Page 42 of Not Just a Trick Play

My eyes lower, captivated by the pavement’s network of cracks, as if they were mystical lines of foretelling. If only I could’ve consulted them sooner. “We got to know each other…and one thing led to another. But he insisted we shouldn’t tell people—we worked together, and Fordwich is all gossip, all the time. Gradually, he took on more responsibilities at the inn—he had all these grand ideas for revamping it.”

“But wasn’t it your family’s business?”

I nod. The sheer cheek of the man and his presumptions hits me all over again, and a sardonic laugh escapes me. “I got a bit ahead of myself—thought it was fine if Ben and I ran things together. Meanwhile, he thought it would be fine to get it on with every woman who stopped by. One day he showed up with a fiancée. He’d gotten her pregnant.”

Yvonne grimaces. “Damn, that’s harsh. What an assnugget.”

“Exactly my thoughts.” Even though the sting’s still fresh, Yvonne’s blunt assessment brings a reluctant grin to my face. “So yeah, I’d rather nothing serious…”

She snaps her fingers. “Got it. We’re looking for a hookup, not a happily ever after. Tell me how you found yesterday’s guy.”

I allow the memories of the previous night to bubble back in, tossing off the Ben baggage in favor of better things. I want to crow. A bit of selective sharing shouldn’t hurt, right? “We met at The Bitter End. He bought me a drink. Just some ordinary—”not“—bloke.”

“It’s Jake.”

I blink. “No! Why would you say?—”

But Yvonne’s focus has already shifted past me, locking on a target over my shoulder. “Jake!” she bellows.

I whip around to catch sight of a familiar figure, rooted in place across the street. Itishim—the jacket, cap, and arse are unmistakable. And there’s no doubt he heard her. It would be hard not to—her volume has the chattering surrounding us coming to an abrupt halt.

Honestly, why am I even surprised? The man has shown an astounding aptitude for showing up at unexpected moments, so really, it would be more shocking if he didn’t appear and ruin things.

Keeping my outward face calm. I fire off frantic prayers to every deity I can name.Keep going, keep going.“No. I don’t think it’s him.”

“It is.” Yvonne, undeterred, yells again, “Jake!”

He slowly pivots, scanning the crowd until he spots us. I jerk my head to the side, silently saying scram, but Yvonne beckons him over. No prizes for guessing who wins.

His shoulders slump, a silent white flag, and he crosses to us.

An urge to bolt washes over me. Jake might be able to maintain a blasé façade, but I’m worried just-slept-with-your-brother vibes are radiating off me. I take a shuffling step back, glancing at Yvonne, almost certain her Spidey sex senses are tingling, because if she could tell I had sex, she’ll soon figure out he had sex, too. It won’t be long before she guesses our individual escapades were actually a double act.

“Could you be any louder?” Jake drawls, his voice oozing sarcasm, as he comes to a stop in front of us.

“I could,” Yvonne responds with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a free city.” His eyes slide to mine, and his irritated expression softens. “Amelia.”

All thoughts of retreat disappear. My name is sex on his lips. I’ll never hear it any other way again after last night. Not when the dental assistant beckons me to the inner-office gallows. Not when some barista calls it out although that doesn’t happen often with their penchant for butchering names.

“Hi.” I sound like a frog. A big, fat frog. Whose heart is about to leap out of its chest. My normally placid exterior has been entirely nonexistent this morning.

A playful grin takes shape on his lips, lighting up his face. “Bumping into you here, what are the odds?”

The odds? Astronomical, really, given we rolled out of the same bed less than an hour ago. I narrow my gaze at his audacity, hyper aware that any twitch might reveal our secret. Not that he seems to share my concern, his smile growing as I strive to keep my expression neutral. For someone who’s supposed to steer clear of his sisters’ friends, he’s remarkably composed.

I can feel my face turn stonier by the second. Meanwhile, that grin of his? It’s grown into a full-on smirk, telling me that my efforts are useless and that he finds my flustered state not just obvious, but downright amusing. The impulse to drag him aside and demand to know what the bloody hell he is doing arises, but I clamp my mouth shut.

Clearly, the man has no sense of self-preservation.

Thankfully, Yvonne’s not paying us any attention, instead she’s assessing the people in front of us. She turns back to her brother, snatches the cap off his head, plunks it onto her own, and loudly exclaims, “Oh my god, you’re Jake Cunningham!” That’s followed by another surreptitious look around to ensuring everyone heard her. Yep. No one was going to miss that.

Jake groans under his breath. “For fuck’s sake… Are we really doing this?”

“You might as well make yourself useful,” Yvonne mutters before raising her voice again. “Can I have your autograph? It’s not every day you run into an NFL player who’s wonmultipleSuper Bowls.”

“You’re fucking embarrassing,” Jake grits out, but manages a grin when a couple of blokes look our way.

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