“Good morning, Hayden.”

I smile at Whitney the hostess at the front of the restaurant. “Yes, it is,” I greet. “Good morning indeed.”

“Just one for breakfast today?” she asks.

“No, actually. Two,” I say. “She’ll be joining me soon.”

The girl giggles as she snatches two menus from her podium. “Ooo-la-la. Right this way, sir.”

I follow her across the restaurant, passively adjusting the cuffs on my shirt as I walk. It’s a little wrinkled this morning but I don’t care. Wonderful battle scars from an incredible night.

Whitney rounds a table for two and sets the menus down. “Your server will be with you shortly,” she says.

“Thank you.”

I sit down, leaning back in the chair to get comfortable while I wait for Penelope. I saw her and Ira talking to her parents at the far side of the lobby but I wasn’t about to interrupt that conversation.

“Hayden.”

I glance up and sigh at that familiar, busty redhead standing over my shoulder in a raven-black cocktail dress.

“Trisha,” I ask, “what are you still doing here?”

Her pink lips curl. “Hayden, Hayden, Hayden…”

“I thought you left.”

“I thought I did, too, but…” She walks around the table to sit in the empty chair across from me. “I just had this feeling…”

“Couldn’t possibly be shame, could it?” I ask.

“A journalistic instinct, you might call it.”

“Nothing you do qualifies as journalism, Trisha.”

She leans forward, ignoring my quips. “You weren’t being entirely honest with me before. Were you?”

I sigh. “About what?”

“About why you chose to stay here at Daddy’s hotel during your painful rehabilitation,” she answers. “The five-star restaurant. The state-of-the-art fitness center. The loyal, hardworking staff willing to get on their knees for you. All available twenty-four hours a day.”

“And all very good reasons for me to stay here. Get to your point.”

“The adorable hairdresser from Burbank.” Her smile grows. “Not exactly on the standard list of amenities for a Botsford Plaza. I know. I checked.”

I swallow hard. “Okay, look…”

“You’re hiding out here with a girl and you didn’t think she was important enough to mention?”

“No, I didn’t. Because she’s not.”

Trisha blinks. “Really?”

I nod. “Really.”

“You two seemed awfully cozy last night at your brother’s show,” she argues.

“What the hell were you doing at the Criminal Records show last night?” I ask.

“Planned for a weekend.” She scoffs. “Had to do something to kill time until my flight. Little did I know I’d run right into my next human interest story in the front row.”

I lean forward. “No.”

She throws on that pink-lipped pout. “Hayden…”

“I said no.”

“A handsome, playboy athlete, broken and defeated, crawls home to Las Vegas to soothe his aching wounds…”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“There, he stumbles upon a beautiful California girl…” She stops. “No, that’s not right.”

“Ya think?”

“Would waifish sell better?”

I flex my jaw. “Trisha…”

She waves passively. “Never mind. I’ll ask Daisy.”

“Yes, please. Do ask Hunter and Daisy whether or not you should run a bullshit personal exposé without the subject’s approval or permission. I’m sure they have some first-hand opinions about that.”

“Worked out in their favor, didn’t it?” she asks with a smirk.

“There’s no story here, Trisha,” I say. “Penelope’s just a friend.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Just a girl I’m hooking up with until my leg heals. Killing time, just like you. She means nothing to me.”

“Nothing?” she repeats with doubt.

I nod. “Nothing at all.”

She bites her cheek. “Well, I’m sure I can find it in my heart to pass on a human interest story…”

“Thank you.”

“If…”

I exhale. “If what?”

Her lips press together in a smile. “If you’ll give me my exposé,” she says.

“No,” I say.

“One interview,” she counters. “Your first triumphant game back. You and me. In the dugout. With pictures.”

I groan. If I don’t agree to this, I’ll never see the end of this woman. “No pictures.”

“One picture.”

“Fine.” I bite down. “One interview. One picture.”

“Deal.” She extends her manicured hand across the table and I shake it. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you again, Hayden. Get well soon.”

I grunt a goodbye as she stands up… and again when she doesn’t immediately leave.

“So, Penelope means nothing to you, huh?” she asks.

I glare. “Nothing.”

“Does she know that?”

“I… no. Why?”

“‘Cuz she does now,” she mutters before flouncing away.

I spin around in my chair. “Penny,” I say, my chest sinking.

She stands behind me with her hands folded over her clutch in front of her. “Hi,” she merely says.

I push out of the chair so fast my knee twinges. I ignore it. “That wasn’t… How long have you been standing there?”

She shrugs, her shoulders stiff. “Waifish, I think.”

“It wasn’t what it sounded like,” I say. “That woman’s a reporter, okay? And a really bad one at that. Digs up personal dirt on athletes and calls it news. I told her that stuff to make her back off and leave you alone.”

Penelope nods slowly. “Because you don’t want people to know about me?”

I nod. “Yes!”

“Because I don’t mean anything to you?”

“No…” I step forward. “No, that’s not what I said.”

“You kinda did.”

“But that’s not what I meant.”

She looks down. “Hayden, it’s fine. This was all a meaningless arrangement anyway, right? Fake girlfriends shouldn’t get as much media attention as state school sorority hook-ups.”

I frown. “That’s not…”

“I spoke with my parents,” she says. “Told them everything. They know about… everything, so…” Her throat clears. “We don’t have to do this anymore.”

A rock settles in my gut. “Penny…”

“Thinkin’ I might skip out early,” she continues. “Try and beat the Sunday evening traffic on the way home.”

“Wait, Penny—”

She turns quickly. “It was nice to meet you, Hayden.”

My chest tightens as she beelines back toward the lobby.

“You, too,” I say to myself.

Well, that was the least fun I’ve had in weeks.

Guess I need to find a new hobby now.

I exhale hard and abandon my table, meandering my way back to the lobby. I take a hard turn into the bar, happy there’s no velvet rope blocking the entrance this time.

Doc greets me with a nod as I plop down on the nearest stool. “Hey, Hayden,” he says.

“Hiya,” I say.

“Where’s Penny?”

I bite down. “She’s on her way home.”

He nods, easily reading my face. “Well, what can I get you?”

“Uh…”

I feel my back pockets of my jeans in search of my wallet but it’s not there. Must have left it upstairs in my room. I quickly check my front pockets out of habit and my fingers graze the folded-up bill stuffed inside. I pull it out, ready to spend every dime of it, but I pause.

Twenty dollars.

Penelope’s twenty dollars.

“You okay, man?” Doc asks.

I keep the money pinched between my fingers. “Yeah,” I answer. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you look like shit,” he jokes.

I spot myself in the mirror behind bar and nod.

“You’re right,” I say as I slide off the stool. “In fact, I think I could use a haircut.”