Page 50 of Pucking Fake

Between games, practice, gym time, press commitments, time with his sister and nephew, and his brand endorsements, I honestly don't know how he juggles it. I was exhausted just reviewing his schedule.

Some days, he leaves at four in the morning and doesn't get home until well after midnight. I'm already rearranging as much as I can to make sure that isn't happening any more than is strictly necessary. He's a professional athlete. He needs rest or he's going to crash hard.

Endorsement meetings, the press, and everything that isn't strictly essential can wait until non-game days. Those are strictly off limits to anyone but family, the team, and game-related press commitments. So are travel days. He shouldn't be running straight from the airport to a meeting because some brand executive couldn't respect his time.

When I told him that, he grinned and told me that I'm sexy as fuck when I'm telling him how to live his life. And then he put me on his cock and told me how to live mine.

We're not allowed to work naked anymore. Or in bed. Honestly, we probably shouldn’t be allowed to work in the same general vicinity. I accomplished way more after he ran off to practice.

"Want to come to the game with me on Thursday?"

"Uh, obviously!" Serena cries.

I laugh quietly. "I'll call you to plan it if I don't see you before then."

"You won't see me. Yourfake boyfriendis going to keep you busy." She wiggles her brows at me.

We hug before parting ways.

Halfway to my car, someone shouts my name. Like an idiot, I turn…only to be blinded by a bright flash of light.

I lose my footing, stumbling into the guy walking next to me.

"Careful, sweetheart," he murmurs, grabbing me before I manage to knock us both to the ground.

"Thank you. I'm sorry." I blink up at him, trying to clear the spots from my eyes. It's hard to do when bright lights still flash. Gosh damn it. I knew our waitress was not going to be discreet!

"It's all good." The man grins down at me, his gray eyes flickering toward the photographer on the opposite side of the street. He looks oddly familiar. Not nearly as gorgeous as Logan, but definitely up there. "Uh, do you need me to walk you to your car or something?"

"No, thank you," I murmur, politely untangling myself from his arms.

"You sure? The prick over there looks kinda fucking relentless."

"I'm sure." I sigh, shooting a furtive glance in his direction. "Trust me, you walking me anywhere will only do more harm than good."

"If you say so." He shrugs before shooting me a wink and then strolling away.

"Peyton!" the cameraman across the street shouts at me. "How do you know Austin?"

Austin? Who the hell is Austin?

"Mr. Hawkes, does Logan Moreno know you're meeting up with his girlfriend behind his back?" the cameraman shouts, glancing at the guy who just kept me from falling on my ass.

I startle at the question, turning to gape at the man's retreating back. That's how I know him! He's on billboards all over the city. He's the frigging quarterback for the Washington Monuments.

"Great," I mutter, stomping toward my car as the paparazzi continue shouting questions at me. "Just great."

Why does the universe frigging hate me?

Logan isn't home when I get back to his place. I hop in the shower and then curl up on his bed before reluctantly pulling out my phone to see what the world is saying about the two of us.

I'm not entirely surprised to find that the photographer from outside the restaurant has already posted photos of Austin saving me from falling on my ass. But I'm mad as hell when I see the headline they chose to go along with said photos.

Like Father, Like Daughter?

I skim the article from Celebrity Teatime, my blood boiling. They're trying to make it sound like I was out meeting up with Austin. The photos show him with his arms around me. Austin is grinning at me. I'm staring up at him. Coupled with the headline, it looks bad. Really bad.

"Dammit!" I cry, tossing my phone across the room as tears well in my eyes. I fling myself backward and then curl up in a ball around Logan's pillow, taking deep breaths.

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