Fake Fiancée(63)

Someone nudged me in the back, and I turned around. Felix. He whipped his helmet off and held it with a tight grip. “Were you serious about the police?” His eyes darted around the stadium.

“Hell yeah.” I slapped him on the back. “Can’t go to the NFL if you’re in jail, asshole.”

Hardness grew in his gaze, and I could tell he was getting ready to mouth off.

Fuck that. I ignored him and turned away.

This was my team. My moment.

Someone shoved me from behind, causing me to stumble into a lady reporter who was busy getting her mic out. Mortified, I quickly regained my balance and apologized. Once I made sure she was okay, I flipped around, expecting to see some random person. It was Felix. Again. He curled his lip as people milled around us.

I just stared at him. He’d always been the instigator in our run-ins, yet infuriatingly cool when I’d been the one to react.

But now, he was the livid one, his taut stance practically begging me to come at him.

I wasn’t stupid.

I read that asshole like a weak defensive line.

He was itching for me to hit him. He wanted me to fuck up. This was his last opportunity to ruin my chances at a Heisman.

I smiled at him. Who knew that keeping my cool would feel so fucking good?

Fast as ever and always looking out for me, Tate popped up next to me. He looked from me to Felix, taking in his clenched fists and red face. He took him by the arm and forcefully directed him to the sidelines. I watched as they disappeared slowly.

I refocused and met the bewildered eyes of the reporter who had obviously not seen anything since he’d been hidden behind me. Thank God. I didn’t need any media drama. “Sorry about that. I can throw a ball but apparently I have two left feet.”

She blushed and laughed, saying something about too many people and how she was glad to catch my fall. She waved her camera guy over and once he set up, she put her mic in my face. “What are your plans after the big win tonight?”

Clarity drifted in, and fuck, did it feel good.

Sunny. I needed her.

I couldn’t exist without her in my world.

I smiled at the reporter, a genuine one, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “I’m going to kiss my girl.”

I just had to find her first.





Max

“IT’S ON TV AGAIN,” TATE called from the den. I jogged out from the bedroom and came to a halt in front of the blaring television.

It was Tuesday, and I was still riding high from our win. The only thing missing was Sunny. As soon as the game ended, I’d grabbed my phone and found the reply she’d sent me. Her dad was dying, and she and Mimi had headed there so she could say goodbye. I worried for her, missing her like hell and wanting to tell her everything going on with me, but I was waiting—albeit a bit impatiently—until I saw her.

“Check it,” Tate called, pointing at the TV.

A Sports Center Special Report was on, showing the last play of Saturday’s game. The head anchor, a burly fellow who’d played college football for Tennessee, spoke to the camera. “And later tonight at six, we’ll be live at the Downtown Athletic Club in New York for the Heisman Finalist announcement.” A picture of me came on the screen. I swallowed.

He continued, “Max Kent has been the front-runner most of the season, but he and the Tigers stumbled mid-season. He finished strong in the win against Taylor University, and I’m sure he’s on the edge of seat wondering if he made the cut.” The reporter sent a knowing look to his co-anchor.

“That’s right,” another sportscaster chimed in. “Plus, it looks like he might be headed to a national championship after the win against Taylor. Saturday was his best game of the season . . .” the voice drifted off, going into details about other games over the weekend.

Tate went to the kitchen and came back with beers, handing me one as he sent me a cocky grin. “Here’s to tonight and the end of an era. No matter what happens, I couldn’t have picked a better person to have this run with.”

“Cheers, my friend, and ditto that.” We clinked bottles, and I took a swig.

I leaned against the doorjamb, my eyes going to Sunny’s house across the street. When I’d called her this morning, she’d been rather curt, busy with packing so they could leave as soon as the funeral was over. I was thankful Mimi had gone with her. We’d talked everyday she’d been gone, but she’d been off. Her dad had died on Sunday, and she was busy, handling the funeral and visiting with distant relatives.

She also said she had something to tell me, but she wanted to do it in person. I already knew what it was, but for the life of me, I couldn’t ask her about it.

I went to my room and pulled the blue and pink packaging from my nightstand drawer and stared down at it. It was wrinkled and dented from the nights I’d cradled it in my hands. I’d been wrestling with what it meant since I’d found it in her house on Sunday after the game. She’d called and asked me to use the key she’d given me after the daisy incident to double check her lights and locks because she’d left in such a hurry.

She’d left the light on in the bathroom, and I found the empty box—with no test strip. Of course, she’d probably taken it with her.

I came out of the bedroom and headed to the kitchen to eat some of the catered food my dad had sent over. Our countertops and kitchen table were covered in sandwiches, fancy deli meats, dips, chips, and a plethora of other snacks. Two kegs were outside by the fire pit, also courtesy of my dad, just waiting for guests to show up later when we had our party that Tate insisted on.