Page 10 of The Rookie's Sister

“My relationship with Rachel was a tangled mess. People think they know what happened, but they don’t have a clue.”

My arms unfold as I sit back, weighing his words. His eyes are keen, intense. He’s not lying, that much I can tell.

Xavier takes a breath, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Look, I get that you don’t owe me anything, Emma. But the media has a short attention span. Give them something else to chew on, and they’ll leave my past alone. And that...that would mean a lot to me.”

Something about his honesty tugs at me, the sincerity contrasting sharply with the persona I’ve seen plastered all over social media. But it’s the last part, the promise of helping Jeff, that has me truly considering his proposition. I take a long sip of my wine, feeling the liquid courage settle into my bones. Is it crazy to even entertain this idea?

As much as I hate to admit it, Xavier wields a lot of influence on the team. He’s their undisputed star player. If he took Jeff under his wing, mentored him...it could change everything. Xavier’s seal of approval carries a lot of weight in this world I’m still struggling to navigate. As infuriating as it is to depend on his arrogant whims, I can’t ignore the opportunity this presents. For Jeff’s sake, maybe I should at least entertain the idea.

Xavier studies me intently. “Of course, this would strictly be for the cameras. No need to pretend when it’s just us,” he adds, likely trying to reassure me. “Think of it as a business partnership.”

I swirl the wine in my glass as I consider his offer. Xavier mistakes my silence for coyness, proving just how little he really knows about me.

“Come on, Emma. I promise to be the perfect gentleman.” He grins rakishly. “Unless you’d prefer I wasn’t?”

I roll my eyes, biting back a scathing retort. Play nice, Emma.

Setting down my wineglass, I meet his gaze squarely. “Okay, Xavier. Here are my terms.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and intrigue.

“You do more than just put in a good word about Jeff. You coach him. Get him ready for game day.” I take a sip of water. “This arrangement ends the moment it stops benefiting my brother,” I state clearly. “No surprises or public spectacles. We stage a clean break on my terms.”

Xavier spreads his hands acquiescence. “Of course. You have my word.”

I lean forward. “And this stays strictly business. The second it gets inappropriate, I walk away and deny everything.” I pierce him with my most serious look. “Are we crystal clear?”

He places a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“Fine,” I huff out. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this madness, but consider your offer accepted.”

A wide grin breaks across Xavier’s face. Clearly not the answer he expected. “Excellent. We have an accord.”

He lifts his wine glass. After a slight hesitation, I clink mine gently to his. The crystal chime seems to seal this ludicrous deal I’ve somehow consented to. I quickly gulp down the rest of my wine, hoping the alcohol will settle my nerves.

Xavier smiles slyly. “You know, agreements like these are often celebrated more...privately.” His eyes gleam suggestively. “My condo isn’t far from here. We could—”

“I believe I made the terms of our arrangement clear,” I interrupt sharply.

Xavier looks briefly disappointed before he smooths it over with an easy laugh. “Kidding, kidding. Just testing. Making sure we’re on the same page, right?”

I simply lift one brow in response. Message received.

The final notes of laughter and lingering conversation fade away as Xavier and I step out of The Peninsula’s elegant interior, the air shifting from warm hospitality to the brisk nip of a Chicago evening. I feel the cool breeze snake around my ankles, making its way up my legs, chilling the bare skin left exposed by my dress.

Xavier, noticing my involuntary shiver, retrieves my coat from his arm. With a surprising grace that contrasts his athletic build, he slides it over my shoulders. His fingers brush against the nape of my neck for a second, sending a ripple of warmth up my spine.

Concentrate, Emma. Remember what this is—and what it isn’t.

Pulling my coat tighter around me, I glance over at Xavier. The streetlamps cast a soft, golden light that plays across his features, carving shadows that make his already striking face even more arresting. The interplay of light and dark etches out his jawline, outlines his cheekbones, and suddenly, he’s not just Xavier, the infuriating, confusing athlete. He’s Xavier, the man whose proximity has the power to make me feel, for lack of a better word, jittery.

Gathering my wits, I take a deliberate step back, tearing myself away from whatever magnetic field has momentarily trapped me. “Well, goodnight then,” I manage to say, though my voice emerges tinged with an unfamiliar raspiness.

His eyes, like twin lanterns in the half-light, don’t waver from mine. “Until next time, Emma.”

That smile of his—subtle, inviting, yet wholly enigmatic—stays with me as I pivot on my heels and head toward the subway. My heels click against the sidewalk, echoing down the empty streets, each step punctuated by a swirl of thoughts that seem to grow increasingly nebulous.

What have I agreed to? I replay the evening in my mind, dissecting each spoken and unspoken contract. Me, Emma Thompson, pretending to date Xavier Johnson—a man who embodies everything I’ve professed to abhor. His ego, his cavalier attitude toward relationships; these qualities aren’t just red flags, they’re blaring sirens.

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