Page 47 of Quarterback Keeper

“Look”—she rubbed her temples, briefly closing her eyes before she pierced me with a direct, no-nonsense hit of whiskey eyes—“you seem intelligent enough for me to lay all the cards on the table. I don’t want to marry you any more than you want to tie your life to mine. But my dad has something on me.”

“What are you talking about?” I focused on her like she was a wide receiver going for a long pass with seconds to throw before a defensive blitz.

She slapped her hand on the manila envelope she’d brought, the sound cutting through the banter between Ares and Liam while they played video games. “This.”

I reached for it, and she snatched it away and cradled it to her chest. “Not so fast, hotshot.”

“What the fuck is it with the stupid names? You’ve been hanging out with my pops, haven’t you?” Red coated my vision. I was so sick of being played by my old man. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that the real problem?”

“Yeah, that’s a hard pass and wrong team altogether.”

“What?” I didn’t follow, and I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers to ease the headache coming on. “Let’s get to the point. You were all over me at the fundraiser.” The reminder of our dads put me over the edge, and I was reaching for any argument I could find. “You come in here guns blazing with wedding prep”—I motioned to her envelope—“for a marriage I have no intention of going through with.”

“Same page.”

I ignored her. “And whatever this is”—I motioned again to the envelope she held protectively to her chest—“you’re now saying you’ve been coerced into the same bullshit relationship that my dad is pushing with me? You’re not making sense, so please, cut the crap and tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll need something to drink before I unload my life on a stranger.”

“Coffee?” I reached for a pod in the canister on the counter behind me.

She scoffed. “No. Something much stronger. Do you have any Patrón?”

I grabbed a bottle from the corner cabinet along with a lowball glass and handed both to her. I blew out a breath, working to control my irritation. It wasn’t her fault I wished it had been Aurora at the door and was disappointed when it wasn’t. “Thanks for the flowers,” I said, trying to ease some of the tension between us by acknowledging the gesture.

“What?” Her brows furrowed. “I didn’t send you flowers.”

“Huh, never mind.” More manipulation from dear old Dad. He had to have sent them.

She poured two fingers and slung the shot back, her eyes closing as it went down her throat. I saw the appeal. She was gorgeous and connected and would probably make someone a great wife. She would understand the drive to succeed fromgrowing up in a high-power world like she had. But she wasn’t for me. And the more I understood who was, I realized what a fucking dumbass I’d been with Aurora. I should have fought for her, for us.

“Pass that bottle over here, Blondie!” Liam shouted from the couch, a devious grin curving his mouth.

“Get it yourself.” She mumbled something unflattering under her breath that would only be a challenge Liam couldn’t resist if he heard it.

He didn’t really want the liquor. He was just messing with her. I caught the shade my best friends threw our way occasionally while they pretended to be engrossed in their video game. They’d been all over my ass ever since I’d told them everything about what had happened between Aurora and me. And I got it. Mistakes were made. Not only on her behalf—and she had a legitimate reason—but I hadn’t appropriately prepared her for the steamroller that was my dad or listened to her when she’d said she didn’t want anything to go public. And after seeing the consequences of her ex finding her, I understood why.

I was the one at fault and needed to rectify things between us. If I didn’t, I could lose her for good, which scared me more than losing my shot at an NFL career.

Mel snapped her fingers in front of my face, and I growled at her. I wanted her out of here. “What?”

“If we want a way out of this, I need you to pay attention.”

I caught her mumbling, “Fucking football players,” and narrowed my eyes.

“Then get to it, so you can get the fuck out,” I said.

After another eye roll, she set the envelope in front of her but kept her palm over it, French-manicured fingernails spread wide. “My dad is a right-wing extremist. He doesn’t believe in abortions, gay marriage rights, or anything liberal. That being said, he’s deeply ashamed of my preferences?—”

“Which are not men.” I’d finally caught on to her problem. It seemed I wasn’t the only one being played by a parent.

“Exactly.” She splashed a finger of tequila into the glass and swirled it around before downing it in one gulp.

“What does he have as leverage to get you to marry me?”

“My trust fund.” Her full lips turned down, and she looked like someone had just kicked her puppy. “I was playing along because it’s a lot of money. And I thought I could deal with his crazy scheme, marry you?—”

“As your beard!” Liam shouted from the living room.

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