Linebacker’s Second Chance(24)

Wingate looks between both of us and speaks to ease the tension. “You don’t have to marry her. Just be engaged for a good while. Make it through the season, become indispensable again. And for God’s sake, stop throwing those parties.”

“That’s right,” I continue. My body is tense, penned up, roiling with guilt and a lingering sadness I didn’t quite expect. I’ve never had this feeling with a client, not when I’m arranging a perfectly routine, normal celebrity relationship for him. But something about this feels different. Mack seems like he’s just being an ass, but maybe he truly doesn’t want to do this. “We won’t make you do it. But we know that this job means a lot to you. Maybe more than anything else.” I don’t mean that last part as a dig at him, but he looks at me like he might be taking it that way.

Mack cracks his knuckles and leans his head into his hands. It’s hard not to notice how sexy he is, how time has changed and altered him—and it’s all been in a good way. He looks just like himself, but more distinguished now. He looks up at me, his eyes distant, feelings hidden. “I do want to keep my job. Renata, tell me. You really do think I’m not going to be able to make it through the season without doing something like this?”

“I think exactly that,” I say softly. “I’ve done my research, talked to other players, talked to the owner, talked to your coach. I don’t think you’ll make it through the season without a major shift in your identity. And this is the start of all that. We’ve got other ideas too, but this is the event that will take attention away from your… indiscretions. And I’m betting it’ll keep you employed. Especially if you go for our first choice.”

“And who’s that?”

“Kinley Edwards.”

“The country star?” Mack looks between us, confused.

“She knows the owner of the team,” Wingate says. “And she just loves the team. Huge football fan. It’s a perfect match.” Wingate leans in toward his cousin. “And you know you need the paychecks to keep coming, man. This house, your brother’s farm. You need to keep on. We both do.”

Mack’s face goes dark. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it.”





CHAPTER NINE





“I won’t go out there, Wingate.” He watches me pace back and forth like I always do. I try to stop myself, and my fists automatically clench up. I know there’s already a patched-over hole in the wall, and I’d rather not deal with patching up another one again. So I go back to pacing and wonder if it’s too early for a beer. Then the ache comes back over me—the one I feel when I think of that night a week ago when Renata found me, nearly passed out, after I’d given out all that free information to the girl with the camera. The camera that I never saw—I wasn’t thinking about what could happen at that party. I wasn’t thinking. And now it’s come to this.

“You agreed to all of this. I watched you sit there and nod at Renata before she retreated back to the guest house and refused to see you again. She’s interviewed each and every one of those women. And then you picked one from the line-up, just like she wanted you to. You can’t come up to this dinner party thing and get second thoughts.”

He’s right. The photographer somehow leaked a few photos from the party even though we got her camera and her phone. Wingate thinks she paid someone who was at the party for a few of their pictures and got the story out anyway. Fortunately, it hasn’t been enough ammunition for the field day the media really wants to have, but it’s more than enough for there to be intense speculation about the parties, my use of alcohol, and the idea that I might be failing the team and its owner.

Rumors are circling, and Renata and Wingate are right. There’s only one way to deal with the media: give them another distraction.

Still, I can’t help feeling like this is all wrong. Seeing Renata the few times that I’ve been able to—stolen glimpses and hasty conversations before she puts as much physical distance between herself and me as possible—reminds me that there’s something more to life than parties and dimly remembered hookups. And it seems that there’s something far more than pulling a fast one on my team—and every news outlet that’s been following my story—with a stand-in girlfriend who becomes a stand-in fiancée at some nebulous point in the future.

“It’s not—this isn’t right. It doesn’t seem like something I should do.” I crack my knuckles and sit down on the bed in front of my cousin.