Page 15 of Playing It Forward

I want to berate him. Remind him how he had me pinned to a door within an hour of meeting me. But I’m not a hypocrite. I was a full participant in our tryst.

My phone beeps with a message. The flowers are beginning to wilt.

“I need to go. Sammy the seal is ruining the flowers.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

I snort. “Can you form watermelon into five-hundred heart-shaped pieces?”

His nose wrinkles.

“I thought not. Nice chat.”

I hurry away. This time he doesn’t chase me. Is he giving up? My stomach drops.

Knock it off, stomach. I am not jeopardizing my career for an affair with a football player who’ll leave the island at the end of the summer anyway. No matter how much I long to touch him. To taste him again. To dip my tongue into the dimple on his cheek.

Not happening.

Chapter 6

Watching playoff footage should qualify as psychological warfare.

Nolan

I glance around the conference room where we’re meeting to review footage from the play-off game we lost last season. Most of the offensive team is here. Except Tanner. I check the time. The little shit stirrer is late. Again.

Coach Knox isn’t here either. Good. Maybe I can save Tanner’s ass. Again.

I dig my phone out and call Tanner. It rings five times, but he doesn’t answer. I scowl.

“What’s wrong?” Gage asks.

“Tanner’s not here, and he’s not answering his phone.”

“Probably got home late from the bar,” Brock grumbles.

Damnit. Tanner’s supposed to be getting his shit together. Which is why he started fake dating the bartender, Alaia. But closing the Bootlegger bar down doesn’t sound as if he’s getting his shit together.

I stand. “I’ll go get him.”

Corbin grunts. “Let him dig his own grave.”

I can’t. I’m the quarterback. It’s my job to lead this team.

“The same way you dug your own grave with your landlady, Siena?”

His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t answer my question. No surprises there. But I’ll keep on digging until I figure out what’s happening between him and his landlady. It’s my obligation as the leader of the team.

I hurry out of the conference room. I skip the elevator and bound up the stairs to the second floor where Tanner’s suite is.

I knock on the door but he doesn’t answer. “Tanner!” I shout. “You better be in there alone!”

The last thing he needs is another scandal. His career is hanging on by a thread as it is. Thus, the need for a fake girlfriend.

The door opens and Tanner squints up at me. “Why are you banging on my door in the middle of the night?”

I tap my watch. “It’s ten in the morning. You’re supposed to be in a meeting to review footage from our play-off game.”