Page 28 of Tight End

He scoffs, and I have to hold the phone from my ear as his kid screeches in the background, quite possibly still running around with scissors. “Obvi I’m more important. She’s not going to protect your ass from the media circus about to head your way like I will. And I’ll do it with a smile.”

“I’m pretty sure saving my ass is in your job description.” Now it’s my turn to scoff, walking down the hallway toward my room. “What do you mean media?—”

“She a groupie?”

“What? No.” My voice is raised, and I force myself to lower it to a harsh whisper, slipping into my room, leaving the door open just a crack. “She’s not like that.”

“Oh, she’s not, huh?” Nick chuckles, and I have the sudden urge to punch him in that smug smile I know he’s got plastered on his stupid face. “We can work with that. What does she do for a living? How does she feel about being in the public eye?”

I don’t think this is a good time to brag that I finally know her name. Not unless I want another lecture about responsibility.

“I’m not sure. She does yoga and has terrible taste in music. Does that help?”

“Yeah, her and every soccer mom in the country.” He sighs, muttering to himself, and I’m pretty sure he just told me to fuck off. “Maybe have a conversation with her, find some stuff out about this woman you’ve hitched your wagon to. Jesus Christ. You need to make sure she’s not a liability. How am I supposed to sell a happy family if you don’t even know what the mother of your child does for a living? For my own sake, I’m going to assume you know more than her bra size.”

“Her bra size is none of your business, and I don’t want you selling anything.” I peek around the door, making sure no young and impressionable ears have wandered this way. “Oliver and June aren’t news, and they need to be kept out of it the best you can.”

“No can do, buddy. What you want doesn’t matter. You’ve been in the game long enough to know the press can be ruthless when they want to be. They’re going to find out, so it’s better to stay ahead of it than end up chasing our asses for the rest of the season. Plus, with your contract renewal on theline, we want to make sure all press is good press. The fans love a family man, and we need the city behind you.”

“The fans love me.”

“They like you. We need to make them love you.”

He’s right. I hate it when he’s right. “What do you need from me?”

“What did I tell you about the scissors?” He pauses and the line goes quiet for about ten seconds—ten seconds until all I can hear is maniacal laughter. Guess I should get him a couple of pairs of safety scissors for his birthday. “Sorry about that. But no, nothing yet, superstar. Well, you know, maybe get to know June a little bit since we’re going to need her and your son on our side. Let me think on some things and I’ll text you.”

“Looking forward to it.” I grunt, heading back down the hall toward Oliver’s room.

“I’m sure you are.” He chuckles. “Later, hater.”

“Yeah, screw you too,” I murmur, but it’s too late. He’s already hung up.

I’m sure he’ll have plenty of ideas, just like I’m sure I won’t like any of them. Just like I’m sure one of them will be cataloging my life—our life—on social media.

Damn it.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love playing football, I really do, but I don’t always love being in the limelight. I’m truly grateful for my fans and am always happy to sign things and take pictures when I’m spotted out in public, but I like to keep my private life private. Which is why I don’t have my own online accounts.

Fuck.

He’s totally going to want me to set one up.

My dad loved this part of things. He thrived in the spotlight. He and his fake-ass persona were always front and center during postgame interviews. He did cameos for reality shows and curated his perfect life and his perfect family online. It was fake, all of it, and maybe that’s why I’ve always shied away from sharing the personal parts.

I don’t want to be like him in any way. Nope. Not happening.

It’s bad enough I get photographed with any woman who stands within a five-foot radius of me. Most of the time it’s a random stranger who happens to be in close proximity, but even then the comments under those pictures are ruthless. Those women get torn down, and I keep my label as a playboy.

I don’t like the idea of something like that happening to June, and yeah, I know I can’t control how other people react, but I don’t have to like it.

Still, if Nick thinks it’s going to boost my chances of a contract renewal, I’ll do it.

“Everything okay?” June glances up at me as I walk into Oliver’s room. She’s still on the floor, although now she’s putting the blocks away while Oliver is lying half inside the tent, his legs up in the air, waving back and forth.

“Yeah, my agent can be a real ...” He can be a real dick. That’s what I want to say, but I don’t think I want to be the one to teach that word to my three-year-old son. Especially on day one. “Well, you know.”

June chuckles, tossing the last block back in the container, which oddly enough is also a large block. “I don’t, actually. I have no idea what being a big-time football player is like.”

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