Page 13 of Not Just a Trick Play

“Not your kind of publicity.”

That shuts me up quick and I squirm under her piercing gaze. It’s like she has a line into my soul and can suck my spirit out at whim. A dementor.

“If there’s a lawsuit, this is this is going to stay in the news,” I say slowly.

“Most likely.”

“Maybe we should hold off on legal action. Won’t this blow over?” I ask in a mumble. My head aches.

Jessica leans back in her seat. “Possibly. Possibly not. Either way, I don’t like leaving things to chance. We’re suing.”

“Is there no other way?” Desperation creeps into my plea. “Jess, please. Do what you want to me, but let’s not risk hurting Nurture NYC further.”

She examines me, her gaze softening for the first time since I showed up.

Finally, she exhales. “Okay, we’ll scale back to cease-and-desists for the moment, see if the board reconsiders. We can highlight all the other positive work the team does. In the meantime, you,” she pauses, locking on me, “need to keep a low profile. Less time in the limelight, fewer press conferences, and we’ll minimize your appearances in promotions. Right now, the only press we want is good press. If we go down this road, I need you on your absolute best behavior.”

“You got it,” I promise, my jaw set.

“The woman Dan said freed you—do we have to worry about a story coming out of her?”

My heartbeat kicks up. Aloud, I respond, “No.” But I’m mentally crossing my fingers I’m right. Fuck. Maybe I should have gotten Amelia’s number?

No, it’s better I didn’t. It’ll be fine. She won’t be a problem. She had no idea who I was. Plus, she’s new to the city, and I’m not arrogant enough to believe every person in town knows me, even though I tend to be surrounded by people who do—birds of a feather are the same kind of bird and shit.

Jessica narrows her gaze at me. “If you say so. In the meantime, I’ll issue a statement claiming you were brought there under false pretenses and did not consent to the photograph.” She leans in, her voice firm, “Don’t speak to anyone about the details. We want to put a lid on this fast.”

“I won’t say a word.”

Clearly not impressed, she glances down at her watch. I’ve been dismissed.

The momentI stride into the locker room, all chatter grinds to a screeching halt, as if I’ve interrupted some top-secret meeting.

“What’s going on?” I glance around, though I suspect I already know. A few stifled snickers fill the air.

And then I see it. A gigantic photo on the whiteboard where the coaches scratch out plays, captured for posterity under the harsh fluorescent light and anchored in place with Titans magnets. Someone found a Teddy-The-Titan plush toy, and it’s strapped to the image with a belt. Blown up, I resemble a startled owlet, eyes wide, mouth slack in surprise.

Hmmm. At least I wasn’t drooling. Small mercies.

“Auditioning forSurvivor: Kinky Island, huh?” Logan Barnes, team quarterback, says. Then the whole place erupts into cackles and hoots.

“You’d win hands down. Or is it up?” My other so-called friend, Connor Hall, piles on.

“Big talk about being aSurvivorsuper-fan, Jake. And yet, you couldn’t even hack the first challenge.” Milo calls.

“The tribe has spoken. You’re out.”

The laughing continues. If they’d put as much energy into practice, we’d win every goddamned Super Bowl.

I roll my eyes. “I know, I know, you’re all in awe of my stunning good looks.” Oh, the joys of daily life with assholes and wannabe comedians.

Armaan Diego, our longtime linebacker, leans against the metal doors, making them groan under the weight of his muscled bulk. He glances at the picture again, then peers at me. “You know, with a little golden bikini and dumplings in your hair?—”

“Whatever you say, Jabba.” I pat his big belly as I walk past him on the way to my locker.

“Fuck, man, don’t ruin Star Wars for me,” Milo cuts in, shielding his ears with his hands. “Though I kinda think he looks like an Ewok now.”

“Good thing we love our Teddy!” Connor calls.

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