies.
“Pump the brakes. Slow things down. You’ve been together for less than two weeks and you’re already all over the internet.
Posting that photo yesterday, bringing even more attention to your relationship.
Intensifying everything. Pump. The. Brakes. ”
Heat flares in my chest. “You were the one who was concerned I wasn’t taking this seriously.”
“I’m still—”
“I told you I’m serious about Sam.”
“I’m not—”
My Venezuelan accent thickens as I talk over Griffin, fighting to make my point. “This is me being serious. You were serious about Danae from the start. Just because you stayed out of the press for a couple of months doesn’t mean you weren’t serious. Why is it different for—”
I’m shocked when Griffin shoves my chest, kicking me back on my heels. He steps forward as he growls, “Would you shut up and listen for a second?”
Scowling, I shut up.
Griffin sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “I told you to be serious, but I also told you to take things slow. Sam . . . she . . .” Griffin runs a hand through his hair as he looks for the right words to say. “She’s always struggled in relationships.”
“I know. I’ve seen it.” My defenses start back up. “I can’t believe you’d equate me with a tool like Ryan or whoever—”
“Let me finish,” Griffin warns with a glare.
Huffing, I snap my mouth shut so he’ll say whatever it is he needs to say.
He continues, “I am not saying you’re the same as Ryan or the other guys she dated.
I’m saying that Sam is still Sam. For as much as she’s grown these past few years, she can’t magically erase the effects of all the crap she’s been through. ”
My defensiveness eases, concern for Sam effectively pricking a hole to let out the hot air. “What do you mean?” I ask.