Page 19 of Second Down Fake

And I definitely needed to keep it in my pants.

Diego launched his disc straight at the net. It bounced off the top, clanging loudly.

“Four strokes was too many?” I groaned, taking his place on the mat. Without bothering with a practice throw, I threw my first disc. It floated through the air, landing easily in the middle of the open field, halfway between the tee and the metal net.

“What are we playing for, anyway?” Diego asked.

My mind wandered to a dozen different bets that would only get me in trouble. I’d always been the wild child and streaking, skinny dipping, and strip anything were my default bets. But midday on a Tuesday with an NFL quarterback, who I had to admit I still had a slight crush on? No way.

“Dinner, after this.” A safe bet. Not the safest. The safest would have been to ask for a run at his candy console and head home stuffed with sweets for an early evening in Becca’s empty apartment.

“I’m not sure you can afford to feed me.”

“Good thing I’m going to win then,” I said with more bravado than I should rightfully claim, throwing my disc into his bag and hefting it onto my shoulder.

If we’d been playing darts or foosball or flip cup, I could easily dominate him. But disc golf? Not so much. I had a strategy though: slow and steady. I didn’t need to beat Diego, I just needed to stay within four strokes of him.

Diego grabbed the bag from me, shuffling through it before handing me a new disc.

I eyed it suspiciously. “I’m trusting you on the club selection. You’re not giving me anything that’s wily, right?”

“No, I’m keeping those in my back pocket for when you start beating me.”

“That’s not very sporting.”

“Who said I was a good sport?” He winked at me.

The wink should have been cheesy. On any other guy, it would have been. Instead of laughing, though, my chest tightened, and my cheeks burned red. “Isn’t your career in sports? I thought you’d lose some of your competitive edge now that you get paid for it.”

“This isn’t football though, is it? Besides, I am curious to see where you’ll take me out to dinner.”

He strutted over to his disc, picking it up and grabbing another, smaller yellow disc from his bag. He easily threw the disc into the metal net.

I’d thrown my second disc ten feet away from the net, and when Diego handed me the same yellow disc, his fingertips brushed mine. His thumb drew over my wrist, and I sucked in a breath.

“Um, excuse me?”

Diego pulled his hand away, sending the disc falling to the ground. We turned toward the breathless teen standing just behind us. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, eyes bright and hair braided into two pigtails. She glanced back at her group of friends, back on the mat we’d just left. “Are you Diego Salazar?”

Diego paused, eyes widening slightly before he took a step away from me. “Um, yeah.”

“Can we get a picture?” the girl asked.

She gestured for her friends to join us before Diego answered. He glanced at me, a slight swell of panic behind his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” I reassured him. “I can even take the picture.”

The girl shook her head as her friends approached. “We’ll just get a selfie with all of us in it.”

The group of teens ran up, surrounding us. They jostled for position, pushing me into Diego’s side before holding up a phone and snapping dozens of pictures.

“These are great! Thank you so much!” The girl enthused, not taking her eyes off the phone. The kids hurried away just as fast as they’d shown up.

I picked up the fallen disc and lobbed it into the net. The metal clinked as the disc landed safely in the net. Hell, I might have a future at this sport.

“Fuck,” Diego swore under his breath. He raked a hand down his face.

I gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s a bunch more holes left, right? I don’t think you need to give up quite that easily.”

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