Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“I will if Beck does,” I say.
“I’m game,” he says.
For the next several minutes, we field calls from listeners who want to talk about the playoffs or give me love advice.
“I’m just glad you didn’t let the breakup affect your gameplay,” a fanboy says. “This is your best season ever, Fourteen.”
“Thank you.”
“And seriously, maybe this guy is your lucky charm,” he adds.
I grin. “I’d like to think so.”
The next caller is a woman who sounds like a bruiser. “I can’t believe anyone dared to hurt you. I’d beat him up myself if I could.”
Beck laughs. “I don’t think there’s any need for that. It sounds like Jason’s guy figured out he doesn’t want to lose him.”
“Smart man,” the woman says, all tough and protective.
Finally, Megan wraps the show, then turns off the equipment. With glee in her eyes, she beckons for us to join her in the green room.
Once we’re there, she straightens her shoulders. “Call me crazy, but I’m getting a serious vibe that you”—she stops to look pointedly at Beck—“are Jason’s mystery guy.”
He shrugs wickedly, his form of a yes.
She flings her hand to her mouth, then drops it. “Listen, I know this won’t be easy, but fans have been going nuts for your rivalry. If we can take it to the next level on the show with your romance, I’m here for it. I’m behind you.”
I’m wise enough to know we’ll have haters, but I’m psyched to have a supporter already. “I’m pretty sure we’ll take you up on that,” I say.
Then Beck adds, “But we kind of need to go right now.”
Way to rev my engine, baby.
“Of course. Also, thank you for all you did this season.” Megan leaves the room, and we take off too, making a beeline for the stairwell. Once the door closes, I yank him against me. “Kiss me,” I tell him.
He drops his lips to mine and kisses me deeply and passionately.
And like he loves me, no matter the risk.
I wrap my arms around him and haul him close. I don’t care if anyone walks into the stairwell.
That’s how he kisses me too—like we’re free to make the choice to be together, even if it’s hard. Even if we get booed. Even if we get traded.
When we break the kiss, I’m amped up and lovestruck. “I want to be with you even if everyone hates me.”
“I don’t hate you. I love you,” he says.
I cup his cheek and kiss him once more. Then it’s time to deal with this choice we’ve made.
42
THROW DOWN
Jason
Sometimes the owners call a meeting with their players. Rarely do the players call a meeting with the owners.
But two rival quarterbacks falling in love is rare.
After I called Nadia and told her it was urgent we meet, she said she and Wilder would make time for us immediately.
We walk into his office. I sit on the couch, and Beck sits next to me, shoulders tall.
Wilder and Nadia have claimed the blue chairs, and she clears her throat. “Hey, guys. Thanks for reaching out. I’m guessing this isn’t about Ding and Dine?” Her tone is kind but professional as she feels us out.
“Or the auction?” Wilder asks.
“It’s not about either of those,” Beck says, then turns to me—my cue to take over.
On the drive over, we talked about how to do this. We agreed I’d take the lead only because I’ve been in the league for five years. I’ve had more experience with management.
“We’re together,” I say, then add, “Romantically.” Just so we’re crystal clear.
Nadia blinks.
Wilder frowns.
That’s not an auspicious start, but I power on. “We’ve been together pretty much the whole season,” I add.
Wilder jerks up a hand as a stop sign. “Whoa. What? The whole season?”
Here’s how you knock a smooth-talking man off-kilter: confess to a secret romance.
“Yes. Since the night after we won in Texas,” Beck adds.
Oh, hell. That’s hot. Just dropping his win into the convo.
Beck keeps going. Screw the script. “And almost the entire season in which I took the team to a thirteen-three record, with two games left to go, and a playoff berth. We’ve also maintained last year’s record-breaking attendance when your Hall of Fame, Super-Bowl-winning quarterback, played his last season, drawing packed houses. We haven’t lost a beat.” Then he rattles off his passer rating, one of the best in the league, his completions, also one of the best, and his touchdowns, near the top too.
The hair on my arms stands on end. Is this my boyfriend? Throwing down his impeccable stats before the team owner?
Yes. Yes, it is. And I am going to reward him in bed tonight.
“And the Hawks are going to the postseason too,” I point out, but who cares what I have to say? Beck already dropped the mic. And his record is a smidge better than mine, so that’s all I have to add.