“She’s got a show in Vegas tomorrow.” I pulled my jersey off. “I’m heading out there to see her after we win today.”
“Did you at least ask her to come for the game?” West asked.
I shrugged.
West winced. “Damn, and here I was gonna tell you she’s out of your league. Now I’m thinking she realized it herself.”
I flipped him off and sat down to lace up my cleats. “Get fucked.”
Bronx studied me as if he were reading a play that hadn’t been called yet. He knew. Or at least, he knew there was more I wasn’t saying.
Even if this whole thing started as a way to spin a story and shift a headline, I wasn’t sure what to think of it anymore. Not when we stayed up too late texting, or when she laughed at my dumb jokes and looked at me like maybe she saw something good.
West clapped a hand on my back as he walked by. “Well, I’m happy for you. You know, assuming she doesn’t dump your ass.”
“Appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Let’s win this one. I want to look good in the highlights.”
Bronx cracked his knuckles. “Let’s give her something worth watching.”
I stood up, rolled out my neck, and shook out the nerves.
FOURTEEN
Ellie
Rachel told me to tell you good job today at the interview. Apparently, the chemistry, in her words, ‘felt very real’
I knew I liked her. Plus, I’m a natural.
A natural at fake dating??
Well, we can make the fake part optional if you want.
My schedule was packedstraight through Christmas. I had a show tomorrow night, and my voice was already on partial vocal rest on my off days—no more interviews, no singing in the shower, just ginger tea and silence.
When Rachel saw Sawyer's team was playing a few hours from Vegas, it suddenly became a strategic PR opportunity. Her words. Not mine.
Still…I didn't say no.
Maybe it was dumb not to tell him. The whole thing made me feel like a teenager sneaking into her crush's Friday nightfootball game instead of a grown woman with platinum records and a private jet waiting on standby. But it felt…fun. A little reckless. For some reason, I wanted to be a little reckless with him. It was easier to let go when he was around.
Would he be weirded out if I showed up without telling him? Was that crossing some invisible line? I wasn't his girlfriend—not technically, not actually.
Fake dating was more complicated than I thought.
And Rachel, being the miracle worker she was, managed to pull last-minute suite tickets for us. I sipped a cocktail that cost more than I cared to think about and sank into the leather seat while the stadium hummed with energy.
What is my life?
I used to sit on the couch next to my parents, watching the news on a secondhand TV that flickered every time the fridge kicked on. I lived in a two-bedroom house with a roof that leaked when it rained and had a dad who worked nights just to keep the lights on. And now, I was here, in a luxury suite at an NFL game, wearing Sawyer’s jersey, pretending to date a man who made my heart beat faster than it had any business doing.
“So,” Rachel said, dropping into the seat beside me, “how are we feeling about tonight?”
“Good. We haven’t really been seen together since the article dropped, so this will help keep the narrative going.”
She gave me a flat look. “Nope. That’s the press release answer. I already know that one.”
