Page 8 of Relationship Goals

What can I say? Maybe I do love getting a reaction. I am an actor, after all.

Chapter Two

Luke

“You read upon the team,” I say gruffly.

“I didn’t have to read up on the team to know who you are,” she responds slowly.

Dammit.

Abigail Hunt already knows who I am. She knows I’m a total asshole, and I don’t quite know how I’m going to convince anyone otherwise. I agreed to what the owners put me up to, starting with this goddamned tour, for the exact reason she just said.

To avoid being suspended from the team. I’d gotten one too many cards last season, mouthed off to one too many refs, gotten a reputation for being a fucking diva with the coaches. Being the bad boy of soccer hasn’t earned me many fans inside the organization.

My molars grind, and I stare at her mismatched eyes, trying to figure out what to say to her.

I could tell her none of it’s true. I could tell her it’s all true.

The thing is, the truth is somewhere in the middle. Gray, like truth usually is.

I’m not a diva. I just don’t put up with shit from people. I say it like it is.

People don’t like that.

More than anything, though, I want to finally get fucking tradedto Seattle, where I can be close to my family. The owners know all too well how badly I want to get back home, to be close to my sick mom, and they’re gleeful at finally having something to hold over my head. They forced my hand.

Said they’d take me off the protected roster of players and approve the trade to Seattle, as long as I did something for them.

Pretend to be herboyfriend. Sell our fake romance to the press, to the paparazzi, and watch ticket sales to our games soar.

Fuck them.

Charles and John seem to think that Abigail Hunt is the answer to all their prayers. Apparently, me—the bad boy of soccer—dating her, the wholesome girl next door turned actress with her own built-in fan base, will translate to massive crowd turnout.

Everyone loves a tabloid romance, they said, dollar signs in their eyes. Fucking owners.

“You underestimated me.” She interrupts my thoughts, tilting her head and giving me the same grin that was plastered all over every conceivable surface in town just a few years ago. There’s no mermaid tail in sight, but it’s unmistakable. I haven’t seen it much since, though I can’t remember what happened to whatever show she was on.

Too bad.

It’s a good smile.

I grunt, unwilling to let her know it has any effect on me whatsoever.

“Don’t act like it’s the first time,” I say, turning around.

She laughs again, and the sound is surprisingly genuine and completely out of place in the back halls of this fucking football club.

“All right, Abigail—”

“Yes, oh big bad Wolfe?” she asks in that same singsong voice, and I bite back a surprised laugh of my own.

No one fucking talks to me like that.

“You’re stuck with me for your grand tour. I’m a shitty tour guide,so I’ll make it quick.” I stick my hands in my pockets, then immediately take them out. “Ask questions—I probably won’t answer them.”

“Wow. I have to say, I love the honesty.”

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