Page 99 of Second Down Fake

"Yeah, my sister has some time off, so we're having an early Christmas in New Hampshire."

"Is Diego flying up with you?"

I shook my head. “No. Just me.”

Even though I’d asked in my head a million times, the question hadn’t actually made it past my lips. He had practice and responsibilities, but secretly, I worried that asking would jinx us beyond the contract.

Diego took the field with the offense as the seconds counted down. Noa snapped the ball, and the pocket held while Diego read the field. Trent escaped his defender, making a mad dash for the end zone. Diego spotted his escape. He pulled back and threw.

A beautiful throw. A perfect spiral, heading straight to his receiver.

An interception.

The defender came from nowhere, plucking the ball out of the air and sprinting to the opposite end zone. The front five, already tied up with the defense, couldn't break away in time. And even if they could, none of the guys could catch up. Diego followed the ball, chest heaving, arms pumping as he made an attempt. His fingers skimmed the runner’s elbow just as he held the ball over the end zone.

Touchdown.

Breakers lose.

A brutal, gut-wrenching end to my time as Diego Salazar's fake girlfriend.

Lena and I grabbed a seat outside the conference room, sloughing off our freezing outerwear in a bid to get warm. Press crowded the tiny hallway, half headed to the post-game interview, the other half vying for position at the locker room entrance. In the chaos of the unexpected loss, Lena and I might as well have been wallpaper, and I was glad for it.

Diego shot me a sad smile as he followed Coach Simmons into the sea of reporters. Noa, free from the post-game press, came by to pick up Lena. I waited for an hour, turning over words that would dull the loss. But nothing came.

"Hey, Cassie, what a nightmare, huh?" Poppy exited from the Breaker's admin office and sat beside me on the cushy couch.

"Yeah, not the game I expected. What are you doing back here?"

I hadn't noticed her in the locker area before, and she'd be hard to miss in all Breakers’ gear. She sported a cerulean blue hat, jacket, pants, and hair.

“Oh, the social media team finally noticed my site exists. They want a partnership for some behind-the-scenes type deal. An appeal to the female fanbase. Or that’s what they’re claiming. It won’t go anywhere.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“You don’t think so? That’s not the plucky journalist I expect from Breaking the Breakers.”

She laughed wryly. “Oh, you’re a fan? I’m touched. But, no, it won’t go anywhere. At least if Coach Simmons has anything to say about it. And he rules this team with an iron first. Which is part of the reason I love it.”

“You love dictatorial sports teams?”

“Literally my favorite. I better head out before someone spots me without a press pass.”

She waved goodbye and sailed out of the crowded hallway as Diego emerged from the conference room. He looked exhausted, his brown eyes weary and shoulders slumped. Coach Simmons patted his arm, a gesture as awkward as it was sweet.

“Home?” he asked with a sigh.

I nodded. “Want me to drive?”

“If you don’t mind.”

I grabbed the keys, and he took my hand as we walked to his Tahoe.

After putting on my seatbelt, I opened up the snack console, sifting through bags until I found an open pack of Twizzlers. I took one and set the bag in his lap. "You deserve these."

"Twizzlers are for winners," he joked half-heartedly.

"Winners and people who tried very, very hard."

He ate one and rested his head against the window. "That was brutal."

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