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We’re doing this for a reason. This is right for us.
Even if it feels so, so wrong.
“We have slightly different visions of what we’re expecting on the field this year, but players have already proven at OTAs that they’re ready for whatever we throw at them,” he says, and it takes everything in my power to focus on what he’s saying rather than allowing my eyes to edge over toward the coach himself.
“What are the two visions?” I ask, doing my best to dig into what our viewers will want to know as I feel his eyes on me from across the room.
“I think it’ll become clear as you watch our practices.” He winks at me, and I hate the gross feeling that leaves with me.
I hate how it makes me feel like he’s kind of hitting on me. I know he isn’t. I know it’s just my own mind playing tricks on me. Maybe I’m less confident in this position than I should be, but dammit, I deserve to be here.
But would he wink at a male reporter?
Likely not.
And I’m nervous ahead of our plan for tonight.
Is throwing in a fake bestie break-up over the top? Is it out of style for me? Am I causing more drama than is necessary?
Absolutely—on all fronts.
We theoretically could have this out at our own home, and yet…I have to do this here. Tonight.
This was Lincoln’s idea, and I’m only doing it to give us more time to figure out how we’re going to make this work. To figure out if we even can make this work.
I glance over toward the bar. One drink wouldn’t hurt to help me get through this event, but if I ever want to be taken seriously in my career, even one drink is sending the wrong message.
Still, I spot Ryan Rivera over by the bar.
He gets to drink at this event because he has a dick.
I blow out a breath, but I force myself to focus. Rivera glances at me as if he feels me looking at him, and I don’t miss the look of suspicion on his face as he looks back toward the door.
I know who’s over there, and I don’t have to turn my gaze to see.
I know he has spotted Sam and Lincoln, and I’m pretty sure he probably knows I’m living with Sam now.
I guess that means it’s time for our public fight to break off our friendship. I spot Sam and Lincoln headed toward the bar, so I excuse myself from the conversation with Mike and stride confidently in that direction so as to make sure as hell Rivera overhears this.
“We need to talk,” I spit out at Sam.
“Excuse me?” she asks, either playing the part well or genuinely confused as to why I’m confronting her.
“What did I say to you about him at home?” I ask, jerking my thumb toward the coach. I keep talking before she gets the chance to answer. “You know how I feel about you dating him, and to parade around with him at an event I’m covering…It’s just wrong, Sam. I can’t believe you’d be willing to risk our friendship over someone like him.”
“Someone like him?” she repeats. “He’s a wonderful man, and if you’d give him the chance—”
“Stop,” I say, cutting her off.
“Ladies, let’s take this somewhere private,” Lincoln suggests as Rivera moves in a little closer to catch every last detail.
“I’m not going anywhere private with you,” I hiss. “We all know what went down between our fathers years ago, and I will remain civil with you because it’s my job.” I turn to Sam. “But you…you’re supposed to be my friend, and now you’re doing God knows what with him.”
“I can date whoever I want,” she says smugly, and for a split second, I almost forget that this is fake. It feels real. Painfully real. So painfully real that tears spring to my eyes, and my cheeks burn as heat fires up my spine. My body is preparing for battle, and my hands start to tremble.
“But you know how I feel about him. Are you trying to go out of your way to sabotage my career?”
“I would never!” she says, her hand flying to her chest.
