PREGNANT FOR THE FOOTBALL KING

Ava Bennett had one simple job tonight: don't do anything embarrassing. Don't embarrass the clinic. Easy, right? She’d already blown it. Priya leaned in close, navigating Ava through a packed ballroom of shiny people—suited men and glittering women—and pointed toward the bar. “You’re doing it again. Planning your escape before we’ve even had a drink.” Ava grumbled, “I hate rooms like this.” “Everyone hates rooms like this. That’s why we drink.” The Camden Foundation Gala had swallowed up the entire top floor of the Meridian Hotel. Forty stories up, glass walls showed off a city lit up like gold dust—hard, cold, expensive. Looking around, Ava felt painfully out of place. Most of the women looked like their dresses cost more than Ava’s rent. The men strolled around like life never told them "no"—the kind of confidence that only comes from getting everything you want. The whole scene felt designed to remind Ava she didn’t belong. She ran her hands over her borrowed black dress and whispered a pep talk to herself: two hours. Make an appearance. Sip champagne. Smile at the right people, then escape. The atmosphere changed in a blink. Suddenly, everyone got quiet. Phones slipped out of pockets. The photographer by the door dropped to one knee for a shot. A ripple spread from the entrance—everyone craning to see who’d just walked in. It felt electric, the whole room waiting for something big. Priya grabbed Ava’s arm, her eyes wide. “Oh my God, Ava, can you believe—” Ava didn’t need her to say it. Lucas King had arrived, and everything in the room shifted. Billboards never did him justice; this was a presence you felt, not just saw. He walked in with a confidence that swallowed conversation. People stumbled over their words mid-sentence just to stare. He moved like the world rearranged itself to accommodate him. Dark hair, sharper jaw than any photo gave him credit for, tuxedo crisp enough to warn you there was trouble underneath. But Ava noticed first that he wasn’t smiling. Every photo she’d seen had him grinning, golden and effortless. Tonight—nothing. Calm, almost bored, like he was just enduring the crowd. It made her wonder what was going on inside. Everyone was lively around him, but he just hovered, unbothered. Then, his eyes swept the room—and landed right on her. For one brief second. Ava felt her stomach drop. It was just a glance, barely a second, but it felt intentional. Like he’d filed her away, thirty feet apart, and then—just as quickly—he vanished into the crowd. “Did he just—” Priya started. “No.” “Ava, he just—” “He didn’t. Drink your champagne.” Ava turned back to the bar. Her heart was doing something strange—quick, wild. And then, disaster: the waiter’s tray clipped her elbow. Everything blurred after that. She snatched for two glasses, quick reflexes from years catching equipment at the clinic. But the third slipped past her grip and spilled—gravity, inevitability. Right onto a white dress shirt. Ava went ice cold. She knew who it was even before she looked up. The pause in the air, Priya’s sharp intake of breath, signaled trouble. The universe had decided to play its favorite game: worst timing imaginable. The silence screamed that something was wrong before Ava even squared her shoulders to face it. She had to look. Lucas King glanced down at the slowly growing stain, then looked up at her. And for the first time, his expression changed. Slow, deliberate eyebrow raise. Words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Oh my God,” she blurted, mortified. “I’m so sorry, it happened so fast—the waiter, my hand—it wasn’t supposed to—” She stopped, face burning. “You threw a drink at me.” “No, I didn’t throw it. It was—uh, a trajectory failure.” Something flashed in his gaze—almost a laugh, close enough to make her shiver. Cameras started swinging their way, phones snapping, the crowd hungering for drama. All eyes on her, waiting for her crash. He leaned in, voice low, almost dangerous. “Guess how many people here spent the last hour trying to get a few seconds of my attention?” “I wasn’t trying to get your attention. I was trying not to spill wine on the floor.” “You spilled it on me instead.” “Marginal improvement. Floors are much harder to apologize to.” For a moment, nobody spoke. Ava would have sworn she’d ruined everything—picking tonight to make an i***t of herself in front of the city’s most powerful man. Then Lucas laughed. It was soft, quick, and somehow it silenced the room. People turned, phones angled higher. Ava felt dizzy, like she’d done something remarkable without knowing how. Suddenly, everyone wanted to see what happened next, and she was at the center of it. Lucas spoke, calm but firm, letting her know she’d apologized enough. “I’ve apologized twice already. I’m rationing them.” He studied her, slow and measured, which made Ava squirm in her borrowed, now-stained dress. “What’s your name?” he asked—a real question, gentle, as if he actually wanted to hear it. Her first instinct was to lie. Make up a name, laugh, disappear before things got weird. But she didn’t. She said, “Ava.” He tried it out: “Ava.” Testing the word, deciding whether he liked it. “You work for the Foundation?” “The clinic. Small sponsor. Very small. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” Shouldn’t be pouring wine on him either, but here we are. Priya had gone quiet—which, in ten years, Ava knew meant Priya might be recording everything or plotting who knows what. Time to exit, Ava thought. She stepped away, cool air replacing her spot. “You should probably find a towel,” she said. “Or just hit the nearest exit.” She turned. A hand wrapped gently around her wrist—not tight, just firm. The kind of hold that didn’t need force. It just expected you to stay. Ava’s breath caught. She turned back. Lucas’s eyes met hers, intense and focused, like she was suddenly the most interesting thing in a room full of bored treasures. He wasn’t letting her leave—not until he got what he’d come for. "Why does it matter?” she wondered. His thumb brushed her skin, almost invisible, but Ava felt it everywhere. “I never let anyone walk out on me,” he said quietly, “and you’re about to find out just how serious I am about that.”