Page 4 of After the Snap

We discuss a timeline for giving my statement and setting up a press conference. After we have a pretty solid game plan, she turns back to her notes and then back to me with a fire in her eyes that makes whatever relief I had slowly drain away.

“We need to change your public image.”

“Isn’t that what the statement’s for?” I ask.

“That’s a start for this specific incident, but you’ve had quite a few scandals over the last year. Trey says there’s concern you might get traded because the Wolves don’t want the embarrassment you bring to the team, no matter how good you are on the field.”

My stomach clenches and I snap my gaze to Trey. He winces and then nods, confirming my worst fears. There’d been rumblings, and Coach Denton and Coach Fairbright have talked to me more than once, but I guess I thought as long as I kept playing well, there was no way they’d trade me. I’m one of the core members of the Fierce Four—the four key players in our defensive line that have become famous in the league for our skills. We’re crushing it this year, and there’s a good chance we’ll make it to the Super Bowl if we keep it up. Would they still trade me if I’m a critical component of that success?

The look on Trey’s face says it’s possible, and that does nothing to ease my doubts.

“I’ve got some ideas I’d like to run by you on how we can change your image. If we start right away with some of the changes and ease into my big idea then everyone will assume this scandal was the catalyst for your change. We can spin it all in our favor and get you from wild party boy to something more wholesome and lovable.”

Shawna’s too excited about this idea, which makes me skeptical that I’m going to like anything about it, but if it’ll save my career and my spot on the Wolves, I have to try.

“Okay, what’ve you got?”

“For starters, no more wild parties. That’s going to be the quickest way to clean up your image. Maybe join some of your teammates at their next charitable function. We don’t want to go too far into the charitable acts yet because that’ll look fake from a mile away. But if it looks like you’re there to support your friends and then you start getting into your own charity events, it’ll be seamless.”

“Alright. I don’t have a problem with any of that.” I can admit the partying was getting out of control, and it’s probably a good idea to lie low and take a break for a while.

“Is that it?”

“Not quite,” she says. “You need an image overhaul when it comes to your relationships with women, so I propose that you commit to a semi-long-term relationship. I’ve got a list of potential women who would also benefit from the match, and NDAs are ready for any of them. I’ve had our lawyers write up a contract laying out all the expectations—public dates, some mild PDA, social media posts, things like that—and what each candidate would get out of the relationship-”

“Wait a second,” I interrupt her. “You want me to get into a fake relationship?”

She smiles like I’ve said something funny. “Well, I don’t expect you to have a woman already, not with the way you go through women as it is. So, I’ve preselected some options—”

“No.” I cut her off again. Not because I hate the idea of a relationship, but because I refuse to put on a show with someone I don’t know. Someone I don’t trust.

“I have someone.”

The words are out of my mouth before my brain even has a chance to catch up, but I don’t take them back and I sure as fuck don’t regret them. Because I do have someone. Someone I trust with my life, my secrets, my career. The only someone I’d ever do something this insane with.

Shawna’s eyebrows practically shoot up to her hairline. “You do?”

“Yeah,” I say, more confident with each second that the idea settles.

“And she’ll go along with this?”

Now, that’s the question. “She will,” I say, even as uncertainty slithers inside me.

She has to. There’s no way I can do this without her.

Three

My phone rings for the hundredth time, and I let out a frustrated groan before silencing it, throwing it in my desk drawer and then slamming it closed. My coworker Tessa walks into my office right as it vibrates again, and I scowl at the closed desk drawer.

“Boy problems?”

I point my scowl at her instead. “Why would you say that?”

She points at my face. “Because I know that look. I used to see it in the mirror all the time before Mike and I got married. It shouts boy trouble.” She takes a seat in one of the two chairs on the other side of my desk. “I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not.”

She smiles and picks at a nonexistent piece of lint on her immaculately ironed pants. “Ah, so it’s Dom then?”

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