Page 103 of Second Down Fake

No, I’d call Diego and clear this whole thing up. If he wanted me gone, he wanted me gone, but he didn’t get to outsource that task to his agent.

I dialed his number, waiting through five painful rings before getting punted to voicemail. I hung up the phone and paced the living room, biting my lip to hold back tears.

Of course, he couldn’t answer. He’d be on the field or lifting weights. He wasn’t sitting by his phone waiting for my call. But the nagging fear that Diego asked James to settle the contract and get me out of his house while he was at practice bounced around the back of my mind.

I pocketed my phone and pulled out the check, running my fingers over the numbers.

Fifty thousand dollars.

More than enough money to make someone like me go away.

I closed my eyes, taking a breath.

Not Diego. He wouldn’t do that.

Only, hadn’t he before? At least, that’s what dozens of Internet sleuths had surmised after painstakingly combing through public records and interviews. Only, those hadn’t been records of the Diego I knew. Thought I knew.

After two hours without a reply, I gathered the last of my things and left Norwalk.

THIRTY-FIVE

DIEGO

Sweat pooled on my temples, and I bent my neck to wipe it onto my shoulder. The loud clatter of weights hitting metal overwhelmed the music in my earphones even though less than a dozen players lifted in the weight room.

“Are we about to wrap this up?” I barked at Jonas, the trainer torturing me with intense glares and barked instructions.

He shook his head with a frown. “Five more.”

“You suck,” I said, bending my knees for another squat, the barbell on my back wavering with the effort.

I glanced toward the locker room, toward my phone, tucked into my duffel bag and stashed in my locker. Had James already left? Was the contract signed? Questions that wouldn’t get answered until after Jonas finished torturing me.

“Four more,” he barked.

I made it through the set before dropping the barbell. Jonas granted me a reprieve from any more torture, and I bounded into the locker room, desperate to get the hell out of the stadium and back home to Cassandra.

I fished my phone out of my locker. Three missed calls, two from Cassandra and one from James. No voicemails.

“Hey, bud,” Noa greeted me. A group of guards and tackles filtered in behind him, back from practice on the field.

“Hey,” I said as I called Cassandra back. Her phone went straight to voicemail. I frowned before hanging up.

“Everything okay?” Noa asked as he peeled off his practice jersey.

“Yeah, fine.” I waved off his concern. “Cassandra’s not answering her phone. Maybe she picked up a shift at Crown & Copper or something.”

“Isn’t she leaving for New Hampshire today?”

“Tomorrow,” I said, shooting a grin at him as I unlaced my shoes. “But the contract is officially over. She signed the paperwork today.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Great. So, what’s the plan?”

“Full wooing,” I said, splaying out my hands. “Flowers, dinner, video games.”

“And they say romance is dead.” Noa rolled his eyes.

“And then I’m going to ask her to date me. For real, this time. No more fake dating, no more contracts.”

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