Page 48 of False Start

And before you ask, no need to search through Fashion Week and Victoria’s Secret to find his mystery woman. She’s a townie. So, ladies, you’ve got a chance!

I winced at the last line.

“She tagged our account.” I tapped the profile icon on the bottom right corner. “How many followers did we have yesterday?”

“Thirty. Mostly the other cars and the judges.”

11,000 followers. And counting. I grimaced.

“Well, we’re definitely not winning now.” I gave Trent a small smile. He didn’t return the gesture.

“They can’t disqualify us for having a big following,” he grumbled.

“You don’t actually know that.” I pointed out. “It’s their rally. I don’t think there’s a governing body besides what Ashley and Tom want.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “Okay, I don’t, but we’re still gunning for a win. Poppy can fuck off.”

I handed his phone back and turned the car back on, shaking out my hands before pulling onto the road. “And she clearly doesn’t remember me, so good news there.”

Honestly, there were worse things than being labeled a mystery brunette. The back-handed jab about knowing I wasn’t a model didn’t feel great, and referring to me as a townie sucked, but all things considered, all was innocuous.

“She shouldn’t have pulled you into this. I’ll call my agent at the next stop and ask her to pull that post.” He raked a hand through his hair, eyes floating out the passenger window.

I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll have Derek call her. It’ll give him something to do.”

Gravel crunched under the tires as I pulled back onto the road. Trent restarted the Beef and Dairy podcast, but his bodylanguage stayed closed, shoulders hunched and a frown on his face.

“You don’t seem like you’re over it,” I prodded. “Do I need to block Breaking the Breakers from your phone? Because I can probably figure out how to do that.”

He slouched in his seat. “I just…I don’t know, I hate that even when I’m not doing anything, they can’t leave me alone. She’s just waiting for me to fuck up. They all are.”

“But you’re not going to.”

“You don’t know that.” Trent’s words held an edge of venom.

His breath came heavy. I gave him a beat, watching the road impassively until his shoulders fell.

“I do know that, actually.” I said the words softly, firmly. “Because you’re my partner, and we’re in this together. You wouldn’t let me down.”

“You don’t actually know me very well.”

I grinned. “True, but I know enough about you to know that she doesn’t know you at all. Charming? Sure.”

He shook his head, a hint of a grin building on his face.

“Besides, what she says about you doesn’t matter.”

“A lot of people think that site means something. Fans, locals, hell, even my coach occasionally.”

“If your coach believes a dumb gossip blog over you, find a new team. Fuck that guy.”

Trent startled. “Fuck him?”

“Fuck him. And her, for that matter. She’s not that great. You’re Trent Fucking Vogt.”

He smiled. “I am Trent Fucking Vogt.”

“And maybe you screwed up this past season,” I shrugged. “Who cares? You’re still the best wide receiver in the NFL.”

---