“No. He knows you have a thing for Scottie, but he’s worried you’re going to make a move and cause a scandal.”
“Wow. Gotta love the support.” I sigh, take off my cap, and scratch my head. All this sunshine is starting to give me a headache. “What am I gonna do, Coop?”
“I don’t know. How long are they supposed to date?”
“Till the end of the month. Only a couple more weeks.”
“Not quite,” Coop says. “You can’t start dating openly or everyone will think you cheated.”
Crap.
I scratch my head some more, wanting to scream. “You’re not helping.”
“Not trying to. Just clarifying the stakes.”
I huff. “Thanks a lot.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Logan said you’ve liked her for a year, right? You can wait. Say they ‘break up’ at the end of the month; you guys date in secret through March and into April. Then in May, you, Jake, and Scottie can plant a story that you ‘asked’ Jake if he’d be okay with you asking her out, he gives you his blessing because he’s ‘grown’ so much, and bam. Great opticsfor all of you, and no clubhouse drama. Not even Doug could mind a story like that.”
“Yeah,” I say nodding slowly. “Yeah, that actually works.”
Two months. I can do two months.
A sharp whistle sounds across the field, and Coop slaps my back. “That’s Doug’s whistle. Come on,” he says, walking a half step ahead of me to where Doug is waving us over for what looks like one last photo before the sponsor clears out.
Scottie’s standing just beyond the sponsor backdrop with Jake still next to her. Does anyone else notice how she’s holding her iPad like a shield?
Does it even matter?
When she sees me coming, her professional smile slips. Just for a second. But I see it.
Jake sees it too.
The hand he was resting on the small of her back tightens—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that his fingers press in through the fabric of her blouse.
“Fischer,” he says when I step into range.
“Rodgers.”
We clasp hands.
He grips my hand firmly, but he doesn’t try to squeeze the life out of it this time. Is he growing, or am I not a threat to him anymore?
I have to wonder what he knows, though, because he holds our handshake a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to get my attention.
I meet his eyes.
There’s no heat there—no outright challenge—but there’s an awareness I can’t ignore.
He looks at me the way a dog looks at another dog near its food bowl.
Wary.
Ready.
Scottie shifts slightly, her shoulder brushing my arm as she steps between us, iPad raised like a referee’s flag.
“Okay, guys,” she says brightly. “Quick photo and then we’re clear.”
