Blindsided: A Sports Romance (9 page)

I wish he’d get to the point.

“You may have seen the Gazette today?” He rummages in his briefcase and pulls out a wrinkled copy of the paper I’d seen this morning, right at the moment my life got torn apart. I had forgotten about it, funnily enough. Looking at the picture now, it makes my stomach churn. Like a rotten cherry on the shit-flavored cupcake that is today.

“I saw it,” I say tightly.

He sits back and looks at me.
Really
looks at me. “Rose,” he says, clasping his hands together. “I’ve been tasked with making this right. I’m sure you can imagine how bad this looks to his fans.”

I shrug. Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even know the guy was a football player. I know nothing about his fans. Or him.

Jackson smiles widely. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re not into sports. Well, let me put it this way. Your boy Sam? I’m willing to bet money that he knows who Jake Thorne is. Not only that, but he’s probably got Jake’s poster on his wall.”

I shake my head. But it’s a hollow victory—he might have put a poster up there, for all I know—we’re not allowed to tack things to the walls so they’re bare apart from framed pictures on hooks that were already here when we moved in.

“I don’t know. He goes to games with his friend Kevin.”

“Trust me.”

I shake my head and laugh. “Jackson, what’s this about? You didn’t come here to talk about my son’s favorite football players.”

“No, Rose, I didn’t. Okay. So you know I work in PR, right? Part of my job is making bad stories go away. Like this one.”

I frown at the newspaper, wishing he’d turn it over. I don’t want to look at Jake’s face anymore, yet I’m struggling to look away.

“It’s in the newspapers. How are you going to make that go away unless you turn back time?”

Like I wish I could.

He smiles his wolfish smile again. “Oh, we can’t undo what’s done. But we can… paper over it with a story we like better.” He swipes his hand through the air. “We clean up his image.”

I’m beginning to think he’s never going to get to the point when he comes right out with it.

“Jake Thorne is getting married. And you’re going to be his wife.”

“Excuse me?” I almost fall off my stool.

He rolls his eyes. “I know it sounds very dramatic, but it’s perfect.”

I run my fingers through my hair. “Are you kidding me? What are you talking about, Jackson?”

He taps his fingers on pants that I’m certain cost more than the monthly rent on my soon-to-be-vacant apartment. “Look, Rose. My initial thought was to marry him off to some aspiring model who wants the fame too. That didn’t go down so well with him, but what choice does he have? But there was something off about that. You know the type? Hot, tiny waist. Gravity-defying tits and an ass to match.”

I wince. The way he’s talking makes my skin crawl.

“Anyway.” He waves his hand. “The point is, the plan didn’t seem perfect. And then you called. And I remembered something from earlier. Jake saw me and the first thing he said was your name. I saw you chatting last night and he’s obviously pretty enamored if you were the first thing he thought of when he saw me.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That doesn’t sound like a reason for me to marry him.”

“Think about it, Rose,” he says excitedly. “You’re perfect. Single mom. Down on her luck. You’re far more relatable than some Barbie doll. Women are going to look at the two of you and think ‘well, if she can have him, so can I’.”

I grimace. “If PR doesn’t work out for you, you should look into being a mean girl. You’d be perfect.”

He grins like I’ve just paid him a compliment. “Rose, it’s perfect. People will love you two together. And he’s more likely to agree to it if it’s you. There’s something between you. I can tell.”

I don’t tell him that what’s between me and Jake is a lot of water under the bridge. “Why do you think I’d do this? Why should I care about his reputation? He’s some rich-ass football player. We have nothing in common.”

Jackson’s eyes glisten. “How does two million dollars sound?”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

“You heard me, Rose. Two million dollars. In return, you carry on a relationship in public with Jake Thorne. You only speak to the press when we ask you to and you never deviate from the message we agree on.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” I gasp.

I’m lucky to come out with twenty thousand dollars a year. Let alone two million for six months.

“Come on, Rose. It’s not even like you need to sleep with him. All you gotta do is move into a big fuckoff mansion—that we pay for by the way. That the team pays for. There’ll be plenty of room for you to lead completely separate lives. You just have to play at happy families for the camera—you and Jake. And Sam.”

The sound of my son’s name jolts me back to reality. “Sam,” I echo. “How can I do something like that to Sam?”

Jackson shrugs as if my concern is crazy. “He’s a kid. He’ll love it.”

“No, Jackson,” I say, doubling over. For one crazy moment, the plan sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime. Now I see things more clearly. I can’t just play with Sam’s feelings like that. “You don’t get it. I don’t keep the truth from my son. I’m not going to lie to him about this. It’s not fair.”

Jackson shrugs it off like it’s nothing.

“I mean it, Jackson. I’m not going to mess with his head like that.”

“So? Tell him the truth? I’m sure the team won’t care if your kid knows. You can take him out of school so he doesn’t blab or—”

“I’m not taking my boy out of school,” I hiss. “What, are you crazy? He’d never catch up. He’d…” He’d end up like me, is what I was about to say.

Jackson thinks about this, head tilted to one side. “How old is he?”

“Eight.”

He makes a face. “So can he keep a secret?” He looks skeptical.

I might be too—if we were talking about any other kid. But not Sam. “Yes, he can,” I say with absolute certainty. “But I can’t ask that of him.”

Jackson’s eyebrows quirk. “Not for two million dollars? Think of the college you could send him to for that much money.”

I stare at him. It’s like the devil has just offered me a deal.

And the worst thing? I know I’d be a fool not to take it.

I’m almost spitting with rage and frustration as we pull up to a huge house. I don’t care how fancy it looks—I’m not blinded by it.

I thought it was all going to be okay. I’d go to the hotel and pull Rose aside and explain everything. I’d make her see reason. And I’d beg her to consider dating me in six months’ time when all of this is over. I wouldn’t ask her to wait, but I’d promise her none of it was real.

It didn’t work that way. I called downstairs as soon as I got back to my room. The concierge gave me his usual bullshit about being there to cater to my every need. And then he delivered the blow.

She was gone.

Didn’t work there anymore.

I didn’t believe him, so I checked for myself. I must have made twenty trips to and from the store on the corner. I have several bags of candy bars and potato chips back at the hotel. All so I could get a glimpse of her. It didn’t work.

Charlie smiles back at me and I reach for the door handle with a sigh. Instead of going to Rose, I’m going to meet the woman who’s going to be my wife.

I glance at my phone. Thankfully Darla has had the good sense to get off my back, so there’s one positive out of all this.

“Ready?” Coach asks.

“I’d rather put my dick in a blender.” We all wince. I wouldn’t; of course I wouldn’t. But it gets my point across.

“Cool it, hotshot,” he grumbles. “I’ve gotta go home to Eleanor. She’s gonna have my balls one of these days. You get to play house with whatever penthouse pet Jackson Carter has found for you.”

A surge of adrenaline rushes through me. This is my life. Since when have I let myself get pushed around like this? Nobody gets to tell me where I live and who I live with. I don’t want some self-obsessed model. I want a real woman who I can talk to and laugh with.

“Fuck this,” I say, closing the door again.

“Jake.” Coach’s voice is a warning. “You know what’s gonna happen if you don’t go through with this.”

I hang my head.

They weren’t exaggerating the effect on the team’s rep. Or mine. When I left the facility that evening, there was a bunch of reporters and photographers wanting to interview the party boy. They were waiting outside my hotel the next morning too.

But that doesn’t matter to me. I can handle a couple of reporters.

I stare down at my ring-free hands. What I can’t handle is letting my father’s dream die because I’m too selfish to make a sacrifice. I’d never forgive myself if I did that. And what’s six months anyway? I can lock myself away and spend the time watching games and memorizing the playbook. I’ve never been good at that. I’ll smile and make nice for the cameras.

She’s gone. Throwing my career away won’t bring her back. I just hope she sees through the lies in the papers and knows my heart’s not in this marriage.

***

“Where is she?” I growl, sitting back against the couch and immediately thinking better of it.

This place is like a movie set. It’s all uncomfortable, expensive-looking furniture and stupid paintings that don’t look like anything in particular.

“And when can I get the decorators in?”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “We’ve spent enough on this little production as it is. You can make do with how it is.”

“Where the fuck is she?”

Coach and Charlie have insisted on being here when we’re introduced. All I want to do is go stretch down and get an early night in before practice tomorrow. I’m eager to show Coach that I
do
have what it takes to be the best.

Charlie shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s getting her hair done or something.”

I shiver and stare at my hands again. Six months is nothing. It’ll fly by, I tell myself. I’ll work hard to win Coach’s approval. I’m going to win that Championship ring.

***

Several minutes have passed. We’ve run out of things to talk about—it’s not hard seeing as they’re as pissed at me as I am at them. Now, even Charlie is getting restless.

“What the fuck, is she getting her implants replaced or something?”

Coach shrugs. “Hell if I know. I’ll call Jackson. See what’s going on.”

Just as he’s reaching into his pocket for his phone, the door opens slowly. I stare in horror. All I can think is
please let her have some small trace of personality to help me get through the next six months
.

I see jeans and chucks. Not what I was expecting. I stare up into her face. And my jaw falls open. What the hell?

“Hello, Jake,” she says with a small smile.

“Rose,” I splutter. “What are you doing here?”

She turns around and looks outside the door. “It’s okay, sweetie. Come on.”

For a moment I think she’s talking to me. I’m beginning to believe that everything might just be okay between us. But then I realize she’s actually speaking to somebody out in the hallway.

And then he walks in.

I look from him to her and back. The resemblance is surreal. He has her eyes. Her expressions—they’re standing before me with the same stubborn set to their jaws, mirroring each other with their arms crossed across their chests.

“I didn’t know you had a son,” I say faintly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she says briskly. “Sam, this is Jake. He’s—”

“Mom, I know who he is,” he interrupts, staring at me as if he’s not sure whether he’s dreaming. “Is this for real?”

A small smile flashes across her face. She hides it well, but I see it. “Sweetie, this is the guy we’re going to be acting alongside. We’re playing a part; pretending to be a family.”

I stare at her face and a memory clicks into place. Her anger when she found out I wasn’t a hotel inspector.

“So it’s okay to hold back the truth, but lying is forgivable?”

She shudders and I immediately regret saying anything.

“I don’t want to be here,” she says coolly. “But I don’t have any other choice.”