Forward Progress (Men of Fall Book 1)

by S. R. Grey

  Jock nods. “Yes, but the team may want an engagement by mid-season. There’d be a bonus, of course, if that came to pass.”

  “Engagement?” I yelp. “I wouldn’t have to really marry this Tettersaw dude, right?”

  Jock laughs. “No, it’d be an engagement for appearances only. Once Graham starts performing on the field, and the fans forget his past, we can begin to orchestrate a ‘breakup.’ Your obligation would then be fulfilled.”

  “It kind of doesn’t sound too bad,” I murmur. “Could I remain at the diner? So that I have a job when this all ends?”

  Jock laughs. “You won’t need a job if you agree to this arrangement. But sure, I can check with the team and make sure they’re okay with you picking up a shift or two here and there.”

  “Okay, good.” Squeezing my eyes shut in shame, I blurt out, “I can’t believe I’m asking, but how much would I be paid?”

  Without missing a beat, Jock replies, “Up to $500,000, paid out in increments every couple of weeks, so long as you remain Mr. Tettersaw’s girlfriend.”

  My eyes fly open.

  $500,000!

  I go numb and can’t find any words.

  Once I regain some semblance of composure, I blather, “T-that’s like half a million dollars.”

  “It is indeed, but you may not earn out that full amount.”

  “Still…”

  Looking smug, Jock says, “Let’s just say the team really wants this to work. It has to be completely believable.”

  Softly, I whisper, “What made you choose me? Do I really look so desperate?”

  Jock raises a brow. “Are you desperate, Eden?”

  “A little bit,” I admit. “I have a ton of unpaid bills and a little brother who just got into an expensive art school. So yeah, I guess you could say I’m sort of desperate.”

  He sighs. “I think it shows a little—your desperation, that is. It’s part of the reason why I picked you. But I also like your work ethic. I’ve been in the diner more than a few times lately, and I always see you hustling and helping out. You seem nice too. And I like my client. He deserves someone nice.”

  “Other girls at the diner are nice,” I state softly.

  “I’m sure they are, but other girls at the diner don’t look like you.”

  And there it is. I’ve always been told I’m pretty—some say beautiful, even—but I don’t see it myself.

  Thinking out loud, I murmur, “I guess a professional athlete is expected to be with someone moderately attractive.”

  “You’re more than moderately attractive,” Jock tells me. “That’s why you shouldn’t sell yourself short.”

  Sell myself short?

  Funny he should phrase it that way, since that’s exactly what I’m considering doing—selling myself.

  I almost back out, but then I remember this isn’t for me. It’s for Paul.

  And pretending to be someone’s girlfriend for a shit ton of money, money that could set us up for years to come, is a very small price to pay.

  Or so I hope.

  You Want Me to Do What?

  “You want me to do what?”

  Irritated, I grab a water from the mini-fridge, take a swig, and slam the bottle down on the table in the middle of the living room of the hotel suite I’m in.

  “You’re fucking crazy, Jock,” I sneer.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” he replies, unfazed by my outburst as he sits quietly on the sofa. “I told you the added stipulation in the new contract the Comets are offering was completely new to me too.”

  “It’s fucking loco is what it is,” I grumble.

  It’s true. This latest development in contract negotiations is truly nuts. They want me to pretend to have a fake girlfriend.

  Are they off their rockers?

  “How’s this even supposed to work?” I ask.

  “We’re hammering out the details.”

  “Great. Do I at least get to meet this mystery woman before I sign?”

  “No. There’s no time for that. You will meet her, though, before the season begins.”

  “Whatever,” I huff. “I can’t believe I’m supposed to pretend to be dating a girl I’ve never even seen. To top it off, I get to meet her just once, then I’m expected to act as if we’re in a serious relationship.”

  “Pretty much,” Jock confirms.

  This is bad, but there’s something more I’m struggling with—I’m supposed to also fucking move in with this pretend girlfriend.

  “Why do I have to live in the same house as her?” I ask. “Isn’t me pretending that she’s my girlfriend more than enough?”

  “I’m afraid not, Graham. This is what the team wants. Things need to look a certain way in order for this to work and be believable.”

  Crap, he’s using my first name. This really must be nonnegotiable.

  I sigh, and then ask, “Is this fake girlfriend condition because of my past painkiller problem?”

  “Uh…”

  “If so, can’t you explain to the Comets that I don’t have any issues with pain pills any longer? I’m freaking settled, Jock, all right?”

  “You have to look settled,” he quietly replies.

  I run my hand down my face. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “It means appearances are everything.”

  “Clearly, they are.”

  Jock slides a contract out from his briefcase, and I take a seat on the sofa next to him.

  Clipping a pen to the top of the binder, he holds the paperwork out to me. “You need to sign this contract today, Tettersaw. And you need to agree to everything, all the stipulations. Training camp is starting in little over a week, and the Comets would like to announce to the press that you’re their starting quarterback this season.”

  I stare down at the contract. I’ve seen it already. Jock faxed it over to me right before he showed up at my temporary living accommodations. It’s essentially the same contract that was presented, and taken away, back in May.

  Of course, there’s the new slight variation—the pretend girlfriend clause. Otherwise, the terms are the same: a one-year deal with an option for renewal.

  The money’s good, a little better than before. Probably due to the fake girlfriend bullshit.

  “Ah hell, give it to me.”

  I snatch the contract from Jock and sign my name sloppily on the last page.

  “Every page needs to be initialed and signed,” he tells me when I try to hand the stupid thing back to him.

  I roll my eyes. “Of course it does.”

  As I’m signing and initialing like a mofo, I think about how I haven’t had any kind of girlfriend, real or otherwise, in a very long time. When I wrote down my goals back in the spring, one of them was to start a new life.

  I guess that would include giving a relationship a try.

  But I meant a person I would freaking choose for myself, not some arranged relationship, for fuck’s sake!

  And that makes me wonder…

  “The Comets aren’t expecting me to marry this chick or anything, right?”

  Jock snickers. “No. But there may be a pretend engagement at some point this season. We’ll see how things play out.”

  Christ.

  Shaking my head, I ask, “Have you seen her? What’s her name? If you haven’t met her, do you know what she looks like? Maybe you can get me a picture, yeah?”

  A grin spreads on Jock’s face.

  Hmm, the bastard looks smug, really fucking smug.

  “Her name is Eden,” he says, “Eden Vetterly. She lives here in Columbus. And yes, I’ve seen her in person. In fact, I’m the one who chose her for you.”

  “Chose her for me?” I chuff. “You make her sound like she’s a selection from a girlfriend menu.”

  Jock laughs. “I don’t mean it like that, but…” He holds my gaze. “Let’s just say if she were on some girlfriend menu, she’d definitely be the one you’d choose.”

  I let that brew for a sec.
But then I realize it doesn’t matter.

  I don’t even care if I get to see a picture of her or not.

  It’s all fake anyway, right?

  Plus, I think I’d rather be surprised.

  That way I can decide on the spot whether Jock deserves a high-five…or a pink slip.

  The Devil’s in the Details

  Since I’m told I need to keep our association on the down low, I don’t tell anyone about my pending agreement with Jock and the Columbus Comets.

  Even with my own brother, I simply pretend to have a new part-time job opportunity. I tell Paul he shouldn’t worry about anything besides getting ready to go away to art school.

  I guess he listens to me—for once!—since getting ready to go to school is exactly what I find him doing one evening when I return home from a shift at the diner.

  Today was rough. After I finished working, but before I left, I told Brad I needed to drop down to one or two shifts per week. I don’t even know yet if that’ll fly with the team—I haven’t heard back from Jock on that one—but too bad. I need to hold on to some normal part of my life. It’s already been hard enough to explain why I’m suddenly not desperate for cash.

  After I announced I’d like to cut my shifts, Brad, eyeing me suspiciously, said, “I thought you needed the money, Eden.”

  “Um, I do,” I quietly responded. “I have a lot of expenses.”

  He looked confused. “If that’s true, then how do you plan to make enough to take care of those expenses on so few hours?”

  I feigned a smile. “I kind of have something else lined up.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Brad asked, “What sort of ‘something else lined up’ are we talking about here?”

  Think fast! Think fast!

  “Uh, remember that old dude that was in here, the rich one? Well, turns out he’s a agent, and uh, he offered me a very lucrative modeling gig.”

  Looking more perplexed than ever, my boss quipped, “But you’re not a model.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re right. But…” I spread out my arms, like ta-da. “I guess I am now.”

  Another waitress needed Brad’s assistance with something just then—thank God—so I took the opportunity to run the hell out of there.

  Ugh, I hate lying to people.

  If Brad had pressed, I probably would’ve come clean.

  But I can’t. I’m not allowed to tell the truth. Jock cautioned that I must abide by the restrictive terms of the stupid contract I agreed to.

  Was it all a big mistake?

  I sigh.

  I guess time will tell.

  Paul, hearing that I’m back, calls me to his room.

  Leaning on the doorframe, I say, “Hey. How’s packing coming along? I saw some boxes already out by the apartment door.”

  “Yeah, it’s going okay.”

  He’s standing there, holding a shirt, but he’s quieter than usual, so I ask, “Is everything all right?”

  “Uh-huh.” He shrugs, throws the shirt in a box on the floor. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

  I go over to the bed and sit down on the edge.

  Paul pauses from throwing things into the box long enough to peer down at me.

  Picking up another wrinkled tee, he says, “You look a little nervous yourself, sis. Did something happen at work?”

  “Uhhh…” I bite my lip and look away. “I kind of had to tell Brad to drop me down to just a shift or two a week.”

  “Huh? Why’s that?”

  “I found a new job.”

  “Whoa, wait, what?” Paul, in the process of shaking out the T-shirt, stops what he’s doing. “You found a new job, Eden? Why would you do something rash like that?”

  There’s so much worry etched on his face, testament to the fear he must have that this new development will derail his school plans. Little does he know my new “job” ensures that he can go. Not only that, but there’ll be plenty of extra money. All his needs will be met.

  Blowing out a calming breath, I say, “This new job pays really well, Paul. Things are going to be much better now. Money-wise, that is.”

  “Hmm, is that so?”

  My brother is clearly suspicious, and is it any wonder? People like us don’t just stumble upon high-paying jobs. Unless, of course, you happen to work in a diner and some slick sports agent thinks you’d make the perfect fake girlfriend for his client.

  “Yep,” I sigh.

  Paul’s not done yet.

  Placing his hands on his hips, he inquires, “What kind of new job are we talking about here?”

  “It’s just some modeling work,” I reply, sticking with what I told Brad.

  Not only do I have to stay consistent with my story, but it sort of fits in a weird way.

  Paul narrows his pale green eyes at me. “You’re not thinking of letting someone take nude photos of you, are you, Eden? Or worse yet, you’re not starring in a porno, are you?”

  “Good God, no!” I’m appalled he’d even think such a thing. “You know I wouldn’t do something like that. There was just this guy who came into the diner the other night. He’s an agent, and he thinks I have the right look for a new, uh, ad campaign that pays fabulously.”

  “What kind of ad campaign?” Paul says, still wary.

  I know then that I’m going to have to eventually tell him the truth. I can’t keep piling lie upon lie and feeding them to my brother. I’ll bring it up to Jock when we meet to finalize the paperwork, but until then I better come up with some sort of suitable response to Paul’s questions.

  “Uh, um…” I decide to keep it somewhat truthful by blurting out, “It has to do with football.”

  “Oh, so like marketing geared for women?” he asks. “You’ll be a model for that?”

  “Yeah”—I frown—“it’s something along those lines.”

  Paul blows out a relieved breath. “That’s good to know.”

  He resumes packing, throwing more shirts and shorts haphazardly into the box.

  “I just worry about you, Eden, that’s all.”

  Laughing, I say, “Hey, I think that’s my job. I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around. I’m the big sister, remember?”

  He snorts, because even though he’s only fifteen, he’s about six foot two, a full half foot taller than me. He also looks older than he is. Paul could easily pass for eighteen or nineteen.

  “You’re bigger in years only,” he says.

  “Okay,” I concede. “You got me there.”

  We dispense with any further talk of my new job, spending the rest of the evening just watching TV and hanging out.

  I have to drive Paul up to school in less than a week, so I’m trying to savor these final few days with him. I’m nervous and sad that I’ll be living all by myself real soon.

  I’ll make it, though. After all, I have my new job of girlfriend-to-football-player-Graham Tettersaw to keep me busy.

  Speaking of which, you bet your ass I start researching my new “boyfriend” as soon as Paul heads off to bed.

  Yep, my laptop is out and powered up in no time.

  And wow!

  After viewing several online photos of Graham, I find I’m not nearly as opposed to this whole girlfriend farce as I first was.

  The dude is freaking hot.

  I also learn that Graham’s an amazing quarterback, better than I thought.

  Over the next couple days, after browsing through photo after photo and reading numerous online articles, I start to kind of like the idea of fake-dating Graham. It’s much more palatable knowing he’s not a troll.

  Yep, I can definitely make this work.

  One evening, while alone at the apartment, I open my laptop and browse through more photos of my soon-to-be fake boyfriend.

  Okay, I may now be a tiny tad obsessed.

  “Yikes, I think I’m developing a little crush,” I murmur as I stare at one particularly hot image of Graham.

  It’s from some sports magazine, and he’s standin
g there holding a football above his head. He’s not wearing a shirt, and wow, can you see how buff he is. Graham is like a mountain of pure muscle. Add to that messy blond hair, great bone structure, and piercing blue eyes and you have a true Adonis.

  Soon to be my Adonis.

  Well, my fake one, but close enough. At least it’s not going to be torture to be around this guy.

  “Damn, you are fine,” I murmur as I reluctantly close the pic and move on to another article.

  That’s when I come upon some interesting info—Graham is almost thirty-one.

  Wow, he looks so much younger.

  The dude clearly takes good care of himself. Maybe his youthful appearance is also due to the fact that he’s tan and rocking surfer-dude good looks.

  I can’t deny that I find Graham Tettersaw immensely attractive.

  Plus, bonus, it sounds like he’s not a jerk.

  There are several articles detailing his work as a sponsor for NA. Jock wasn’t lying; Graham kicked his pain pill problem years ago. It’s a shame people still dwell on such a short period of his life. I’m guilty of doing the same thing myself, having first thought of Graham’s issues upon hearing his name.

  Hmm, it’s making more and more sense why the team wants him to cultivate a stable image.

  That’s cool. I can “play” a good girlfriend.

  Now that I think about it, I should’ve told Brad and my brother that I have an acting gig, not a modeling one.

  Oh well, close enough.

  Plus, I’m going to level with Paul soon anyway.

  Upon reading more articles, I learn Graham has a sister named Chloe. She’s married to Las Vegas Wolves hockey defenseman Dylan Culderway, and they’re about to welcome their first child this fall.

  “Aw,” I say, smiling. “That means Graham will be an uncle.”

  In the article, it says he’s excited about that.

  Okay, it’s official—Graham Tettersaw definitely seems like a really good dude.

  And he’s hot as sin, as established.

  Still, I’m nervous as hell, especially when, later that night, I hear back from Jock.

  He tells me we need to meet so I can review and sign the final contract. He also mentions there’s an additional condition.