Page 85 of Second Down Fake

“You promised me fishing,” I said, pursing my lips with a frown.

Paul’s face turned red as his eyes ping-ponged from me back to Diego. “You know, that’s despicable, Diego. I can’t believe you would act that way. I said the NFL wouldn’t change you, but clearly?—”

“Don’t believe her!” Diego said, eyes wide. “She’s trying to get me in trouble.”

“Me?” I clutched my chest. “After I’ve done so much to help you this season? Why would I want to get you in trouble?”

Marla snorted a laugh, rolling her eyes. “For your own sake, Diego, you better hope Cassandra just wants to night fish. She’s a little out of your league when it comes down to it.”

Hardly.

Although, away from the team and the fancy trips, I could see myself with Diego much easier. We made more sense: lower-middle-class kids with proud parents, loving friends, and a tight-knit community behind them.

“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Diego said with a wry smile on his face, his soft brown eyes making my stomach tumble and my breath catch.

“I’ve got some bait in the workshop. I’ll make sure you’re stocked up,” Paul said warily.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us? You can show us how it’s done.” I stifled a giggle at Diego’s bugged out eyes as Paul considered the offer.

“You’re not going, hun.” Marla patted his hand and stood to collect the dinner plates. “If you two are going to stay out late, be quiet coming home. I’ve got a shift in the morning, but I’ll be back just after lunch.”

“Well, don’t wait up for us,” Diego gave his mother an exaggerated wink. “And if you get worried, just remember that you don’t have to see Cassandra’s parents at church.”

* * *

There was a joke in my hometown: blink and you’ll miss it. The small New Hampshire mountain town had more rotaries than traffic lights, a single restaurant, and a convenience store that also functioned as a grocery store and a bar.

Diego’s hometown made Franklin Notch look metropolitan. One stop light at the intersection of a rundown main street. Diego pointed out the old sock mills and stores, all husks of a vibrant community that now could barely support a gas station.

He turned off the main drag and onto dirt roads, navigating the unmarked roads with ease. Despite my pleas to take the station wagon, Diego drove us in an old truck inherited from his father and left at his mom’s house for his infrequent visits. Judging by the clean interior and the fact the car still drove, I could only guess that Paul kept it serviceable in between Diego’s visits. In the back, Diego had packed a cooler, some sleeping bags, and a couple of fishing lines.

He eased the truck off the road and down a narrow one-lane path. Tree branches and brush bounced off the large body of the truck, mowing down a path until we reached a lake.

“This is nice,” I whistled as Diego executed a five point turn so the back of the truck faced the water. “What’s it called?”

“Lake Elvis Presley.” He shot me a wink before tossing the keys on the seat and exiting the truck.

“You’re joking.”

“Look it up if you don’t believe me,” he said as he pulled the tailgate down and hopped into the back.

I pulled out my phone to prove him wrong but had no service. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

While Diego busied himself with setting up our site, opening the tackle box and setting up the sleeping bags, I walked along the water’s edge.

“Watch out for gators,” Diego called after me, the advice not even worth taking his focus off the container of worms that Paul had pushed on us before we left.

“Are you serious?” I eyed the water warily. In New Hampshire, I only had to worry about bears, moose, and the occasional snake. Nothing in the water.

“Maybe,” Diego shrugged. “Or maybe I’m lying to get you to hang around me.”

“If you’re scared I’m going to tear off into the woods to get away from you, you’re clearly mistaking me for one of your exes.”

Diego pulled two bottles of beer from the cooler, popping their tops and handing one to me. “Which ex would that be? Because mom hasn’t met a single person I’ve dated since high school.”

“Zoey Meyer didn’t want to come meet your parents?”

He shrugged before taking a long pull from the beer. “I think we both realized that her coming to my hometown would have shattered the illusion we had anything in common.”

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