Page 96 of Second Down Fake

“They know better than to let Rob go in after a loss,” Frankie laughed, wrapping an arm around me. “And don’t worry, big shot, I’ll field all the questions about why you threw rather than let me run.”

The Cleveland defense had jammed up all of our running backs, but Trent, asshole that he was, slipped between their linebackers with ease. But putting Trent and me onstage at the same time was asking for trouble with the press. Frankie was a mediating force and had charmed most of the reporters into lobbing softballs at him whenever he got tapped to take part in the post-game conference.

“Fifteen minutes.” Coach Henson tapped her watch before disappearing into a shuttered office in the back of the visiting team locker room.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the play-by-play texts Cassandra had sent with a grin.

Guess I needed my lucky charm in the stands.

Rather than follow me to Ohio, Cassandra stayed put in Norwalk, helping Becca move the last of her furniture up north. The move left Cassandra in an empty apartment and with no job. All the elements to move back to New Hampshire if she didn’t want to date me.

The thought made my stomach tight. The feeling almost as uncomfortable as when she’d considered taking a job she’d hate. But I trusted Noa and trusted his advice. If I wanted Cassandra in my life, she had to want to be there. She needed space to make that decision.

Our deal had been simple in the early weeks of the season: she faked being my girlfriend for the press. But somewhere along the way, I stopped faking and started believing it.

I loved Cassandra.

Whether she loved me back was a different question. She loved having sex with me, sure. She loved hanging out with me. But somehow, those two activities seemed to exist on different planes in her mind. She cleaved our relationship into separate parts, unwilling to merge them together until the contract was over.

CASSANDRA

Let me know when you’re on your flight back.

My chest tightened, hoping she wanted to know because she missed me. Maybe missed me like I missed her.

Need time to clean up all the hookers and blow?

CASSANDRA

I’m cooking dinner…and I have to kick out all the hookers and clean up all the blow. So, let me know. Good luck with the press conference. Who’s going in with you?

Frankie and Isiah.

Boring. Send in Rob!

I’ll let the staff know you’re interested in picking the players for post-games.

It might be my dream job! Hurry home.

I put away the phone with a smile on my face. In two more weeks, the contract would be over, and I could ask Cassandra to be with me, no strings attached. The dread of an impending press conference seeped away.

Isiah patted me on the back. “Well, you look pretty pleased. Let’s get in front of those reporters and wipe that smile off your face.”

* * *

I walked into my house, assaulted by a cloudy haze and the smell of burnt pepper. Music flooded the hallway, and I followed the sound into the kitchen.

Cassandra stood in front of the oven, conducting along to the beat with a spatula as the pan in front of her belched smoke.

“Everything okay in here?” I yelled.

She jolted, giving me a chagrined smile before turning down the song. “Hey, you’re home! Dinner’s not ready.”

“I thought you were joking…” I set my bag down and rounded the kitchen island.

For someone who couldn’t cook, she had an ambitious number of pans on the stove. A cast iron in the back bubbled with oil while one in the front held a lumpy flour mixture with uneven chunks of vegetables. I pressed the palm of my hand against her back and leaned over to inspect the dish. “It looks good.”

She laughed, pressing back against me and lifting an eyebrow in my direction. “Liar.”

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