Page 5 of Second Down Fake

The Norwalk Breakers’ training building was a maze. We’d gone down no less than five hallways and taken two elevators before reaching Becca’s office. But I wasn’t about to admit I couldn’t find my way out of there. Sure, I might be a half-formed adult who made the bulk of her money pretending to be a witch in Salem for Halloween, but I could get myself out of a building.

I fled the office before she could stop me, retracing my steps down the hallway and taking more than a few wrong turns. I tried not to gawk at the muscled men working out in the weight room, my eyes flitting around, looking for one muscled man in particular.

He wasn’t there, of course. Even if he was, he wouldn’t remember me. Diego Salazar had met me once five years ago. Sure, we’d made out in a tree house after a night of flirting, but then I told him who my sister was, and we never talked again. Still, I hadn’t shaken the memory of that night or his disappointed look when I told him we couldn’t see each other again.

I made my way outside and easily found Becca’s car on the second level of the parking garage. I loaded the box inside, locking the car behind me.

“Fuck!”

I jumped at the loud roar in the otherwise quiet parking garage. Five cars away, a man kicked the wheel of a Range Rover, raking a hand through his black hair. From behind, I could only make out broad shoulders and height. Distinguishing features in any place besides the staff and player parking garage at the Norwalk Breaker’s training facility.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the man growled as he tilted his head back.

The garage lighting illuminated his profile.

I knew him.

I’d traced that jawline. I’d kissed those lips. I’d had those arms around me.

“That’s a pretty rude way to greet an old friend.” The words escaped before I thought better of them, my feet already carrying me closer to him.

He froze.

A wave of embarrassment washed over me. Of course, he wouldn’t remember me. We shared an evening and a PG-rated make-out session years ago. In between now and then, he’d dated A-list darlings and pop stars. Meanwhile, I’d couch surfed and held a million low-wage, part-time jobs including Santa’s elf, human billboard, and Ren Fair wench. The chances of him matching the hot party girl he’d met in college with the wreck standing before him neared zero.

His dark brown eyes raked down my body appreciatively before resting on my eyes. My cheeks burned, and an unfamiliar twinge of lust that had been missing way too long formed in the pit of my stomach.

“Cassandra?” He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “What are you—why are you?—”

At least he remembered my name.

I grinned. “I’m helping Bec move out of her office.”

He shook his head. “She’s been with the team for two years and you’re only now coming to the stadium.”

“I made a game in New England,” I said, fighting off a blush.

“You didn’t come to Franklin Notch, this summer or last.” The shock fell away from his face, replaced with the confident smile that had infiltrated my dreams over the past five years.

“I was traveling.”

“Or avoiding me?”

“Now, why would I do something like that?” I lied. That was exactly what I’d done. The minute Becca said that Diego was coming to my hometown, I jetted away to a friend in Boston with a second bedroom.

“You look great,” he breathed.

“Thanks.” I shrugged, even though the compliment warmed my entire body. Then again, when a living Apollo said you looked good, it was impossible not to have a reaction. “I heard you’re still posting thirst traps.”

He grinned, soft brown eyes sparkling. “Still stalking me, I see.”

“Absolutely not. You know, it was hard enough to avoid your desperate pics when you were a college player. Now they’re plastered everywhere.”

“And I’m getting paid for them.” Diego winked.

Why did he wink? Did he have any clue what that did to a woman? Of course he did. He had a cocky streak a mile wide, and I couldn’t imagine a first-round draft pick and a successful NFL career as a starting quarterback had tempered that cockiness.

“Lucky you.”

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