Page 44 of Second Down Fake

Mila bounced up to the man, wrapping her arms around his knees. “George!”

“Hey, little princess.” He patted her back. “I hear your daddy’s going to break the sack record this year.”

“He’s going to kill all the quarterbacks this year.”

My eyes widened. “That sounds ominous.”

“Have you met Cassandra yet?” Lena asked George. “She’s a guest of Diego’s.”

George fixed his attention on me, gaze locking on the jersey I wore and a puzzled look on his face that morphed into an amused smile. “Really? Well, nice to meet you. I hope I’ll be seeing more of you this season.”

“Thanks, nice to meet you too.”

I slipped by the man and into a vacant hallway. Mila took the lead, guiding us through a maze of corridors. The buzz of the crowd grew louder with each open door until we emerged into a carpeted hallway.

“These are the box suites. We don’t sit here unless the owner invites us,” Mila said with all the professionalism of a seasoned pro. “Our tickets are down here.”

Mila joined the line of Breakers’ fans toward the stadium bleachers. I winced as we walked out of the darkened hallways and into the light. Even now, before the game started, the noise was cacophonous. A wave of Cerulean blue jerseys blended into the backdrop of the ocean in the distance. I followed Mila as she hopped down the stairs, turning right and sitting just behind the Breakers’ bench, only four rows back.

“Lena,” Mila whined, her voice rising slightly in a question. “Can we get a pretzel before the game starts?”

“Absolutely. You two want anything while we hit the concessions.”

Cici ordered a beer, but I shook my head.

Both teams practiced on the field, lazy throws and easy sprints as the giant clock on the scoreboard counted down until kick off. Diego caught my attention immediately. He stood at the twenty-yard line, “11” embossed on his jersey, the hem riding just high enough to reveal a swath of tanned skin. His white pants sculpted to his body.

“Okay. Casual…” Cici snickered.

My cheeks burned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I totally believe you casually want to jump that guy.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. But hell, so did most of the women in the stadium.

I kept my attention away from Diego after that, identifying the Breakers’ players I met by their jersey. Frankie, 47. Trent, 10. Noa, 53. Rob, 90. Down the sidelines, I glimpsed the head coach, Nate Simmons, his mentor and our tailgate benefactor, Lionel Mack, standing with the quarterback coach, Danielle Henson. I’d only met her once, but as one of the only a handful of female coaches in the NFL, she was hard to miss.

“We’re back and bought an extra beer. The guy behind the counter recognized Mila and gave us extras.” Lena handed me the extra beer.

“He gave me a pretzel and ice cream!” Mila held up the ice cream triumphantly.

“Rob is going to have a fit, but that’s a problem for later,” Lena muttered before telling Mila. “Let me hold it. He’s going to look for you before the game starts and then you can have it back.”

With the trill of a whistle, the players on both teams retreated from the field. Rob paused at the sidelines, furrowed brow scanning our section until he locked eyes with his daughter. The smile directed at his daughter transformed his face from dark and dour into something almost achingly handsome.

“I think Diego’s looking for you.” Cici elbowed me in the ribs and my gaze slid to Diego just in time to see his face do the opposite.

His smile melted away, replaced with confusion as he locked eyes with the number on my chest.

“Oh, he’s pissed.” Lena wiped a hand over her face, giving Mila the opportunity to grab her ice cream. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

Diego marched to the sidelines and grabbed a scrawny guy standing next to a cooler, barking out something that made the kid fumble in his pockets for his phone. Diego glared at the phone, fingers punching the screen until he held it up in my direction.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

What the fuck are you wearing?

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