Page 46 of Scoring Eden

I pull Alex toward the bar, wanting to put as much space between us and that terrifying juggernaut of a woman as possible. It’s only when we stop that I let myself take a breath.

“She hates me.”

Alex scrunches his nose. “No, she doesn’t.”

“I know lying is our main objective here, but don’t you dare do it to me.” I scowl, fisting my hands on my hips. “That woman could not have disliked me more.”

He scratches the back of his head with a wince. “Yeah, okay. She hates you.”

“That’s not at all comforting.”

He blows out an exasperated breath. “What do you want from me? I told you she doesn’t hate you, and you tell me I’m wrong. Now I’m agreeing with you, and I’m still wrong?”

I wave him off. His whining is the least of my concerns right now. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“Nah.” He slings an arm around my shoulders. “All things considered, I think we’ll live to see another day.”

TEXT THREAD BETWEEN ALEX AND COACH CARTER

Coach Carter: It was really great to meet Eden yesterday. You two make a lovely couple.

Alex: Thanks, Coach.

Coach Carter: I must admit, for a while there, I was questioning whether your girlfriend even existed. I’m sorry for doubting you. Won’t happen again.

Alex: It’s fine. You really don’t need to apologize.

Coach Carter: I do. I should have known better than to think you’d ever lie to me.

Alex: Honestly, Coach, it’s fine.

Coach Carter: Well, I’m really happy for you, son. Let her know that I’m looking forward to seeing her again at the first game.

Alex: Will do.

THIRTEEN

ALEX

Coach has been grinning at me like a proud father across the soccer field all day. It’s off-putting. Not only because it’s creepy, but the guilt I feel for lying to him is a heavy weight in my stomach that makes it difficult to play.

This morning, before I’d even set a cleat on the dew-glistened grass, he’d pulled me aside to show me a TMZ article that had been released over the weekend. It displayed a photo of my kiss with Eden with the headline Seattle Strikers’ Alex Wolfe is Off the Market!

It’s funny, seeing it from the outside.

I’d kissed her because I knew it would end up splashed across the internet. That was the goal, wasn’t it? I’d wanted the team to see it. I’d wanted the investors to see it—and believe what they were seeing. The tenderness in my hand as I cradled her face, the soft fluttering of our lashes as we closed our eyes, the way we melted into each other as if we’ve been kissing all our lives.

I engineered it all. And yet…when it was happening, it didn’t feel engineered at all.

But that’s something to unpack another time, probably with Dr. Sharma. But that would entail me having to admit that I’m faking a relationship to save my career, and I’m not in the mood to face her disapproval right now.

“The party went well, then?” Roman asks, cocking his head toward Coach, who still hasn’t looked away from me. Surely his cheeks must be hurting from smiling by now.

“It went as well as it could have.”

He smirks, flicking up a ball to do knee-ups. “TMZ seemed to buy it. That was one hell of a kiss you gave her.”

He passes me the ball, and I toe it, rolling it over the muddy turf. “I did what I had to do.”