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“What did you say?”
She grins. “What you’re too nice to say.”
I pull up the text chain and read the last one I sent.
Me: I’m not your fucking public relations firm. Get over yourself.
“Oh jeez,” I say.
She nods, smirking. “Succinct and clear.”
“I hope it’s effective. At least until after I’m done eating.”
“Right? Tacos are always a priority,” she states.
“I hope taking this job wasn’t a mistake,” I say, voicing my concern.
“Why are you saying that? Because of Brett?”
“Yeah. This is an amazing opportunity for me, but by working for the team, I’ve put myself in an impossible situation. I’ll be posting things the fans will like but Brett might not.”
“Tough shit. He’s a grown-ass man,” she says, then holds up her hand. “Let me reword that. He’ssupposedto be a grown-ass man, and you’re not responsible for protecting his fragile ego.”
“I know, but I don’t want to hurt him or paint him in a bad light.”
She expels a puff of air and her lips sputter. “He does a fine job of that himself.”
I rub my hand over my stomach. “Let’s not talk about Brett Barlow anymore. He has a habit of giving me indigestion.”
Her lips flatten into a grimace. “You’re lucky that’s all he gave you.”
“Ouch, low blow.”
“I know, but it’s true,” she states. “You had a full checkup after you caught him with his pants down, right?” she asks, and I nod.
I literally caught him with his pants around his ankles, banging a famous model over the back of his couch. Being reminded your ex cheated on you is bad enough, but when it’s with a famous model, it really sucks. Even after two years have passed.
Brett swore that was the first time the two of them were together, but I’ve always wondered if he was being honest with me.
If he didn’t have qualms about putting his dick in another woman, why would he have them about lying to me?
CHAPTER 3
ROGAN
“Second team reps again, huh?” Brett struts by me at practice the next day. “I guess it takes more than a couple of lucky throws in a single practice to dethrone the king.”
Did this douche really just call himself the king?
“Let’s go, second squad,” Coach Chubb shouts from the sidelines. “I’m not just standing here for my health or your wealth. Move it.”
“You heard the man, get moving, second squad,” Brett says, laughing as he takes off his helmet. He trots to the sidelines, eager to watch.
“Fuck Brett, man.” Cooper Grind, the team’s newly drafted rookie tight end, slaps me on the back. “He’s just upset we’re about to take the team away from him.”
I glance at him. “We are?” This is the first time we’ve spoken.
“Aren’t we?” He winks and snaps his chin strap in place. “Watch for me today. I’ll be open.”
