Page 138 of Playing Mr. Perfect

Blood rushes to my ears, and I feel sick. I run upstairs on shaky legs. Tears blur my vision as flashbacks to my college heartbreak slam into me. I can’t think, can’t hear past my hammering heart. I have to get out of here. I order a ride to the airport. The car is seven minutes away. Thank God. I throw my things into our bag with trembling hands and hurry into the bathroom to get my toiletries, shoving them into the bag. I thought this was real. I trusted him. Clay’s voice roars through my head. Maybe I was using her as a distraction. Who fucking cares? I zip the bag, feeling like I’m going to throw up.

I rush down the front staircase and reach for the front door. But I stop myself. I’m not doing this again. I’m not running and hiding. I never made that jerk pay for what he did to me in college. I’m not going to be that scared girl again.

I drop my bag, lift my chin, and with my heart in my throat, I march into the kitchen. Clay is pacing, and his family is sitting at the table chatting amiably. That cuts me to my core. They heard every word he said. It’s college all over again.

“Excuse me.” My voice comes out strangled.

Clay spins around, his face a mask of distress. “Reckless? What’s wrong?”

He hurries over to me, but I hold up my hand, stopping him. I look at his family, and my heart breaks anew. “Thank you for a lovely time, but I have to go.”

“Go? Go where?” Clay asks as his family gets up from the table, confusion riddling their faces.

“Oh, honey, we’re sorry to see you go. Is everything okay?” his mother asks.

Nothing is okay! It takes all of my strength to hold myself together. “I have to go home. I called for a ride.” I rush out of the kitchen, making a beeline for the front door.

“Pepper, wait.” Clay follows me out. “What’s going on?”

I turn on him, my heart shredding in my chest as his family piles out the front door, just as the car I ordered pulls into the driveway. It’s all too much. Tears break free, and the truth pours out, fast and cutting. “I trusted you. You made me believe this was real.”

He steps closer, splaying his hands. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know what decision you have to make, but I am nobody’s distraction.” I head for the car.

One of his brothers says, “Oh, shit.”

“Pepper, stop!” Clay runs after me. “Guys, block the car!”

His brothers bolt past me, and Noah dives onto the hood. The driver gets out of the car, shouting at him. Flynn and Seth run to Noah’s defense, and their words turn to white noise.

“Don’t do this to me, Clay,” I warn. “All I ever asked for was honesty. I heard you tell Seth you used me as a distraction, and I heard you say Who fucking cares? That’s not love. That’s…” I turn away and cover my face as sobs steal my voice.

“You’re right. I did say that.” Clay steps in front of me and moves my hands away from my face, his eyes imploring me.

I grit my teeth to try to keep them from chattering.

“But you didn’t hear the rest of what I said. I said maybe I was using you as a distraction in Paris, because at the beginning it was probably true. I’d just come off a shitty loss, and my contract is ending, and I have to decide whether I’m going to keep playing football. With my shoulder acting up and another guy gunning for my position, I couldn’t think straight. I needed a distraction. When Dash suggested I meet him in Paris, I said no. Then he said you were coming.” The muscles in his jaw bunch, his eyes serious. “The only thing that got my head out of that fucked-up place was the thought of seeing you. And the reason I said who fucking cares is because the distraction didn’t last. It might have started out that way, but I fell head over cleats in love with you. I told you I’ve been falling for you since day one, and I meant it. We are real, baby. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s not telling you about the contract extension, but I didn’t lie. My love for you is as real as the ground we’re standing on.”

“It’s true,” Seth shouts. “He told me he’s madly in love with you.”

“He did,” his grandfather says. “The boy’s a goner.”

Swallowing against my thickening throat, I swipe at my tears, choking out, “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just talk to me about it?”

“Because I’m terrified of making the wrong decision,” he says vehemently. “The egotistical asshole in me wants to go out on top and play another season. I hope the glove you’re making will work, but I’m scared of permanently injuring my shoulder, or playing shitty because of it and letting everyone down. But I’m also sick of all the public bullshit that goes along with playing, which doesn’t just affect me. It affects you. And football has been my life for so long, I’m afraid of retiring and not knowing who I am without it. But most of all, I’m scared of losing you.”

More tears fall at the gut-wrenching pain in his voice and the overwhelming love in his eyes. “That’s a lot for anyone to try to figure out alone. Why do you think you would lose me?”

“Because you made it clear that you don’t want a long-distance relationship, and if I decide to play, we practice in Jersey. I’ll be gone more than half that time.”

“Don’t you know that’s changed? You’ve chased me. I think I can do a little chasing. I love you, Clay. I love us, and the life we’re building together. I respect your career, and more importantly, I want you to be happy. If that means playing for another year or ten, then I support that and I’ll make time to be there on the weekends.”

One of his brothers hisses, “Yes!” and “Awws” ring out from Sutton and the other women.

“If I play, the schedule is grueling,” he says.

“Where there’s a will…”