“Personally, I would’ve preferred a little more footage of that sweet three-pointer Bradley sunk — but that’s just me.” Mark looks at me. “No offense, Gem.”
“None taken,” I whisper in a detached voice, my mind occupied by alarming thoughts.
I threw myself at a billionaire.
God, he must think I’m a total idiot.
God, Iama total idiot.
“Gemma!” Chrissy grabs my arm in a tight grip, her manicured fingernails digging into my flesh.
I look at her and see her eyes are glassy again, the telltale sign of impending tears. Hoping for a little guidance, my gaze swings in Mark’s direction.
“Beats me.” He shrugs. “Any emotion — excitement, happiness, sadness, fear, joy, whatever — seems to manifest as crying these days. I have a hard enough time knowing when I’ve done right or screwed up under normal circumstances. The weeping just adds a whole new level of mystery.”
Chrissy hurls a decorative pillow at her husband, which he dodges in a well-practiced move, then turns to face me again.
“Details,” she says adamantly. “I want — Ineed— details.”
I sigh and launch into the story, describing everything from Ralph’s refusal to hang up his cellphone to the kiss-cam landing on me. I skim over my humiliation and focus on the rescue: Green Eyes — sorry,Chase— pulling me from my seat, dipping me back, and kissing me like he meant it.
“Holy wow,” Chrissy breathes, grabbing a magazine off the coffee table and fanning herself. Even Mark, who’s typically bored to sleep by our girl-talk sessions, is staring at me with interest.
…and they haven’t even heard the rest of the story yet.
“Well, I’m sure it’s not that weird.” I try to sound indifferent. “Billionaires don’t live by the same rules we do. I’m sure he goes around kissing people on national television all the time.”
Chrissy and Mark glance at one another.
“What?” I ask, knowing Chrissy — whose obsession with gossip, pop-culture, and all things scandalous remains unparalleled — undoubtedly has the scoop on him. “Come on, lay it on me.”
She clears her throat delicately. “I hate to break it to you, honey, but no one really knows that much about him. He was a bit of a playboy when he was younger, but what heir to a multi-billion dollar fortune wouldn’t be? Lots of girls, lots of parties, from what I remember. He was always getting into scuffles with the paparazzi, arrested for DUIs, stuff like that.” She’s staring at me, eyes wide. “But he’s been MIA for the past five years. No one really knows where he went or why he left. There was some kind of scandal with his family, but I don’t think the details were ever made public.”
Hmm.
“He’s been out of the country, as far as anyone knows. Tonight at the game was one of his first public appearances since he left when he was twenty-five.”
“He’s only thirty?” I ask, surprised.
“I think so.”
“Yep,” Mark concurs, staring intently at his smartphone screen. “At least, according to Wikipedia.”
“Oh, honey, let me see!” Chrissy demands, holding out her hand for his phone. Instead of simply passing it to her, he stands up, rounds the coffee table, and squeezes in directly beside her, so they’re sharing a single cushion. Within seconds, he’s settled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her so she can see the screen. Her hands rest gently on her rounded stomach as she snuggles back against him.
I snort. “God, you two are disgustingly cute.”
They grin in unison and it’s so adorable I want to vomit on the spot.
“You never told us how you ended up soaking wet on our doorstep,” Chrissy says pointedly. “Or what happened after he kissed you.”
I grimace. “Ralph happened.”
A dark look replaces Mark’s typically unruffled expression. “I bet that toolbag was—”
“Mark!” Chrissy gasps.
“What?” he retorts. “Heisa toolbag. No offense, Gemma.”