“I want to keep you on the field,” Cameron said, matter-of-fact. “I want to keep the team out of the tabloids. I want to keep our sponsors from pulling out because of optics. And I want to keep our newest star striker from Japan from blowing a gasket the second he sees this on ESPN.”
Mara was nodding way too enthusiastically. “We can do soft launches. A few ‘caught by the press’ moments. Coffee runs. Hand holding at matches. Maybe one strategic kiss if the numbers stall?—”
“Absolutely not,” Daphne said flatly.
Coach Reid finally spoke, his voice rough. “We need this to work, Kieren.”
I looked at him. At the lines carved into his face, the exhaustion in his stance. He’d fought to keep me in this league when no one else would. Brought me back when I was benched. Trusted me.
“If it doesn’t?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Reid didn’t sugarcoat it. “Then they’ll find a reason to bench you. Permanently.”
I didn’t look at Daphne.
Didn’t need to.
I could feel her glare burning into the side of my face.
Fake date a reporter.
This was going to be hell.
I scoffed before I could stop myself. “No way Sommers agrees to that.”
If there was one thing I knew about Daphne Sommers, it was that she hated mess. And I was chaos personified. She’d probably wanted me suspended the moment my fist connected with that Vultures player’s jaw. Hell, she was likely already drafting an op-ed dragging me through the mud. And now they expected her to play pretend? To hold my hand in public and smile like she didn’t want me benched into oblivion?
Not a chance in hell.
But then, she turned her head.
Just slightly.
Her eyes met mine for half a second before flicking to Cameron.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
Silence hit the room like a sucker punch.
I blinked. “What?”
Even Cameron paused, mouth slightly open.
Daphne uncrossed her legs and stood, smoothing her skirt with both hands. Her voice was calm, measured—like she’d already made the decision before I even walked in.
“I feel partially responsible,” she said. “I baited that Vultures player into mouthing off. I knew what I was doing. Kieren just… responded.”
Responded. Like I was some programmed pit bull that couldn’t help but bite.
Still, she kept talking.
“If the league doesn’t care about the full story—then fine. We give them a version they’ll accept.” Her jaw tightened. “We give them a romance.”
I couldn’t look away from her. Couldn’t breathe, either. Her ponytail was too tight, her hands clenched at her sides, her voice clipped with a kind of brutal professionalism that didn’t sound like her at all. Not the Daphne I remembered.
Not the girl who used to look at me like I was more than my worst mistake.
And she still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
