Mac pulled to the curb outside my door and threw the car in park. I knew there was no way I was getting upstairs without Connor right behind me. Him and that stupid bag sitting in my bedroom.

I tried not to think about the extra toothbrush in my bathroom or the oversized t-shirts that still managed to be tight on him that somehow made it into my laundry basket this week.

As if I wanted to have even more stuff to carry to the basement and back.

Mac went to open his door, but Connor reached over the seat and patted him on the shoulder.

“No need to be all official with us.” Connor slid out and reached back in for me.

“Thanks for the ride, Mac. I’ve never been driven around in such high class before.” I grinned, knowing he wouldn’t be insulted by my lack of fancy-schmancy’ness.

“Ms. Tate, it was an absolute pleasure. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed driving Connor around so much before. I hope we see a lot of each other.”

I took Connor’s hand and let him help me out of the low car onto the sidewalk. He gave a last wave and turned me toward the building.

“You know,” I started, knowing this was a losing battle. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Oh, I’m staying.”

“It’s gotta be an even harder decision knowing how uncomfortable the couch is now.”

“I’m a stronger man than you give me credit for.”

“Connor—”

Before I could finish whatever I was going to say to try to get America’s Sexiest Athlete to not sleep at my place, a bright flash broke off to my right blinding me for a quick second.

Connor’s arm went around me, tucking me into him as he rushed us toward the front door. When we got there, he stalled, realizing he didn’t have keys. Another light flashed behind us.

“Hailey, your keys.”

I tried not to let him see my hands shaking as I struggled to dig them out of the bottom of my tiny clutch with all that stuff shoved in it. As soon as they’d cleared the edge of my purse, he pulled them from my hand and unlocked the door, all but pushing me through it.

“Go.” He gave me a small shove. “Around the corner and up a few stairs.”

Flash.

“Hailey. Go.”

Flash.

I rushed to the stairs and climbed three while I listened to him pull the door shut and give it a tug making sure the lock fell into place.

I sunk down on the step, shocked that this is what my life had become. Paparazzi. Who in the normal world was staked out by paparazzi?

I pictured my life narrowing down to my tiny—cozy—apartment for fear of dealing with the flash and click of cameras again. The loss of privacy reaching all the way to my home and invading it, pulling my private life onto tabloid pages and viral websites.

No freedom to go out alone. To walk to the gym. To throw on a cap and avoid makeup and hair and matchy-matchy clothes. To have to go the long route to see the girls or hang out at The Brew.

It narrowed and narrowed and narrowed until I was getting anxious just sitting there on the stairs.

He barreled around the corner, stopping short of stepping on me as he began to rush up the stairs.

“Hey.” His voice softened, floating down to where I sat at his feet. “Hey, Hailey. It’s okay. I know it takes some getting used to. And, we’re so low profile, it might hit a website, but that’s about it. It’s not like it was TMZ or something.”

Getting used to? I hated having my picture taken at book events when I’d had time to prepare. Having some strange guy hiding behind a post office box to take your picture in the middle of the night was just insane. I couldn’t imagine any more invasions of privacy that were legal…and had the threat of becoming constant.

“I know it’s a big adjustment,” he continued. “I know we talked about this and you probably didn’t think it was going to be an issue. This isn’t what you expected even as everyone told you this was how it would be. I guess…I guess I’ve just learned to block it out.”

“You can block that out?” My own voice sounded smaller than I expected.

“Well, block it out might be a little bit of an exaggeration.” He turned and sat beside me. “But, don’t forget, what I do means having my picture taken all the time. For a large part of the year, I’m on TV several times a week and that’s a week where all I do is play ball.”

“There aren’t a lot of live book events.” The joke fell flat even to my own ears.

“Well, that’s true.” I could hear him trying not to humor me but still stay positive. “Also, the girls I’m usually out with are with me so someone will take their picture. I typically have to stop for them. There’s also the whole acting like I’m excited for whatever the purpose of the date is that night thing.”

“What about when you’re really dating someone?”

I thought about the way he rushed me into the building, keeping me as much out of any shot as possible while getting me out of sight, and then staying to secure the door. If he was that protective of my privacy and safety, he must go all out for his girlfriends.

Connor loosened his tie and leaned back on the stairs behind us, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Some of the women I’ve gone out with have become good friends, but as for really dating—the way you mean it?” He glanced away as if he didn’t want to have this talk…or maybe felt guilty. “That’s not what I want. I’m not that guy. I told you, I’m not looking for the white picket fence.”

I thought of my brick walk-up and laughed. “Is anyone?”

“You know what I mean, Hailey.” He wasn’t meeting my gaze as he rambled on. “I’m not that guy. I’m not looking to settle down or for the love of a good woman. I’m not feeling lonely or less than I am because I’m not one half of a marriage or partnership. I like my life the way it is.”

I stared at his overly photographed profile and realized what he was doing. He was warning me off.

“Yeah, well. I like my life the way it is too.” I stood, brushing the dirt off the rear of my dress. “I like my privacy. I like coming and going as I please. I like having my space be my space. I like that if I allow someone in it, I know that he and I share certain priorities. So, Mr. I’m-Not-That-Guy, don’t worry. I’m not looking to fence you in.”

I turned and started climbing the stairs waiting to see if he’d follow me up, knowing that—in his head at least—he didn’t have a lot of options.

And suddenly, I felt out of options too.