Page 33 of Bound and Blitzed

“You will,” I promise.

“Can’t believe we’re flying to fucking Detroit on Sunday,” Talon Miller mutters. He points at me. “Congrats on your marriage. I respect your decision not to have a wedding. It’s a waste of fucking money.”

“Don’t let Leni hear you say that,” West says.

“Or Coach,” Jag Baglione points out, grinning. Talon is head over heels for Coach’s daughter, Leni Strauss, and will most likely end up having the most elaborate wedding on the team.

“I’m just saying.” He holds up his palms defensively.

“Anyway, best wishes, man,” West says sincerely.

“Thank you.” I dip my head in acknowledgement. “Now, enough about my marital bliss, we have some tough games coming up. Let’s meet with Coach.”

The guys grunt in agreement and as a few other guys on the team arrive, we make our way down the hallway to meet Coach.

Coach Strauss lifts an eyebrow when he sees me. “Marriage, huh?”

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Coach,” I reply, realizing that to some extent, it’s the truth.

“Yeah, well, see that you keep it that way,” he mutters. “Congratulations, Avery. I hope you and Valentina will be very happy together.” He holds out his hand and I take it.

“Thank you, Coach.” I grip Coach’s hand for an extra moment.

“You meet the in-laws yet?” he asks.

“Nope.” I shake my head.

Coach snickers. “Get ready. Because Rueben Garcia…” He lets loose a low whistle and tilts his chin toward the screen. “It’s gonna make these reels look like fucking child’s play.”

“Great,” I mutter, settling into a chair.

As Coach queues up the tape, I blow out a breath.

I’m a married man now. Things are supposed to settle down and feel easier, as if I’m sharing burdens with a partner.

But Valentina and I aren’t a true couple. We’re fucking frauds, posing and posturing. At least Lena is in this for a real reason—her career. Her future.

I’m doing this because of some fucked-up need to prove that I’m a good man who is capable of good things. Why doesn’t it feel that way?

Instead of feeling absolved, I feel guilty.

The fact that I’d claim a sweet, innocent woman as mine without the intention of a lifelong commitment refutes the desperate desire to do the right thing.

Her father is going to see straight through me. And I can’t blame the man for calling it like he sees it.

I can’t blame anyone when I’m the person making a mockery of the institution of marriage.

Me. I’m the guilty one. And soon, everyone will fucking know it.

Shaking my head, I focus on the game tape. The only thing in my control right now is how our team performs on and off the field for the remainer of the season. If we want in on the playoffs, if we want a crack at the Super Bowl, it’s going to come down to these next few weeks.

And I need to be focused. Tuned in and clearheaded.

I can’t be distracted or twisted up over a woman, even if that woman is my wife.

But it was just an arrangement. An opportunity to do the right thing and help someone else in the process. Valentina married me for her visa. She’s not expecting anything else from me.

Women like her never will.

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