Page 18 of Not By the Playbook

“You didn't needto do that, you know?”

“Do what?” Becs asks.

We stand at opposite sides of the elevator whooshing down to the lobby. I fix my eyes above the metal doors to observe the numbers descend with a single-minded intensity. “Make up all that stuff about my plans for the future.”

Am I annoyed with her or impressed? The thought gnaws at me, and I bring a hand up to rub the back of my neck.

A beat later, she sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to overstep,” she mumbles.

I dip my chin in acknowledgement. Her shoulders are hunched forward, her eyes on her feet. But then she slides me a glance from under her lashes, “But you’ll figure out what’s next for you on your own when the time comes. There was no reason for her to come down on you like that.”

“It allowed you to make a good impression. Very smooth,” I say.

Her head snaps up, her features, incredulous. “You think I was doing it on purpose?” she snarls.

I shrug. “It was a good play. Can’t blame you if you were.”

Becs crosses her arms and faces the doors. “Well, I wasn’t.”

“Okay.” I peer at her more closely, but she pretends I’m not there. Her heel taps against the carpeted floor.

When the doors open, she precedes me through the lobby out into the busy street and stalks to the intersection. I grab her hand and steer her left when she turns right. She tries to tug it away, but I hold on tight and only release her when we reach the café. The hostess seats us at a corner booth with a view of the streetand hands us thickly bound menus.

I glance at mine, not really seeing anything. I always order the same thing. My voice low, I ask, “Do you really think I could?”

“Could what?” All Becs’s focus is on the weekend specials.

“You know. Do the whole sports commentator thing.” I mumble, flipping through the pages.

Now it’s Rebecca who reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “Of course, you can. I mean, you explained things to me, and I know nothing about football. You could do that professionally or even go into coaching.”

Her index finger traces patterns along my tanned skin. My abs tighten even though I know her subconscious movements are meant to be comforting.

“You can do whatever you want, okay?” She follows that with a snort. “And who cares if you don't have a plan now or ever. Like you said, you've got your pond of money to keep you afloat.”

“It's a whole ocean, baby.” I wink. I capture her hand and bring her knuckles to my lips. Her eyes soften on me.

There’s a flurry of activity behind us. Fuck. The paps are here. Generally, they leave me alone, but a woman with me during the day? Out of the norm. Becs is an unknown entity.

Our waitress, Tammi with anI, comes over, hips swaying, for our orders. She leans down, low enough that her breasts are inches from my face. Rebecca scowls. I should tell her the waitress flirts with everyone, but it's kind of cute to see Becs get all territorial. Tammi attempts to take her menu, but Becs holds on to it tight. “I need more time.” The woman shrugs and leaves us to it.

I smirk. “Down girl. I only have one girlfriend at a time, fake or otherwise.”

Rebecca hits me with a fierce glare. “And don't you forget it. Fake boyfriend or not, I don't need you embarrassing me.”

She’s serious, but so am I. I don’t cheat. Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I stand then slide in on Rebecca’s side and haul her to me for a selfie.

“What are you doing?” she squeaks, pulling away.

I do a quick search on Instagram and tag Rebecca in the photo. “Committing.”

Seconds later, her phone pings, announcing a new notification.

“You didn’t.” She grabs it. I inspect her screen over her shoulder. The photo’s not bad. Rebecca’s eyes are wide, her mouth open. I know it’s an expression of shock, but I hope my fans will chalk it up to true devotion.

Her head whips back to me. “People will figure out who I am.”

“Isn't that the plan?” I reach over to stroke a lock of her hair behind her ear, but she bats me away.

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