Turn Over(44)

I looked out the window, ignoring him. “Maybe.”

“Damn it, Lex. You did sleep with that Neanderthal, didn’t you? Look.” He waited until we pulled away from the curb to start his full tirade. I knew this was coming. “I think I have this situation contained, but it could have been catastrophic. Do you remember what happened to Whitney Rivers? Should I remind you about her story?”

“That’s crazy.” My stomach did a flip.

“Crazy? She got pregnant. A single girl pregnant, singing country music? It was professional suicide. That girl had ten number one hits. Ten. And now she has a baby. She’s a walking country song. No man. A baby on her hip. No job.”

I rolled my eyes. “She could put out another song if she wanted to.”

He huffed. “You think she could? Last I checked no label would touch her. This isn’t rock. This isn’t pop. It’s fucking country music, Lex. She is finished. You know it. I know it.”

“Well, last I checked you can’t get pregnant from kissing. And in case you’re wondering that toilet seat thing is a rumor too,” I smarted off.

“This is a joke to you? Your brand is a fucking joke?” Jake tugged on his expensive cufflinks. “I made you, Lex and I can take you down faster than you can strut your little ass on stage.”

“You wouldn’t,” I countered.

“I would and I will if you try this kind of stunt again.”

He was bluffing. There was no way he’d ruin me and lose his golden ticket. It didn’t make sense.

“I think it’s tiring how you constantly threaten me, Jake. We both know it would ruin you too.” I rolled my eyes. “So, we’re stuck. We are fucking stuck. Let me live my life and you can live yours.”

His expression changed. There was a gleam in his eye. A twinkle I hadn’t seen in a long time. There was an uncomfortable nervousness in my belly. He was up to something.

“Jake?” I softened my tone.

“You had your few days of fun. I’m sure he was a good roll in the sheets. Hell, he should be. But trust me, he is dangerous.”

“He is not dangerous.” I didn’t know why I continued to argue with him.

“Oh yeah? What about the bar fights? The hotel suites he trashed from partying? The whores?” His eyes narrowed.

I couldn’t let Jake turn my time with Luke into something ugly. It wasn’t. I’d never seen those things Jake talked about.

I knew Luke. Yes, he had a rough exterior. But how else was he supposed to act when he had to be the strongest, toughest guy on the field? He was the kind of guy who drank too much. Let off too much steam. But Jake didn’t know there was vulnerability under Luke’s hardened exterior.

He was smart. He was funny.

He was protective. And he brought me back to life.

“Shut up, Jake,” I hissed.

“Don’t cross me, babe.”

I looked out the window. I had to find out what Jake had before he unleashed my past on the world. Because if there was one thing I knew, it was that the secret he had would strip away the fans. It would peel away the accolades. It would steal away the adoration from the press. I’d be left standing alone. Outcast. Shamed. Wrecked.





20





Luke





The sweat dripped from my brow. “Again!” I yelled.

I lined up to take the snap. The ball landed in my hands and I counted back to throw to James. He had run the wrong route again. Damn it. Where was his head today? Up his ass?

“No!” I roared over the practice field. “Do it again.”

Three hours into practice and I refused to let the kid take a shower until he had this right. He had the skills. I had seen them. He was fast. He had the hands. He just needed to take some time to study the playbook.

James ran toward me. He was sweating harder than I was. He gasped, gripping his thighs. “I don’t know if I can keep going. The sun is a bitch today. Can we run it tomorrow? I’ll get it tomorrow. Swear.”

I looked up at the sky as if I hadn’t noticed it before now. “You’re a Warrior.” I smiled. “Warriors play in the Texas heat, son.”

He was the youngest guy out here. He couldn’t be the most out of shape. There were some guys close to thirty not huffing as much as he was. I remembered he wasn’t from the south. He had to get his conditioning under control. Texas was torture, but I wouldn’t live or play anywhere else.

He scowled at me, but took his position behind the line. “On my count,” I ordered. I called for the snap, waiting for him to run the fucking route the way we talked about.

If he wanted to be a blocker the rest of the season I could make that happen. I was feeling unusually generous and less dickish today. I’d give him one more chance.