Her voice cuts sharply through the line, dripping with exasperation. “Maverick. Shut up.”
I blink, grab my water bottle, and chug as I pace the floor. “Whoa, someone’s cranky. You skip breakfast again?”
“I don’t know how the fuck you do it,” she snaps, no patience for my jokes.
I grin, dragging a towel over my face. “Do what? Be this handsome and athletic? It’s a curse, really.”
“Don’t start with me,” she snaps. “But congratulations. You broke the internet. Pictures of you and that tattooed goddess at VYCE are everywhere—Twitter, Instagram, the damn NFL network. Everyone’s obsessed with your mystery woman.”
I freeze, towel halfway down my face. “Mystery woman,” I repeat, a laugh catching in my throat. “You mean Amelia.”
“Don’t play dumb,” Maggie fires back. “The internet is eating it up. The NFL’s golden boy tangled up with an inked-up tattoo goddess? It’s dynamite. You’ve got everyone talking, sponsors calling me instead of the other way around.”
Maggie doesn’t even pause. “You pulled off more in one night than I could do in six months of PR.”
The call with Maggie ends, and I’m pacing the gym with a towel draped around my neck, sweat still dripping down my chest.
I stare at my phone, pulse still racing.
Tonight.
Tonight, I’ll find the right moment to tell her—a fake marriage. My fingers curl tightly around my phone, and my grin sharpens.
Shit, this is either going to save my ass or ruin me completely.
amelia
. . .
Ishouldn’t be thinking about the bass, the lights, and Maverick’s large hands at my waist.
It was supposed to be just a night out because I was bored and he insisted. The way he leaned in, his mouth so close to mine, and his laugh when I told him to bite me…
God. I pulled away, but my body hasn’t, and I hate how much I want to feel it again.
To make matters worse, I still don’t know why the hell I’m here.
No, actually, I’m about to spiral.
I’m sitting on Maverick’s stupid, massive, overpriced, emotionally compensating memory foam couch in the middle of Tennessee in my underwear.
A white cotton tank sticks to me so tightly it feels like a second skin, with the thin fabric revealing everything, no bra, of course.
I let out a groan, rubbing my hands down my face. It’s past midnight, and Maverick has been upstairs for an unusually long time. I grab my phone off my lap and message my girls because who the fuck else can I talk to?
Amelia
Still don’t know why I’m here
Amelia
Hasn’t said a fucking word
Layla
Interesting
Catalina
