#wiildnfree

“n-no. it’s fine.” sylvie doesn’t know what to do with herself. feels as though she’s something akin to a deer caught in the headlights. after a moment of letting her gaze rapidly flick between the woman before her and the drawing of the woman before her, she has the good sense to snap her sketchbook shut. it might be too late and the damage might already be done but it feels rather incriminating to be sat there with the evidence so freely on her lap. “are you…” she trails off, trying to think of anything that she could possibly say to throw off the topic from her drawing, “do you like the exhibit?”

Beckham stopped pacing, if only for a moment. He wanted to be furious (hell, part of him was furious), but looking at her now with her shoulders hunched, voice cracking with something that sounded like equal parts guilt and fear, it gutted him. This wasn't the version of her the world got to see, the polished actress with perfect interviews and perfect timing. This was the girl he loved, sitting on the couch like the ground had just been pulled out from under her. "Yeah, well, welcome to my fucking nightmare," he muttered quietly under his breath, dragging both hands through his hair. "The NFL doesn't know how to handle this kind of shit, Grace. They don't want to. One slip and they'll paint me as some reckless asshole who doesn't give a damn about his career or the team." He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, looking at Grace with something softer, but no less intense. "I don't give a fuck about late night jokes or hashtags. I care about the fact that you're sitting here looking like the world just ate you alive." He shook his head, stepping closer to her. "So no, you haven't been in this situation before. Neither have I. But we're in it together and I swear to God, we're gonna figure this out before they bury us."

"first of all," devon began, settling into the far end of the couch, stretching out until his toes almost nudged her thigh, but not quite, "i don't believe that's a valid excuse. fashion is suffering, babe. i've learned that from you and the hex girls." he picked at a loose thread in a throw pillow, not meeting her gaze. "second of all, the hoodie would look hot on you, so, like—if you're not wearing it right now i guess i gotta assume you're cheating."