Page 11 of Not By the Playbook

“So when do you start?” George asks.

Oxygen enters my lungs via the tiny gaps in my teeth as I sneak a look at Jenna. “Ummm…”

It’s Logan who answers, “She hasn’t been offered the position.Yet.” He cuts an eye at Jenna, daring her to contradict this pronouncement.

I’m going to kick him. The goal is to impress Jenna, not railroad her into a decision. This whole production requires finesse. I set my heel on his foot, but he only tugs me in tighter. His face is pure confidence and a teeny, tiny part of me warms at his support, even if it is all pretend.

The impermeable mask on Jenna’s face doesn’t crack, not one iota. She ignores Logan and addresses her father instead, “My team is reviewing all the applicants who have made it to the final round.”

I gulp. Final. That’s just sofinal. It hits me again how much I need this to work out.

“Well, good luck then, Rebecca,” Rhonda says.

I nod my thanks. Jenna might be a robot, but the rest of the Barnes family is wonderful.

The conversation shifts to Logan’s upcoming season while Jenna talks to her mother about her home renovations until the oven timer goes off, and we move into the dining room for round two.

Chapter Six

LOGAN

I haven’t beenable to keep my hands off Rebecca all night, and it’s not all for show. Slight touches on her back, her thigh, along her arm result in shivers, goosebumps, dilated eyes. I’m stoked at her little reactions. Strange because I never pay much attention to women when we’re not in the throes of a good fuck. And I’ve been paying attention to Rebecca since the moment she opened the door this evening. So prim and put together—all the better to muss up.

Instead, we are at my parents’ home having red velvet cake. Mom makes it from scratch since it’s my favorite. As a consolation prize, it’s not awful.

Dad takes a bite and turns his attention to me. “Have you thought more about retirement?”

After second and third helpings, my stomach still hollows out. I grunt. I’d been hoping to avoid all conversation about my post-football career tonight. I haven’t a clue. My eyes go from Dad to Mom to Jenna, all worried about my next move. Scared that if left idle, I’ll get myself arrested or worse. I’m sure Jenna has bail money ready and a lawyer on speed dial.

Mom sees my face. “George, let him finish this season out.”

“The boy needs a plan,” Dad grumbles.

The boy makes millions of dollars and paid for this house.

Before I can retort, Rebecca’s hand lands on my thigh and squeezes anI got you.It’s the first time Becs has touched me since last night, and my pulse surges even as my lungs ease.

“This cake is so good. I haven’t had anything like it in ages.”

My mother beams at the compliment, and the subject turns to baking. When our plates are empty, Mom starts to rise. “Let me clear up.”

Dad waves her down. “Rhonda, honey, you sit with Rebecca. The kids will help me wash up.”

Divide and conquer. That’s tonight’s strategy. I groan inwardly but shoot Becs a reassuring smile as I stack the dishes, then follow Dad and Jenna into the kitchen.

We form our usual assembly line—Dad scrapes leftovers into the trash, I wash, and Jen dries. I roll my sleeves up, all set to go.

Dad hands me a dish. “So…Rebecca seems like a nice girl. I like her.”

Jenna gives him an indulgent smile. “You like that she likes your beer.”

Dad shrugs. “She likes my beer. She likes my son. Why shouldn’t I think she has good taste?”

I huff a laugh at that.

The side of his mouth rises, but his eyes stay trained on Jenna. “You’ve spent time with her, Jen. What is your opinion?”

She wipes the dish in her hand, three full circular movements to make sure no stray drop is missed. “She is very nice.”

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