Page 15 of Second Down Fake

I pulled up to Becca’s apartment complex. Cassandra’s, rather.

Becca and Cal rented a cozy, little one-bedroom condo with a view of the ocean in the distance only a few blocks from the stadium. I parked in the garage and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, knocking on the door and suddenly aware that I’d come empty-handed. A bottle of wine. A housewarming gift. Flowers.

No, not flowers.

Between James’ warning and Cassandra’s reaction to asking for her number, flowers would be a disaster. Better I came only offering friendship.

I knocked on her door.

“Hey! You’re here!” She opened the door with a smile, wearing a faded pair of jeans slung low on her waist and a skimpy green tank top that revealed a band of tanned skin with a white sweater large enough to slide off her shoulder. “I’m not quite ready. Come on in.”

“We said three.” I brushed past her as I entered, picking up on the scent of something sweet and light. Like a candy store or a birthday cake.

“I figured you’d call from the parking lot. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d ever been over here.”

“Once or twice,” I admitted. “Cal warmed up to me. Or, at least, he didn’t have anyone else to hang out with, and we’d go out for drinks or I’d come over for dinner.”

She grinned. “So, this is a pattern for you? Tricking transplants from New Hampshire into being your friend?”

“Maybe,” I laughed. “I mean, it seems to work for me. How are you settling in?”

I took a slow walk around the living room, noting the new pictures placed by the TV and not much else. Becca had cleared away everything except the furniture and Cassie hadn’t done much with the place other than the pictures. “So, not staying long?”

“Until the lease runs out, and then…” She shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”

“But you have a job?” I asked with a grin.

Lucas might have been one of the best kickers in the league, but his passion was as far away from the field as humanly possible. He’d dabbled in stocks, gambling, art, and now, real estate. Bars, more specifically. The onslaught of celebrity liquor brands and restaurant chains had drawn him to downtown Norwalk, and as soon as Cassandra uttered the name of his flagship bar, I’d shot him a text.

“Two, actually, but thanks for making a call for me. Easiest interview ever.”

“The manager interviewed you?” I raised an eyebrow.

“David asked how I knew Lucas. I told him I knew Diego and that was the end of the interview. I’ve had some great friends, Diego, but none that got me a job in the span of ten minutes.”

I shrugged, slaking off the warmth growing in my belly at her smile. “It’s not a big deal. Lucas is always whining about not having enough help, and I bet you’re a killer bartender.”

She grabbed her purse off the side table by the door and shrugged. “I’m a decent bartender. I’m a better conversationalist. But between picking up some shifts at the bar and the walking tours, I should be able to feed myself.”

“Walking tours?” I followed her into the hallway, pausing as she locked up the apartment.

“Yeah, I worked with a company in Boston that just opened up a branch here. History and ghost tours, mostly. In Boston, I could host a tour every night of the week, but there are fewer tourists in Norwalk. I’m just filling in.” She rushed the words, almost apologetic.

“Sounds like a fun job.”

She laughed to herself. “It’s interesting. Sort of like being an actor without ever going to an audition. So, what are we doing?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Have you ever played disc golf before?”

She pulled her keys from the door with a laugh. “Disc golf? No. Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” I said, walking to the elevator. “The only thing I’m better at than football is disc golf.”

“Aren’t rich people supposed to play regular golf? I always got the impression that frisbee golf was for the…” Her eyes darted around the empty hallway before she leaned in conspiratorially. “The poors. Shouldn’t you have custom clubs forged out of pure gold and lessons by Tiger Woods?”

“Shit, regular golf!” I smacked my palm to my forehead. “I got one gold frisbee and Tiger wouldn’t return my calls.”

“Sad.” She shook her head slowly.

---