Page 53 of Run Home

I know Adrian’s contract with the Crowns. I know that a thousand dollars was a tiny amount to him, that he didn’t bat an eye giving it to me. Not in a pretentious way—in a sweetly generous way. Knowing all that, I squeeze his hand and say, “Okay. And you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry for overreacting.”

“Well, you weren’t overreacting, so you don’t need to apologize either,” he says, a mischievous spark returning to his eyes. “Now try that goat cheese stuff so I know whether to ever bring you back here or only stick to Silo. And sushi.”

Conversation is much more lighthearted for the remainder of lunch. After Adrian pays the bill, he looks at me and says, “I wasn’t sure what you’d want to do this afternoon. If you want to keep out of the spotlight, we can go over to my house or walk around the park nearby. There likely won’t be too many people out since it’s pretty hot today.”

Crinkling my nose, I shake my head. “You should probably know this about me. I hate being hot.”

He grins when he says, “So you’re miserable every day, huh?”

My cheeks start flaming, burning away any response.

Adrian’s grin grows. “You’re only mas hermosa when you blush, cielo. But okay, no outdoor activities in the heat. I’m taking note.”

“We don’t care about being seen together?” I ask.

Adrian holds a hand to his chest. “I don’t care about being seen together.”

I state, “We don’t care about being seen together.” He smiles at that. I ask, “You don’t care about potentially getting bothered by fans in general?”

“I don’t care,” he emphasizes. “But if you care, I care.”

Standing up, I hold my hand out to Adrian. “Then I know exactly what we should do.”

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.