Page 55 of Second Down Fake

“Playing fair?” He tousled his hair. No one being that annoying should look so sexy. “What part of wearing Trent’s jersey was playing fair?”

“You played the best game of your career!” I said, not entirely sure that was the truth. It sounded good, though.

“I nearly started a fistfight on the sidelines. Do you know how happy you made Trent? I can’t have that on my team.”

“Trent’s happiness is a deal breaker for you?”

“That wasn’t really what I was getting at.” Diego’s voice dipped before he shook his head and pushed the car into drive. “But sure, let’s go with that.”

* * *

Diego’s deep vibrato echoed from the bathroom, and I rubbed off an errant swipe of emerald eyeshadow off my eyebrow.

“Calm down in there, Liberace,” I yelled, searching the coffee table for makeup remover.

I’d hastily thrown the scattered make-up on the bathroom vanity into a bag so Diego could take a shower. Apparently, the make-up remover hadn’t made it into the mix. Of course, if Diego wasn’t so distracting, I wouldn’t need it.

“I like to think of myself as more of a Pavarotti than a Liberace,” Diego called back, his voice clear even through the closed door.

“I don’t know what that means.” I dabbed a cotton pad into the cup of water on the side table and wiped off the eyeshadow.

“More substance, less show.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty show-y.”

“I scored four touchdowns last game.”

“And boxed out your best receiver. That’s a Liberace move.”

His deep laugh echoed from the shower, and I smiled. “I’m getting a drink. Want one?”

“A beer would be great,” he said before launching into a truly ear-piercing rendition of “Time To Say Goodbye.”

I rolled my eyes and padded into the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the otherwise empty refrigerator.

The sound of pounding water stopped as I searched the drawers for a bottle opener. Diego rustled around inside the bathroom, and I poured myself a drink, keeping my thoughts on making my drink and not the naked god in my bedroom. The one who pretended to date me with an NDA and a contract.

“I’ll take that.” Diego emerged from the bedroom, black hair wet and a thin pink towel wrapped around his waist. My eyes snapped to his face and heat built in my chest as I struggled not to glance down.

“You could have thrown on a shirt first. The beer would have kept.” A flippant eye roll gave me a quick glimpse at his chiseled chest. I struggled to focus on his face.

“But why chance it?” He took the beer and leaned against the oven, clearly not in a hurry to head back toward his clothes. He took a sip of his beer, resting the bottle against the indentation at his hip, just above the thread-bare towel.

I forced my eyes back up. Two could play that game.

“Is Frankie coming tonight?”

Diego raised an eyebrow as he sipped his beer. “Yeah, why?”

“He’s single, right?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Just curious. I haven’t really chatted with him, so I’m really looking forward to tonight.” I shrugged and took a sip from my drink.

His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

“I think Becca had one of his jerseys, too.”

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