Page 3 of Fumbled Into Love

A wildly embarrassing whimper tumbles from my lips, but to withhold my pretzels…that’s… downright cruel. Few things bring me such joy in life. Puzzles. Football. When Brian rides the bench when we play Atlanta. Those pretzels.

But to take them away…the sudden weight of my confession strikes me. Why thefuckdid I tell the media I have a girlfriend?

Oh, God, this is so, so bad.

Shit!

I drag a palm over my face, trying to calm my heartbeat, when two large hands bracket my shoulders and spin me around.

My phone dings incessantly in the background.

“You’re dating someone?” Jack asks, Declan and Henry standing beside him. “Maren is blowing up my phone with questions.” He glances down to read his messages from his wife. “You should probably text her. She’s hurt that you didn’t tell her you were dating someone.”

My stomach roils.

Now, I’m panickedandguilty. What a great combination.

“I have a better question. You were engaged?!” Declan asks, blue eyes wide with shock.

I pause. Which answer hurts less to admit? How I lied to the press, or that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with someone but ended up with my heart in smithereens when I found her in bed with one of my teammates?

I shrug, deciding to answer neither and drop my shoulder to sneak out the door. Jack shifts to the left, blocking my path, and raises a single eyebrow. God, that's intimidating. Maren must have taught him that one.

“Well…” I shift on my toes, eyes darting to the exit when Declan and Henry stand on either side of Jack. It's an impressive wall of muscle, but I am a cornered animal, so I like my chances. “I’m notnotdating someone.”

Declan puts it all together first. His laughter starts as a soft chuckle, growing more boisterous as he realizes how stupid I am. He’s bent in half, heaving air into his lungs.

“It’s not funny,” I grit out.

“H-He lied,” Declan chokes out between breaths, “This is great. What are you going to do when they want to know who you’re dating?” He glances at my bag, which chimes like a church bell. “There are probably half a dozen articles already.”

I scowl at Declan but he waves a hand. My ability to intimidate him took a hit when we were forced to share a room.

“This is a call for the Seattle Super Spies,” Jack says with a smile that instills fear into my heart.

Not this again. Since Henry and Declan were drafted two years ago and Henry needed love advice to win the heart of his best friend—and now wife—Sawyer, Jack has been calling our little friend group the ‘Seattle Super Spies’.

The name is stupid. They love it. I’m not opposed to giving each other advice, but I am opposed to the dumb name and the requirement we eat at Donna’s Diner, a 1950s-themed diner where the waitresses and other patrons stare at me.

“Diner?” Henry asks, a pep in his step as he throws his practice gear into a bag.

“I could go for pancakes,” Declan adds.

They all wait with expectant looks. “Fine.”

As we pack up, Krista, the events coordinator, saunters into the locker room. She meets my gaze and changes her course in my direction. My shoulders stiffen.

“Deon, you only RSVP’d for one person for the auction. Is that still correct?”

My brows furrow. Henry clocks my look.

“She’s asking if you’re bringing your…girlfriend to the event.”

“Oh.” Shit. Ten minutes ago I didn’t even have a girlfriend. Now, I have an imaginary one and I have to take her to an auction to raise money for cancer research. Just when I thought this shit show couldn’t get any worse. “Uh…I’ll have to ask if she’s free.”

“All the other wives and girlfriends are going,” Krista says, “but I need to know by the end of October to finalize the guest list.”

I’m supposed to find someone in three weeks?!

---