Page 58 of Second Down Fake

Noa grinned. “Probably not, but I like Cassandra. She keeps you on your toes.”

“I don’t exactly need someone to keep me on my toes. I have plenty of people for that.”

“And yet, you still asked her to be your girlfriend for the season. How’s Becca taking it?”

I groaned. “Not well. She wasn’t a fan of the halftime kiss.”

Becca had left a long, angry message for me after the game. And she’d had some good points. I’d dragged Cassandra into a world she knew nothing about, exposed her to the press, and asked her to sign a contract I was increasingly concerned she hadn’t even read. And while Becca didn’t come out and accuse me directly, she implied that I had taken advantage of her sister’s good nature and general sense of adventure.

I’d be lying if I said that didn’t bother me and if I didn’t share the same concerns. Maybe I should have just asked Cassandra out and accepted the consequences rather than tricking her into pretending to date me all season. Even if it didn’t feel like pretending anymore.

“Everyone’s a fan of that halftime kiss,” Noa laughed, swiping through his phone to a group message with his family. On the screen was the picture of Cassandra and me, only with added text. Over my picture, someone had typed “Me” and over Cassandra they’d put, “Tacos.”

“Charming.” I’d seen different variations of the meme and so had Coach Simmons. I received an official warning to stay out of the stands with permission to bring Cassandra to Vegas. I’d booked a hotel suite and bought enough tickets to shows to keep her out of trouble until after the game.

“You know, that whole, ‘Imma keep my head down this season,’ thing isn’t really working out for you, is it?”

I groaned. “Not even a little.”

“Do you regret it?”

I laughed. “Not even a little.”

And I meant that, too. As much trouble as Cassandra seemed to get me in, I enjoyed being with her. I enjoyed being reminded that things could just be normal. That I could relax. That I could have a little fun that wasn’t predicated on the celebrities I knew and the hotspots I hung out in.

“And you’re going to stay cool during the game, no matter what jersey she shows up in?”

I ripped my eyes away from the window with a frown. “What do you know?”

“Nothing.” Noa grinned. “Yet, but I’ll let you know if Lena gives anything away.”

“You’re not supposed to be chatting with Lena,” I chided.

He waved a meaty hand. “They can pry my phone out of my cold, dead hand. I’m saying good night to my fiancée before bed. This ‘women weaken legs’ bullshit drives me nuts.”

I suspected it would drive him even more nuts after he was married. Except for Rob, who pulled both seniority and single dad status, most of the guys on the team traveled to away games solo. Mila, Rob’s daughter, flew with us when she was in diapers, but now officially a kindergartener, she stayed behind when our games interfered with her school schedule.

Most of the players went straight home after, but Las Vegas was different. A Monday night game with Tuesday and Wednesday off, more than a handful of players extended their hotel stays and flew in some friends for a mid-week break.

Of course, Trent, Frankie or Cole wouldn’t worry about their friends getting into trouble the two nights leading up the game. They’d just join them on Tuesday, listening to the stories from the previous nights with a laugh before going out to make some trouble of their own.

I didn’t want Cassandra getting into any trouble. More specifically, I didn’t want her getting into trouble with anyone besides me.

NINETEEN

CASSANDRA

I shimmied in my seat as the plane circled the airport below. Bright lights peppered the ground, and I searched for the Las Vegas strip, probably impossible to see from my angle, but that didn’t stop me from looking while the plane touched down. The wheels bounced against the tarmac, lifting me from my seat as the engines roared, slowing the plane.

“Welcome to Las Vegas!” the flight attendant announced over the intercom.

Lena sat next to me, her white knuckles clenching the armrest.

I gave her hand a squeeze. “We’re here!”

“Thank god,” she breathed as she loosened her grip. “I’m never flying again.”

The clear skies in Norwalk had given way to rain clouds over Texas and some severe turbulence as we flew over New Mexico. Despite the plush first-class seats, we’d been thrown around enough to make a suited businessman in the next row heave into a bag and the flight attendant drop a bottle of vodka as she hustled back to her jump seat.

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