Page 49 of Playing for Keeps
I smirk. “Tell her you’re seeing someone, then. She’s not going to push it if she thinks you’ve already got a girlfriend.”
“She’s my publicist, Ivy,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “If I had a girlfriend, she’d definitely know.”
“Not if you’re keeping it low-key,” I say with a shrug. “Just tell her we’re seeing each other. It’s not like we’d have to put on a show. We’re in Hope Creek most of the time.”
His brows lift in surprise. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re already doing more than enough helping me with the charity dinner.”
“You’re not asking,” I reply. “I’m offering. I know I’m not your usual type, but if it’ll get her to back off…” My voice fades asthe weight of what I just said sinks in. It was a dumb suggestion. He dates cover models and actresses, women with publicists of their own. The idea that he’d pretend to date me is absurd. I wave it off quickly. “Forget it. It wouldn’t be believable anyway.”
“Why the hell not?”
His tone throws me. He almost sounds offended, and I glance up, startled to find him staring right at me.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the carton in my lap. “I mean… look at you. You’re a famous football player. People expect you to be with someone who lives in your world, someone glamorous who turns heads on the red carpet. I’m just… me. A real estate agent from a small town who’s scared of elevators.”
I let out a nervous laugh, but Wyatt’s expression softens. He sets his food aside and turns toward me.
“Ivy, you’re more real than anyone I’ve ever met. And the truth is, that world, the red carpets, the headlines, all of it, it’s not something I ever brought into. It’s a world I want to leave behind, so believe me, the small-town thing? That’s not a flaw for me. I love the football, but the noise that comes with it? I wouldn’t miss it. Not for a second.” He nudges his knee against mine. “If anyone’s out of their league here, it’s me.”
My face warms, and I duck my head with a quiet smile. “I don’t think that’s true, but… thank you.”
“It’s true, Ivy. Believe me,” he whispers.
Before I can respond, Wyatt’s phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out and groans.
“Cleo,” he mutters, holding it up. “Think she knows we’re talking about her?”
I laugh. “You should get it. She’ll just keep calling.”
He sighs. “Yeah, probably.” He answers. “Hey, Cleo. What’s up?”
I can’t hear her side, but Wyatt’s expression darkens almost immediately. He starts pacing, his jaw tight.
“No, Cleo. I’m not meeting anyone. I’ll be back in Hope Creek by then anyway. And I already said no. Reality TV isn’t the direction I want to take my career.” He runs a hand through his hair, the tension radiating off him in waves. “I don’t care,” he snaps. “It’s not happening.”
Before I can think it through, I set my food aside, stand up, and walk over to him. I hold out my hand.
“Give me the phone,”I mouth.
He shakes his head. “I’ve got this.”
“Sure you do,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
Without waiting for permission, I pluck the phone from his hand and bring it to my ear. “Hi, Cleo. It’s Ivy James. We met at the charity auction last weekend.”
There’s a pause, then, “I was speaking with Wyatt.”
“I know. Sorry to hijack the call,” I lie. “But there’s something you need to know.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” she asks, voice edged with boredom.
“Wyatt and I are together.”
“Together?” she cuts in, suddenly alert. “What do you mean,together?”
“Dating,” I say simply. “We’re a couple. Boyfriend, girlfriend. Sharing a bed. However you want to phrase it.”
I glance at Wyatt, his eyes wide, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. I hope that smile means he’s okay with this.
