Second down fake norwalk.., p.23
Second Down Fake (Norwalk Breakers Book 2), page 23
She nodded. “Yep. She and Cal took off yesterday morning. We had fun. I took them out on a ghost tour. Cal loved it, Becca tolerated it.”
“That’s all you can really ask of her.”
“Isn’t it the truth?” Cassandra bit her bottom lip, running the tines of her fork through the gravy. “She found out about the job.”
“What about the job?”
“I turned it down.”
I kept my face impassive, my chest tightened, fear and relief mixing together uncomfortably. Cassandra didn’t have any other reason to stay now. “What’d she say?”
“She’s disappointed, but I’m sure I’ll get an earful about it once I get home.”
The holidays. Or at least, a holiday-centric bye week. New England had a brutal Christmas Day game, decimating any hopes of the players or staff being home for Christmas. Instead, they’d make do with a bye week the first week of December.
“When are you leaving?”
“The second.”
Two days after the contract ended. With no job and no contract, I didn’t have much time to convince her to stay.
“Have you bought a plane ticket yet?”
“Yeah,” she said, taking a long pull of her drink. “A budget airline and in coach. I booked it before I knew the magic of first class. It’ll be a painful return to normal life.”
“I’d be happy to upgrade it.” The offer was not at all in the spirit of Noa’s advice, but I couldn’t stop myself.
She chuckled. “No. I’m going to have to learn to fly with the peons again. Besides, I’m not sure there’s first class service to New Hampshire.”
“Well, there’s where you’re wrong,” I teased.
“And here I thought you just took a private jet up to the White Mountains.” Her shoulders relaxed as she picked up her fork again, a faint sadness crossing her face. “I can’t believe we have just one more game.”
One more game before I laid my heart on the line. One more game until I had Cassandra.
Or I didn’t.
I brushed her cheek with my thumb. “Then we better make it a good one.”
THIRTY-THREE
CASSANDRA
I pulled my hat over my ears, stuffing my mittened hands under my arms, my eyes glued to the field as the Breakers struggled on the field. The game had turned into a slugging match and the Breakers didn't look dominant. Another field goal for the opposing team tied up the game with only five minutes left in the last quarter.
The biting cold kept Mila away, and Lena had reluctantly joined me in the stands.
I'd banked on a win. The last game of the contract and two days before I traveled home, I'd ridiculously decided that a win was a sign. A sign that everything would be alright. That I'd visit New Hampshire and return to Norwalk, to Diego, our relationship restarting fresh and clean and real.
Now, the logistics of that relationship proved fuzzy. Becca's unfurnished apartment was barely suitable for occasional showers now that I spent nearly every night at Diego's. And the last time I checked my bank account, it hovered slightly above zero. Walking tours and repair work had fallen off as the holidays approached and I only covered a shift or two a week at the Crown & Copper. Staying in Norwalk meant I needed money and resources, both of which I had in short supply.
The stress of the football season seemed to push Diego further and further away. Increased practices, more training, longer days. By the time he came home most nights, we ate at the table and then fell into bed. By the time I woke up, he'd already left.
"I think the mid-season fatigue is getting to them," Lena said, her teeth chattering loudly as she gripped a cup of cocoa. "Early bye weeks are the worst."
"They've been practicing a lot."
"Yeah, they front-load some work so they can get some time off over the holidays." Lena huddled in closer to me, sharing body heat that didn't seem to stave off the biting cold. "But I heard your holiday is this week!"
"Yeah, my sister has some time off, so we're having an early Christmas in New Hampshire."
"Is Diego flying up with you?"
I shook my head. “No. Just me.”
Even though I’d asked in my head a million times, the question hadn’t actually made it past my lips. He had practice and responsibilities, but secretly, I worried that asking would jinx us beyond the contract.
Diego took the field with the offense as the seconds counted down. Noa snapped the ball, and the pocket held while Diego read the field. Trent escaped his defender, making a mad dash for the end zone. Diego spotted his escape. He pulled back and threw.
A beautiful throw. A perfect spiral, heading straight to his receiver.
An interception.
The defender came from nowhere, plucking the ball out of the air and sprinting to the opposite end zone. The front five, already tied up with the defense, couldn't break away in time. And even if they could, none of the guys could catch up. Diego followed the ball, chest heaving, arms pumping as he made an attempt. His fingers skimmed the runner’s elbow just as he held the ball over the end zone.
Touchdown.
Breakers lose.
A brutal, gut-wrenching end to my time as Diego Salazar's fake girlfriend.
Lena and I grabbed a seat outside the conference room, sloughing off our freezing outerwear in a bid to get warm. Press crowded the tiny hallway, half headed to the post-game interview, the other half vying for position at the locker room entrance. In the chaos of the unexpected loss, Lena and I might as well have been wallpaper, and I was glad for it.
Diego shot me a sad smile as he followed Coach Simmons into the sea of reporters. Noa, free from the post-game press, came by to pick up Lena. I waited for an hour, turning over words that would dull the loss. But nothing came.
"Hey, Cassie, what a nightmare, huh?" Poppy exited from the Breaker's admin office and sat beside me on the cushy couch.
"Yeah, not the game I expected. What are you doing back here?"
I hadn't noticed her in the locker area before, and she'd be hard to miss in all Breakers’ gear. She sported a cerulean blue hat, jacket, pants, and hair.
“Oh, the social media team finally noticed my site exists. They want a partnership for some behind-the-scenes type deal. An appeal to the female fanbase. Or that’s what they’re claiming. It won’t go anywhere.” She shrugged nonchalantly.
“You don’t think so? That’s not the plucky journalist I expect from Breaking the Breakers.”
She laughed wryly. “Oh, you’re a fan? I’m touched. But, no, it won’t go anywhere. At least if Coach Simmons has anything to say about it. And he rules this team with an iron first. Which is part of the reason I love it.”
“You love dictatorial sports teams?”
“Literally my favorite. I better head out before someone spots me without a press pass.”
She waved goodbye and sailed out of the crowded hallway as Diego emerged from the conference room. He looked exhausted, his brown eyes weary and shoulders slumped. Coach Simmons patted his arm, a gesture as awkward as it was sweet.
“Home?” he asked with a sigh.
I nodded. “Want me to drive?”
“If you don’t mind.”
I grabbed the keys, and he took my hand as we walked to his Tahoe.
After putting on my seatbelt, I opened up the snack console, sifting through bags until I found an open pack of Twizzlers. I took one and set the bag in his lap. "You deserve these."
"Twizzlers are for winners," he joked half-heartedly.
"Winners and people who tried very, very hard."
He ate one and rested his head against the window. "That was brutal."
"I'm pretty sure they cheated."
He chuckled. "Are you?"
"They had to. How else do you explain it?" I reached behind his head, running my fingers through his hair and running by fingertips in circles on his skull. "You're too good for that bullshit. An interception? That's gotta be witchcraft or a deal with a demon."
Diego closed his eyes, tilting his head forward. "So, just one player or the whole team?"
"I think you have to deal with a couple dozen demons to win over every team, and witchcraft is definitely a group effort. So, the whole team."
"Wow," Diego groaned as I ran my nails in circles. "I played with a couple of those guys in college.”
"And they didn't mention anything? Bad friends."
I reluctantly pulled my hand away when we reached the house. As we walked up the drive, Diego took my hand, interlacing our fingers.
I unlocked the door, and Diego’s lips crashed into mine as the door closed. His arms snaked around me, lifting me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. We ricocheted off the walls as he stumbled down the hallway, his lips wandering from my lips down my neck, teeth nipping at my skin and his palm gripping my ass. Desperation and urgency creating a cacophonous mix.
A goodbye fuck.
The thought startled me, but I'd certainly had enough to spot the signs: the impending goodbye, the urgency, the flood of emotions funneled into action.
But not Diego. A goodbye to our contract, to the mandated part of our relationship, to a brief trip back home.
Diego carried me to the base of the stairs, pinning me against the wall as he stripped off my t-shirt. I threw it to the ground. He fumbled with the clasp of my bra. The fabric hung between us, his fingers rough and familiar against my skin. His fingernails raked down my spine as he careened us into the living room, bouncing off the tiny side table and knocking a pile of artfully arranged magazines off their perch.
He dropped me onto the couch, pulling off his shirt, his eyes roving down my body as if he hadn’t spent the last three months intimately acquainted with it. Memorizing me. The same way I memorized him: the faint mark on his right shoulder, the smattering of faint freckles on his chest, the faded incision scar on his waist from an appendectomy. Tiny reminders that this wasn’t Diego Salazar, Football Adonis. This was Diego Salazar, Mississippi frat bro, disc golf pro, and owner of every video game system known to man.
He unbuttoned my jeans, pulling them off fast enough to impress a trained magician, before he covered me, kissing me, licking me, holding me. His cock was hard against my leg, my body writhing beneath him, just as eager.
The season was over, and I wanted nothing more than to suffocate out that fact. Smother it. Burn it. Fuck football.
He inhaled a shuddering breath. I closed my eyes. “Wait.”
“Wait?” He raised an eyebrow.
I pressed my palm against his chest, pushing him back. I wanted him, but not like this. Not a fast fuck on the couch before we said our goodbyes. A frenzied release and then a night of awkwardness, both of us hedging around what had to be said. What we should have talked about weeks before. Months before.
I sat up, and Diego raked a hand through his hair, his eyes frazzled and confused until I slid over his lap. “I can wait.”
I guided him into me with one hand, fighting back tears. His arms circled my waist, and I tilted my head back, thinking of anything besides the fact it felt like goodbye.
His lips grazed across my nipples before latching on, the quick rush of pleasure forcing out my intrusive thoughts. This was fine. We were fine. Tomorrow, we'd wake up without the contract looming over our head and start over. Despite the rumors and the articles, he'd feel the same way about me he did a week ago. I'd just make a brief detour through New Hampshire.
I threaded my fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth closer as I rode him. Pleasure overtook the questions running through my head, and I let the moment invade me. Diego's short choppy breaths, the shape of his body in and against mine, and the warm sense of belonging I felt in his arms.
I woke up exhausted, the prospect of packing or talking or doing anything besides lying in bed an impossibility.
"I have to get to practice." Diego, fully dressed, stood over the bed. "What's your plan for today?"
"Golden chocobo breeding, maybe breakfast, packing to go home, I guess."
"Exciting." He cupped my face in his hands, dipping his head down so his nose brushed mine. "I wish I could join you."
"Well, good news. You'll have all the time in the world for breeding chocobos once I'm gone."
A flicker of a frown crossed his face. "Would it be okay if I asked James to stop by this morning? Close out the contract before I get home?"
I nodded. "Yeah, sure thing."
He slanted his mouth over mine, his kiss insistent and firm. When he pulled away, I couldn't read his face and my stomach tumbled, waiting for bad news. I shook that thought away. "Get out of here. I'll see you tonight."
He backed away from the bedroom, eyes locked on mine until he left the room.
THIRTY-FOUR
CASSANDRA
I carried my bag down the stairs just as the doorbell rang. After spending too long lazing in bed, I’d finally rounded up my laundry at Diego’s house, waiting for James to show up.
“Just a minute!” I called, grabbing a sweater from the couch to pull over my tank top before I opened the door. “James, nice to see you again!”
He beamed, his teeth bright enough to expertly walk the line between real or veneers. “Always a pleasure, Cassie.”
“Do you want something to drink? Eat?”
“No, thank you. This won’t take long.” He surveyed the living room, eyes flitting over my suitcase placed by the door as he held up a manila envelope. “Would you like to talk here, or perhaps the dining room?”
He didn’t wait for my reply, striding into the dining room. He unlatched the envelope, laying out two stacks of familiar looking paperwork out and gesturing for me to sit. I took a seat, glancing down at my initials scribbled on the first page of the NDA I’d signed months ago.
James unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat opposite me. He pushed one stack of paperwork in my direction and placed the other in front of him, straightening the edges so the stack aligned. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that this arrangement worked out the way it did. Truly. When I launched the idea to Diego, I wanted to bring in a third-party and when he proposed you for the position, I was…concerned.”
“Concerned?” I raised an eyebrow, suppressing a laugh.
“Becca has proven herself a pivotal part of Diego’s off-season training and success. I was reticent to challenge that relationship. And then I ran a background check on you before moving forward.”
“Didn’t like what you saw?” I asked, only half-teasing. Men like James liked known quantities. Reliability.
He shifted in his seat but looked at me straight on. “No. Just unconvinced that you’d fulfill the terms of the contract.”
“Afraid I’d take off?”
“A mid-season break up after the flurry of press Diego and you generated would have made the Zoey situation much messier. But clearly, my concerns were unfounded. You’ve really gone above and beyond to fulfill your end of this deal. I can’t thank you enough.” He took a deep breath before his demeanor changed, shoulders straightening and jaw set. “And now that the contract is complete, I’d like to close it out before the holidays.”
“Got big holiday plans?” I asked.
“Not at all.” He shook his head, refusing to drop his business facade he’d put in place for this conversation. “Now, I wanted to review the agreement you signed to make sure that you handle any future press in compliance with the contract, of course. And then you can ask questions. If I can’t answer them, I’m happy to schedule a future meeting with the legal firm that drew up the contract. And finally, we’ll settle the matter of remittance.”
“Remittance?” My eyes widened.
“Your salary.”
“Salary?” I echoed.
Not for the first time, I wished I’d read the contract. While admitting to Diego I hadn’t bothered didn’t bother me, James had a school marm-esque look of disappointment that made me feel like a naughty student.
And sorting through my memories of talking to Diego about the contract, I didn’t remember a salary. Just football tickets, free drinks, and swag rooms, though those had been in low supply.
“Yes.” He pushed aside the NDA, flipping pages on the second contract. “As we agreed on in the initial contract.”
“Diego paid for all my travel and expenses.” I spoke slowly, sticking to the facts as I knew them, which wasn’t much. Faking my way through homework I didn’t complete.
“Right,” James drew the word out, eyes ripped away from the paperwork and onto me. “Those were business expenses. You weren’t contractually obligated to attend away games, but he paid for any expenses incurred for the games or vacations you chose to attend, such as Las Vegas and Mississippi.”
My cheeks heated as he pointed out two trips I’d definitely place in the “pleasure” category of travel. Not business.
“And, per the agreement, you receive a lump sum at the end of the contract and the final payment one year after the end of the relationship,” he continued.
I pushed aside the NDA and flipped through the contract until my eyes reached the end. “Holy shit.”
The five-digit “remittance” was more money than I’d ever seen in my lifetime. More money than I’d made in any single year.
“Fifty thousand dollars?” I breathed the words, barely believing them.
“Right,” James’ lips flattened into a straight line, and he cocked his head. “Fifty thousand today and an additional fifty thousand dollars at the start of next season, as long as the contract is upheld. You read this contract, correct?”
“I maybe skimmed over that part,” I admitted with a wince.
“Please tell me you’re joking.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. That’s fine. I’m going to go ahead and make that appointment with the legal firm. Do you have a lawyer?”
“Do I look like the type of person who has a lawyer?” I answered honestly. I didn’t even have a primary care doctor. Certainly not a lawyer.
“If I tell you to get one, will you?” I shook my head and James sighed. “I’ll find one, but you’re paying the retainer.”
