Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
But when I pass Abby, she catches my attention with a “Psst,” then asks, “How is he doing after yesterday?”
My throat tightens as I choke out, “Fine.”
My door is ten feet away. If I can just make it past the moat of hungry co-workers who dine on gossip…
I’m almost past the threshold, when a familiar voice slithers up my spine.
“Morning, Brooke. I have a horchata.”
Screw horchatas.
I spin to face him and slap on a grin. “Thanks. But I just had a coffee.”
Stephen frowns. “Too bad. Maybe I’ll drink it.” He follows me into my office, taking a hearty swallow from one cup. “Damn, this is one fine drink.”
Well, maybe the latte was for him all along.
“Anyway, I wanted to get this as a thanks,” he says, then shakes his head but in obvious approval. “You’re nailing this dating thing.” With his free hand, he sketches air quotes.
Probably because he doesn’t want to say “fake dating” out loud.
Only it was never fake. And I’m a little tired of acting like maybe it was.
I’m tired of the charade.
And after this morning’s heartbreak, I don’t want to fake a thing anymore. Especially since I’ll have to tell him in three seconds that it’s over. I was hoping I’d have some more time to break the bad news.
“I’m glad to hear, but the thing is—”
“The Mercenaries are such a fan-favorite now, thanks to Drew. Sure, the sports news hammered the team yesterday with the loss to the Hawks, but social media is trending with how cute you are together. The fans are loving the two of you.”
I can’t deal with this anymore.
I close the door, meet his eyes, and say, “I hate to tell you this…”
After the botched job I did untelling him I was dating Drew, I’ve got to do it right now. “He’s not coming to the press tour this week. He’s got a lot on his plate, Stephen. He needs to focus on football. So we won’t attend as a couple.”
Stephen is rarely rattled.
But he’s not simply rattled. He’s speechless. His mouth hangs open unceremoniously. “You won’t?”
“We won’t.” I swallow the stones in my throat, wishing I didn’t have to say this. “And I don’t know if we’ll be able to attend any others.”
My voice cracks. It’s full of potholes I didn’t see coming.
“Did you fake break up?” he asks, even more confused.
My shoulders shake. Tears prick the back of my eyes. Stupid tears. Foolish emotions. “Honestly, it was real. We were together for real, Stephen. And now we’re not.”
And there’s nothing fake about the hurt in my heart right now.
24
RINSE, LATHER, REPEAT
Drew
Maddox would tell me not to listen, but on the drive to the stadium I stick my finger in the flame and tune in to Pigskin Jimbo, a nationally syndicated sports talk host.
There’s nothing quite as sobering as a raspy-voiced dude lambasting you in front of millions of listeners for every single play.
“One of the sloppiest games I’ve ever watched. I watched it through my fingers, horror-movie style,” he barks. “What do you think? Let’s hear from our callers.”
When the first caller starts with, “What is up with Adams? Is his new girl distracting him?” I stab the off button.
“It’s not her fault,” I mutter to the unknown caller. “It’s mine.”
And I hope my teammates aren’t as disappointed in me as I am. But they have every right to be.
When I walk through the corridor of the practice facility, my heart feels heavy. My feet do too. I dread heading into the locker room.
I let these guys down yesterday, so when I tug open the door, I brace myself for their disappointment.
“Hey, Adams,” Rand calls out, patting his stubbly cheek. “Check it out. No shave.”
Clements tips his chin my way and lobs a yellow hacky sack at me.
I catch it easily. “New one?”
“Fuck yes. We’re gonna start a new streak. Isn’t that right?”
Rand nods enthusiastically. “Starting now.”
The running back points at me. “My game was off yesterday, bro. I should have caught a couple of those throws. But today? Today, I woke up early and did yoga. Nama-fucking-ste. I’ve got peace about the game yesterday, and now we’re gonna concentrate on fucking up Dallas this weekend on our turf.”
Holy shit. What did I do to deserve a team like this? Their attitudes are everything. I fight off a grin so I don’t look too happy about losing, but I’m ecstatic that they aren’t blaming me. It was a tough loss all around.
But I still want them to know how seriously I take my job. I clear my throat. “Thanks, guys. I’ve been beating myself up. I know I played badly yesterday, and I’m sorry I let you down, but I’m ready to put it behind us and kick ass.”
Clements scoffs. “Dude, it was one bad game. We were all off.”