Great. A sleazy reminder of their night together. A night that he considered pretty damn amazing and that he hoped she felt the same way about.
Now it had become fodder for a gossipy website.
“Nothing happened.” Flynn set the paper on the edge of the desk, not really wanting to look at it anymore. “I usually notice those reporters and photographers hanging around my neighborhood, but they haven’t been by in forever.” No one cared about him, since he didn’t play much. Or so he’d thought.
“Please. You were too distracted at the idea you were about to get some with Aubrey. Or let me rephrase that—you probably already got some and were too distracted by your high.” The disgust in Harvey’s voice was clear. “You know what this means, right?”
Flynn frowned. “Means? No, I don’t know what this means.”
“They’re going on the hunt for your mysterious, beautiful redhead so they can label her your new ‘girlfriend.’” Harvey made air quotes at the description of Aubrey. “They’ll have her figured out within hours. They probably already know who she is. And then they’re going to know that you and the assistant publicist for the Hawks are having a fling. Which, you do realize, is against company policy. This could cause a major media shitstorm for the Hawks organization, you know. And Charlie Monroe won’t be pleased.”
Flynn wanted to groan. Now the Hawks owner was involved? Could this get any worse? “We are definitely not having a fling.”
“So, what is it between you two?”
As if he knew. And if he did, he wouldn’t tell Harvey what it was. “We’re…friends.”
“Friends who sneak out of your house together in the middle of the night? That’s pretty damn friendly,” Harvey pointed out.
“It wasn’t that late,” Flynn argued because hey, it had been morning, so technically it had been early. But Harvey shook his head, shutting him up.
“Doesn’t matter. It looks illicit.”
Yeah. He knew it did. “Look, we act like it’s no big deal, it becomes no big deal, right?”
Harvey studied him for a long, too-quiet moment, his always-assessing gaze narrowed, his lips thinned. For so long, Flynn was tempted to squirm in his chair, like a little kid who’d just gotten busted. “No big deal. Fine. Let’s go that route. Get back to me and tell me how that works out for you, okay?”
Flynn knew when he was being dismissed. Rising from the chair, he nodded at Harvey and took off, more than ready to leave for the day. After the excruciating practice, the agony over having to avoid Aubrey, and then the bad news and intense drill from Harvey? He just wanted out of there.
Running scared? Probably. And he never ran scared from anything or anyone. The past few days had been pretty damn intense, though. He needed to get some alone time. Get his head back on straight.
Not bothering to say good-bye to anyone, he grabbed his duffel bag and fled down the hall, toward the exit that led out into the side lot where players and staff parked. His hurried steps echoed in the otherwise empty hall, his mind running over again and again what Harvey had said to him.
Redheaded girlfriend. Stroke of luck. Scandal. De-virginizing the virgin football player—was that all he’d been reduced to? He’d played a hell of a season when he’d stepped in for Quinn. He’d broken records in high school and college. He wasn’t a joke. He had a future, damn it.
This would blow over. It always did. Some other scandal would break out and take the focus off him. Besides, it was just a tiny mention on US magazine’s site. Big deal. It hadn’t even made their print version, he’d bet. Flynn Foley was a nobody. Whoever he happened to be banging shouldn’t concern anyone else. Right?
Right.
Pushing through the double doors with a hard shove, he stopped short when a swarm of photographers came at him. Their flashes repeatedly going off blinded him, and wincing against the brightness, he threw up an arm. Tried to make sense of the cacophony of voices coming at him all at once.
“Flynn! Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Are you dating the Hawks publicist?”
“Are you and Aubrey Cooper an item?”
“Did you finally lose your virginity, Flynn?”
“Is the pretty redhead your lover? Are you two serious?”
“No comment,” Flynn muttered, dropping his arm and putting his head down as he moved through the throng.
They followed him all the way to his car, never letting up on the questions, the photos of him and Aubrey, the fact that the Golden Boy had been soiled. Yep. One of them actually used the word “soiled.”
Unbelievable.
He climbed into his car and backed out of the parking spot, not bothering to check if he was going to hit anyone. They all scattered like the cockroaches they were anyway, so he wasn’t worried. He’d dealt with this sort of thing before, but never with a crowd of paparazzi this size. They were relentless, still shouting questions at him, despite the facts he had his windows rolled up and he wasn’t saying squat.