Out of Bounds(27)

I gulp.

“Come in,” I say, glad he can’t read my mind.

He claps his hands together. “Hey Dani.”

“Hey Stuart.”

I wait for him to go next. I point to the chair across from my desk, and he plops down in it. “About last night . . .”

I sit up straighter, nerves tightening. “The children’s hospital event?”

He nods and points. “Bingo.”

“What about it?” I ask carefully, worry thrumming through me. Did he overhear the things Drew said to me at whack-a-mole? In that instant, a cold fear seeps into my bones. Just because I was about to march into his office for a heart-to-heart doesn’t mean he’ll embrace my wishes with open arms. Not at all. In fact, chances are I’ve miscalculated.

Badly.

All my clarity from earlier slinks out the door, and I’m left with only hard cold facts. I need this job. I take care of my sister. I take care of myself. I can’t risk this.

“You and number fourteen,” Stuart says.

A weight lodges in my chest as his meaning becomes crystal clear. So much for my plan to take the temperature on a possible out-in-the-open relationship. Best to reel in that bad little idea, and act like nothing has happened.

Stuart clears his throat. “Did I pick up on a vibe?”

I frown, doing my best to appear thoroughly confused. “What vibe do you mean?”

He holds out his phone and slides his thumb across the screen. The weight sinks down into my gut. Oh shit. Oh hell. Pictures. Someone has pictures of us. That’s how players get busted. Cell phones are the devil.

My body is a high-tension line. Every muscle tightens with the fear that I’m getting the boot. That I’m raining scandal down on the team. Even though the reasonable side of me asks, for what? But the reasonable side of me is parked in the backseat. Defensive Dani, who can dart and dodge, is driving the car now. Doesn’t matter that I was hoping to ask for permission. Now it’s time to play cover-up and save our asses.

Stuart turns the screen in my direction and shows me a photo from last night. It’s on some sports news and gossip site. The shot is Drew and me by whack-a-mole. There’s nothing inappropriate in it.

“Cute pic,” he says, then swipes the screen again and displays another. “Just like this one the reporter found.”

He shows me a picture I’ve seen before—the one taken at the first event at the hotel. It’s a shot of us by the banner for the charity.

“And that gave you a vibe?” I ask keeping my tone even, revealing nothing.

Stuart scratches his head. “A little. But then I came across this shot.” He hands me the phone once more, and I jerk my head back. The picture shows the four of us leaving Heaven Can Wait. It looks like it was taken from a distance. I have no clue where that came from. I didn’t think Drew was at the level of paparazzi stalking him.

“Where’s that from?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.

“Flipper’s Taco Truck posted it. Owner said he met Drew earlier that night. That Drew enjoyed a couple fish tacos, then movies with friends.”

The corner of my mouth dares to curve up as I remember the movie, and how we held hands in a popcorn bucket. I lower my face while the memory washes over me, bringing a rush of warmth across my skin. Looking up, I school my expression, putting the poker face on once more. “We ran into each other. I was with my sister, and he was with his friend, so we all saw the movie together,” I explain, feeling like I’ve been called into the principal’s office even though Stuart’s not my boss. But he is in charge of the team’s image, and that’s what’s at stake.

“You two just seemed . . .” He pauses, weighing his words. “Forgive me for playing matchmaker, but you seemed like you liked each other.”

I swallow, saying nothing.

He shrugs and flubs his lips. “Guess I was wrong. And that’s completely fine. Part of me was hoping I was right, though.”

His words don’t compute. For a moment, I’m sure I’ve misheard him. He can’t have said what I think he said. “Excuse me?”

“Gotta say, Dani, you two seemed like a happy couple. Like there was something brewing. Personally, I was happy about the possibility because I like you, and, selfishly, I like the idea of this happy couple on the team.”

I tilt my head to the side, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. And to make sure he’s not suggesting some sort of publicity stunt. Carefully, keeping my tone neutral, I ask, “What do you mean, Stuart?”

“Just that . . . well, let me be blunt.” He clasps his hands together. “With all the shit some of the bad seeds put us through last year, this potential love affair was looking to be a bright spot—the quarterback playing Skee-Ball with kids, and then with the woman he likes at a charity function,” he says, leaning back in his chair and chuckling, like this is the most amusing thing ever. “While I’d never ask you to date him for the press or pretend to be in a relationship, I was, admittedly, hoping you actually were.”

My jaw drops. It falls to the floor with a loud clang. I pick it up, reattach it, and blink several times. “You were truly hoping we were dating?”

This is the last thing I expected. Even though I’d planned to have a heart-to-heart with him, I never thought he’d actively want us to be together. I merely hoped I could work something out. Some sort of proviso that made it acceptable to go out with him since I’m not Drew’s direct boss, or something. An under-the-radar-screen type of approval.