Page 22 of Playing Mr. Perfect

I grit my teeth. “Sure they can.” And they do. Just like everyone else.

Axsel rakes a hand through his hair. “If football ever falls through, you can always do more underwear ads.”

“Right.” As arrogant as I am, those fucking ads have become the bane of my existence. They get more attention than my humanitarian work, and that bugs the shit out of me.

“Speaking of ads,” Dash says. “I hear Hawk is doing your Under Armour photo shoot.”

Dash’s brother Hawk is a highly-sought-after photographer. “Is he? I didn’t know that. The shoot’s not for a couple of weeks yet, but I look forward to seeing him.”

“This is your contract year, isn’t it?” Trace says. “Are you negotiating an extension?”

“Yeah.” My muscles tense up. That’s the last thing I want to think about.

“Aren’t you getting a little long in the tooth for football, cuz?” Graham asks. “You’re what? Thirty-four?”

“Thirty-five,” I grit out.

“That’s right. You’ve got a few years on me,” Graham teases. “Decades of pushing your body to the limits and taking hits makes you what? Sixty in non-footballer years?”

The guys laugh.

A master at deflection, I turn up my arrogance. “My body is like fine whiskey. It just gets better with age.”

“No doubt,” Trace says.

“How’s your shoulder holding up?” Dash asks.

Like shit. My fucking shoulder has been giving me trouble all season, and for the last few months, the muscle tension has been leading to migraines, but I’m not about to share that. I meet Dash’s inquisitive gaze. “It’s fine.”

“No more headaches?” Dash asks.

I shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“That injury’s been haunting you for a while now,” Graham says. “When are you going to retire and settle down with a nice woman? Go after a cushy announcer job and live the good life?” He drapes his arm around Morgyn, who snuggles into his side, kisses him, then goes back to chatting with the girls.

Despite the fact that lately my career has brought more stress than pleasure and the issues I’m having with my shoulder, I can’t bring myself to consider retiring. I can’t fathom going out on a loss. The guys are looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to respond. I try to bury my thoughts, but it’s not easy. I glance at Pepper. My beautiful distraction. She’s the only thing that has ever rivaled football for my attention. “The good life, huh?”

“Yeah. Take a play out of Flynn’s playbook,” Graham says. “I was floored when I heard he got engaged. I never thought I’d see the day when he’d settle down.”

Flynn is a survivalist and documentarian who won national attention for being the youngest person to win Wilderness Warrior, a Survivor-style show. He hated the attention that earned and went off the grid for many years. Eventually he found his way back to society and became the program director for Discovery Hour, where he met his now-fiancée, reporter Sutton Steele. The funny thing is, before they got together, he tried to get her fired.

“None of us did.” I take a drink. “Sutton’s great, and she’s perfect for Flynn, but that’s not my kind of playbook.”

“You’re missing out,” Trace says. “There’s nothing better than coming home to your best friend and knowing she’ll be in your bed every night.”

Pepper glances over, like she’s interested in hearing what else I have to say on the matter, but I’m not about to announce how enticing the thought of her in my bed every night is.

“We’ve got a big day planned. Is everyone about ready to go?” Amber asks. “Any questions about the itinerary?”

I nudge Dash. “Itinerary?”

“I emailed you a copy,” Dash says.

“And you think I looked at it?”

Dash shakes his head. “I should’ve emailed it to Doogie.”

“Always a good idea.” Douglas Warsaw aka Doogie is my assistant. He keeps me organized, but he’s currently enjoying a lavish honeymoon in the Maldives, which I gifted him and his new bride. I turn my attention to Pepper and brush my leg against hers, drawing her beautiful eyes to mine. “Want to be my bus buddy?”