Page 31 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player

Sports blogs. Entertainment sites. Social media.

They’re all carrying the same thing. Screenshots. Of my texts with Jo.

Not all of them. Just the most salacious ones from the first night. The night it wasn’t about friendship. It was about sending sexy messages to a stranger.

And there’s been context given.

Enough to know they're mine. Enough to know they're hers.

Enough that anyone who knows us... Will know.

Beau sits beside me. "You didn't leak these."

My jaw clenches. “Of course not.”

He studies the screen. "Somebody got ahold of them."

I rub a hand over my face. “Fuck. My phone."

"What?"

"I left it on the locker room bench during practice.”

His expression hardens.

"Damn."

The room suddenly feels too hot.

Too loud.

I don't care what people think about me. Never have.

But Jo... She never asked for this. She never wanted the limelight.

It’s almost twenty minutes before I’m able to shake off my teammates and the reporters hovering outside of practice.

I ignore the missed calls from my agent and publicist and dial the only one that matters.

She doesn't answer my first call.

Or my second.

She finally picks up on the third.

"Hey."

One word.

Barely above a whisper.

My stomach knots.

"Jo."

Silence.

"Are you okay?"