An onslaught of questions and camera flashes exploded like a bomb amidst RAB’s otherwise tranquil sanctuary.
Paparazzi swamped us, their raincoats slick with water, their cameras shoved in our faces as I was stunned into momentary silence.
How the hell did they find me? Everyone at RAB had to sign NDAs, and I was always careful driving from my house to the school. Most importantly, how the hell did they get past the security gates?
“Did you see people are burning your shirts in Holchester?”
“How does it feel to be hated by the fans that used to love you?”
The clamor escalated. With their hoods up and giant black lenses obscuring their faces, they resembled a pack of vultures frothing for scraps.
My heart rate ratcheted up. The shouts and flashes blurred into white noise while my gut twisted with familiar overwhelm.
I didn’t hate the media per se. We had a symbiotic relationship, but only when the engagement was mutual.
I hated this—the ambushes, the invasions of privacy, the gross attempts at getting a rise out of me so they could sell my reaction for a buck. That was why I refused to give them one.
The rain fell in fat, heavy drops, soaking me to the bone. Claps of thunder rolled overhead and added to the chaos as I recovered my faculties and tried to push my way through the crowd.
I’d worry about how they found me later. Right now, I needed to get to my car and get us the hell out of here.
Us. Scarlett.
I turned, my heart giving a panicked thump when I saw her frozen at the top of the steps, her eyes wide and her face pale. I’d assumed she was right behind me, but she appeared to be in shock.
One of the paps said something that got lost in the storm and grabbed her arm.
A switch flipped, and my determination to keep my mouth shut washed away beneath a haze of red.
“Hey!” I doubled back and shoved him off her. “Don’t touch her!”
The camera flashes burst into a fresh frenzy.
“Are you sleeping together?”
“Is she your trainer?”
“What’s your relationship?”
“Asher?”
“Asher!”
My voice and the renewed shouts shook Scarlett out of her stupor. She grabbed my outstretched hand and ran with me to my car.
I barreled through the paparazzi without care, and we somehow made it to my car without further incident.
She gave me her address, but neither of us spoke again until I’d cleared RAB’s grounds and the cameras were a distant horde.
“Are you okay?” I asked. That seemed to be the question of the day.
“Yeah. I just…” Scarlett blinked, lingering traces of shock evident in the tremor of her words. “Is it always like that for you?”
“Not always, but most of the time.”
It was one of the many reasons I didn’t date. Any relationship would crumble beneath the combined weight of my football obligations, public scrutiny, and intrusive paparazzi. Everyone wanted to date a celebrity until they came home one day to find people rummaging through their trash for paydirt.
“God.” Scarlett slumped in her seat. “How did they find you?”
“Either someone broke their NDA, or they tailed me from my house and I didn’t notice.”
I needed to call my publicist and see if she could deal with the photos before they got published. Paparazzi often played fast and loose with the rules, but Sloane had a history of bending them to her will. I didn’t want Scarlett to deal with the absolute mess that would occur if her face got splashed all over the tabloids.
“Thank you for helping me back there,” she said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that. They probably got a money shot of you pushing that guy.”
“He deserved it.” My muscles coiled again at the memory of that asshole’s hands on her. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”
Scarlett swallowed hard.
“I’m surprised you haven’t had similar run-ins before,” I said after another bout of silence. “Because of your brother.”
“He keeps me shielded from that kind of stuff. Besides, he lives in Paris during the offseason, and when he is here, we hang out at each other’s houses, not in public.”
“So you two are close.”
“Yes. We grew up in different cities, but we talked often. I didn’t have a lot of friends as a kid because of my ballet schedule, and he had the same issue because of football. We were the closest the other had to a confidante.”
It was weird. The topic of Vincent usually aggravated me, but I could listen to Scarlett talk all day and not get tired.
