CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
SLOAN
"My job is not boring with you," Elliott said, eyes wide, taking in all that was happening in my backyard.
Football players and their plus-ones filled my normally quiet backyard. The guys all talked loudly and laughed at random shit, but their camaraderie was infectious as they playfully shoved each other around.
T.J. even attempted a backflip but didn't stick the landing. Everyone still clapped, though, because we weren't total dicks.
Elliott didn't seem impressed. "Guy is going to break his fucking wrist."
"I didn't know they were doing this," I assured.
"I knew they were doing this." Finn stood with all the self-assuredness of a quarterback who'd just thrown for three hundred yards and three touchdowns. His grin was so wide, it could've spanned the length of the field. With hands nonchalantly tucked into pockets, he exuded an icy cool that could put a Denver snowstorm to shame.
"You were brainstorming ideas with Darius?" I asked, but also confirmed.
Finn nodded. "Hell yes. He was only going to have one kind of ribs. And who do you think suggested a damn ice sculpture?"
Well, now I knew what he'd been doing on his phone the entire way back from Vegas.
"I might've heard some rumblings," Coach McIntosh said, his gruff tone softening slightly. "Didn't think they'd execute this play so quickly. Should've known better than to underestimate these boys when there's chow involved."
"You've got to have more faith in us, Coach," Finn said. Then he jerked his thumb toward the buffet. "But since there's barbecue, I'm gonna…" He trailed off, already making his way toward the spread.
I closed my eyes, preparing to get reamed for the party. "I didn't know this party was happening; I would've told them to stop?—"
"Look, kid, if poor decisions won games, then you'd be in the Hall of Fame with the way you single-handedly got ZipZing to pull all their cash." Coach had no problem interrupting me.
With a deep breath, I straightened my posture and put on a confident smile. "Fucked up on that one, I admit."
There was an unmistakable twinkle hidden beneath Coach's gruff exterior. "Management loves that you latched on a ball and chain, so people are talking aboutthatinstead of the motherfucking sugar content. You might be some sort of gridiron genius if you can actually execute this publicity play and secure that contract extension." He paused dramatically before adding with a dry chuckle, "Now, my job is to ensure your head stays on the field, and you didn't leave it in some Vegas wedding chapel."
"Marriage won't affect my game," I assured.What the hell am I gonna do if I can't play the game?
"This is your Hail Mary pass in the last quarter," Elliott said.
"I've got this," I said with more confidence than I felt.
"Have you seen what they're calling the two of you?" Elliott asked. "Your official 'super couple' name?"
"Sloan and Maya?" I countered because that's what I'd expected they'd call us.
"Slaya." Elliott let that set in.
Honestly, I liked it. "I can live with that."
"You know, I thought this was stupid. But this marriage charade might be the breakthrough you need to get some good press for a change," Elliott continued, his voice low, as if sharing a secret. "But it could also be your downfall if you fuck it up."
"It's not a charade," I declared firmly, meeting his gaze head on.
He raised an eyebrow in warning, a silent reminder of the delicate balance I treaded.
As I made my way over to the buffet table, Finn greeted me with a plate piled high with ribs and brisket.
"Come on, dig in," he urged, his eyes glinting mischievously.
I took my plate and glanced around to find Maya. Where was Maya?
