Page 24 of The Secret Play

“There’s a rib joint downtown I’ve been meaning to check out,” he said. “It’s laid-back, good music, good drinks. I think you’d like it.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Great,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “How’s Friday?”

I mouthed the question to Megan, and she nodded, my babysitter guaranteed. “Friday works.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said. “And, Gemma?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you said yes.”

The line went quiet, and I stared at my phone for a moment, a stupid grin plastered across my face.

“Okay, I take it back,” Megan said, leaning forward. “That was kind of adorable.”

“Told you.”

But as the excitement settled into something quieter, I couldn’t help but wonder where this was all heading. Casey was unlike anyone I’d ever dated—older, steadier, and completely uninterested in playing games. It scared me a little. In a good way.

Chapter 9

Casey

Ihadn’t felt this nervous about a date in forever.

I’d spent the better part of the day trying to keep my focus on work—practice schedules, player drills, game plans—but every time I had a free moment, my mind drifted back to Gemma. Her laugh, her smile, the way she made me feel like I wasn’t just some old geezer she was humoring for a story. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about her that was starting to pull me in deeper than I’d thought possible.

It scared the hell out of me.

By the time the evening rolled around, I had a plan—a simple one, because I didn’t want this to feel like a production. I wanted her to know that I liked her. Not just because of what happened in the park, though that had been incredible, but because of who she was. I was entranced by her humor, her honesty, the way she looked at life with a kind of calmness I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until she walked into my office.

Normally, I was all work, no play. The team was my focus, and that was enough for me. It was also the reason I was single. Hard to maintain a relationship when your attention was divided. I was always coming up with new plays in the back of my mind, so when a woman asked the usual, “What’re you thinking?” type of question, I told them.

As it turns out, no woman likes it when you tell her you’re thinking about work while you’re in the shower together.

But when it came to Gemma, all that noise went away. I wasn’t focused on work around her. I was focused on her. What she might say in the next moment or how I could make her smile. The way she laughed when things went sideways. She was a breath of fresh air in every sense of the phrase.

So, tonight, I’d do my best to show Gemma who I was outside of the arena. I was determined not to make the same mistakes I had in the past. I decided to take her to my favorite barbecue spot—a no-frills place tucked into a corner of downtown Atlanta that served the best ribs I’d ever had. It wasn’t fancy, and it wasn’t romantic, but it was real. And for some reason, I felt like Gemma would appreciate that.

When I pulled up to her house to pick her up, she stepped out wearing a casual pair of jeans and a simple blouse, her red hair loose around her shoulders. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and when she smiled at me, the tension in my chest eased.

“You look great,” she said, glancing at my jeans and polo.

“Thanks,” I said, opening the passenger door for her. “I hope you’re up for the best ribs in Atlanta.”

Her eyes lit up, and I knew I’d made the right call. “That’s a hell of a claim.”

“You’ll see.”

The restaurant was just as I remembered it—dimly lit, the scent of smoked meat wafting through the air, and hip hop playing low in the background. The place was mostly booths with a few tables in the middle, each one covered by a checkered plastic tablecloth topped by a full napkin dispenser. A cooler sat near the entrance so we grabbed some sodas and sat in a booth near the cash register. The place was half full, and no one was in a hurry.

When the waiter came to take our order, Gemma didn’t hesitate. “Full rack of ribs,” she said, her tone decisive. “And fries. And extra wet wipes, if you’ve got ‘em.”

I laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Not holding back, huh?”

“It’s been five years since I’ve had good southern ribs,” she said, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’m not wasting the opportunity.”

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