“Why is Ren up there?” I ask out of the side of my mouth to Nicole, our press coordinator.
She glances over at me, arms folded across her chest. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s alternate captain. He’s also a media darling. They love him.”
“He didn’t play.”
“And he’ll be explaining how soon that’s going to change.”
Rob finishes answering a question when one of the guys in the bullpen calls out, “Ren, there are multiple photos circulating from yesterday and today showing you alone with the team’s social media coordinator, Frankie Zeferino. Can you speak to the rumors that you two are together?”
The world freezes with a resounding record scratch. Well, that’s what happens inside my head.
Ren’s usually a pro at press conferences, but this is new territory for him. Ren never gets photographed with a woman, never gets asked about evidence of a love interest, because there have never been any. I’ve seen Ren blush a lot the last couple of days. I’ve seen him trip over his words and scramble for the right thing to say. I’m prepared for this to turn astronomically bad.
But instead Ren blinks those pale cat eyes and leans on his elbows, close to the microphone. “Who I do or don’t spend time with outside the rink has nothing to do with my professional performance, which is the focus of this press conference. While we’re on that subject, I’ll be returning for Thursday’s game. Next.”
He points and takes another question, moving on effortlessly.
Hot. Damn.
“He’s so good,” Nicole mutters. She smiles over at me. “You two, huh?”
“Oh, no, it’s not—”
“I’m teasing. Darlene told me you’re just staying with him. I’m sorry about your house being broken into.”
I exhale. I hate those kinds of teases. I never know someone’s kidding until they enlighten me. My heart’s pounding, adrenaline making my hands shake. “Thanks. It wasn’t too bad, all things considered.”
Turning back to Ren, I let my focus on him steady my breathing. I feel pride watching him, how capably and calmly he handles himself. Always the gentle smile, always polite to the reporters, who to their credit, are pretty polite to him. Everybody loves Ren.
It’s only when the cameras are packed away, chairs scraping as reporters stand, that I process the fact that Ren diffused the hell out of that question.
But he also didn’t answer it.
Our guys are filing out, back toward the bowels of the stadium, where Coach will finish up post-game talk and send everyone out to celebrate our narrow win. I scramble as fast as I can, weaving through the sea of reporters.
Once I’m past them, so I don’t draw undue attention, I hiss-whisper Ren’s name.
He glances over his shoulder and stops, his smile widening as he sees me. “Francesca.”
“Don’t ‘Francesca’ me.” I poke his stomach and swear under my breath. I think I just broke my finger on his abs. “You did not handle that properly.”
He tips his head, a frown tightening his features. Ren gently takes me by the elbow, coaxing me to walk with him. There’s a wall of people waiting behind us, so I let him pull me along.
“Mind telling me,” he says quietly, “how you would have had me handle it?”
I make an awkward, baffled noise in the back of my throat. I’m so flustered I can’t even find words.
“You taught me that denying something is the surest way to guarantee people think you’re hiding something. I dismissed it without negating it. Just like you’ve always said to.”
“Rennnn,” I groan. This was a time to shut it down. Denial. Short and sweet.
He frowns down at me and pauses, bringing me gently to the side of the hallway. “What did I get wrong? How can I fix it?”
An odd lump of emotion forms in my throat. Ren’s saying what I’ve wondered so many times in my social life. My empathy for his confusion cuts my frustration in half.
“I would have preferred you to say, ‘Frankie Zeferino and I are not together. We’re colleagues, and I was giving her a ride to work. That’s it.’”
Ren stares at me for a long moment, then nods. “Okay. I’m sorry. I can go find Mitch and tell him.”
“It’s your call. It’s your public life.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s your life, too, Frankie. I don’t want something being said about you that you don’t want.”
At some point in our discussion, while trying to stay out of people’s way as they passed, I got myself rather smashed to his front. Now the hallway’s quiet, leaving only the two of us and the heat pouring off of his suit, his clean, spicy scent. Warmth runs through every part of me that’s touching him and jolts me with awareness. I take a step back.
“It’s okay, Zenzero. Maybe…maybe you did it right. Time will tell.”
“Either way, I’ll find Mitch. Tell him what you said.”
I grasp his arm. “Ren, wait.”
He really doesn’t mind that people would think we’re dating? Even when he’s saving his heart for this woman? I’m so confused. But as is always the case for me after a long day out in the overstimulating, socially draining world, I’m too tired to try to figure this out anymore. I just know that what’s done is done today, and him backtracking to find Mitch will only heighten Mitch’s suspicions. That guy’s a nosy motherfucker.
“It’s fine,” I tell Ren, releasing his arm. “I promise. I overreacted.”
“Okay. Tell me if you change your mind, though.” His eyes search mine as his smile returns. “You’ve got a hangry look brewing. Let’s get a burger in you.”
I open my mouth to disagree with him, but then my stomach rumbles. “I hate when you’re right.”
Ren laughs, and the sound follows me all the way to the restaurant.
14
Ren
Playlist: “Mama, You Been on My Mind,” Jeff Buckley
“Oh my God,” she groans. Standing in my kitchen, Frankie rips open a bag of root beer gummies and snaps apart one of the little sticky bottles with her teeth. I ordered a huge box of them after I learned they’re her weakness, figuring I’d surprise her with them at work. Seeing as they were delivered here first, that plan went south when she recognized the box. “Where did you get these?” she asks.
“Same place as you, I’d imagine. The corporate beast that is Amazon.”
“Third-party seller?”
I pop one in my mouth and chew. “Yep.”
“Extortionist, soulless bastards,” she mutters.
My belly laugh echoes in the kitchen as I pour the kettle for two cups of tea. “Some things are worth the cost.”
“I swear, when I’m in law school, I’m going to look into what I can do about that. It’s bullshit. I need these things. And it’s like they know. They know they can get me to pay fifteen dollars a bag.”
Holding her tea and mine, I use my elbow to slide open the door. Pazza squeezes through the moment she can and bounds down to the sand.