Page 53 of Second Down Fake

Diego grumbled. “Those vultures.”

“No, she seems real legit,” I said, scanning over the email. “She says she can get me involved in a skincare brand.”

“A skincare brand?”

“Yeah, doesn’t really seem like me, does it?” I asked, teasing out a chuckle from the other end of the line. “I’m going to suggest a clothing line.”

“Really?”

“Maybe a pyramid scheme opportunity where you strip dirty jerseys off players.”

“You’re not stripping jerseys off any other players.” Diego’s stern reply made my heart rate skyrocket.

“Not me. But I could teach other people to do it. Oh, like a master class!”

“A master class on how to annoy pro athletes into giving you free stuff?”

I grinned. “See, it’s something I’m good at.”

Diego sighed. “Alright, I should get back, but I’ll see you tomorrow? Ten?”

“That’s awful early. I’ll see you then.”

SEVENTEEN

CASSANDRA

“I regret letting you knock down my handicap,” I said, brushing my hair back with the lip of a disc.

Diego led the round by two strokes, and unless I landed this shot in the basket, my hopes of winning for a second time were in shambles.

“The handicap is supposed to make us competitive. This is way more competitive,” Diego grinned, a black bag over his shoulder and wearing an outfit designed to keep me distracted. He’d popped the two buttons on his skintight white polo shirt and wore a pair of khaki shorts that molded to his ass just a little too well.

“What’s with the outfit, anyway? Did you think we were going to play real golf today?” I grumbled, tearing my eyes away and taking a practice throw.

“I’m dressed for success.”

I planted my feet and took a deep breath as I pulled my arm back. I shot. The disc wavered as it headed straight for the metal cage.

“It’s not going to make it.” Diego didn’t sound convinced. I held my breath as the disc hit metal with a loud clank, bobbled, and came to a rest in the bucket.

“Yes!” I cheered, shimmying toward Diego as his face fell. “I beat you.”

“Barely.” He frowned, shoulders collapsing as he shook his head.

“Well, good news.” I beamed up at him. “The club we’re going to tonight offered a VIP table and free booze, so technically, you don’t even have to buy me a drink. Just order one.”

“Is that why you wanted to bet drinks?”

“I thought I’d lose,” I admitted. “I didn’t trust my raw talent.”

He shook his head. “Raw talent. Next time, I’m knocking your handicap down to one stroke.”

Diego finished out the hole, losing by a single stroke. We gathered up the discs and made our way back to the car.

“I want to shower before we go out. Get any invitations to any restaurants?”

“My publicist didn’t mention any. We might have to fend for ourselves,” I joked. “You know, if I’d known fame and fortune was as easy as dating an NFL player and getting on the Jumbotron, I would have dated Trent years ago.”

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