PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3)

by Daphne Loveling

  “Sheesus,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You should have come with me tonight instead. So, your scouting expedition didn’t pan out?”

  It’s a testament to what a good friend Harriet is that she feigns interest in my professional life. She cares nothing about football or anything else sports-related. “Why would I watch two to three hours of people running around crashing into each other for an inflatable ball?” she scoffs whenever anyone asks her. But to her credit, she still cares about my career goals, and always treats them as just as important as hers.

  “No,” I answer. “Although I did end up…”

  I stop mid-sentence, not knowing if I should continue. I’m not supposed to be talking about Mason. I promised him I wouldn’t. But… I rationalize with myself, I’m not saying anything about his potential contract. Plus, I’d bet anything Harriet doesn’t even know who Mason Robichaud is.

  Still. Better safe than sorry.

  “I did end up meeting someone who unlocked my car for me,” I finish lamely. “A guy.”

  “A guy?” Harriet’s antennae are instantly up. “Do tell.”

  “A guy,” I say sarcastically. “You know. A male member of the species. A human with both X and Y chromosomes.”

  “Don’t you get smart with me, little lady,” she scolds, shaking her finger at me like a mom. “You know what I mean. You said ‘a guy’ with a tone.”

  “What tone?” I say innocently.

  “You know damn well what tone.” She cocks her head at me and gives me a knowing look. “You said guy, but your tone said super-luscious sex machine.”

  “Oh my God, it did not!” I protest.

  Harriet rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. Sure you didn’t. So, did you exchange numbers? Is he going to call you?”

  “No, and no,” I respond. “It wasn’t like that.”

  Even though I wanted it to be…

  “Huh.” Harriet frowns, looking like she’s not totally buying it. “Okay.”

  I drop the remote into her lap and stretch my arms wide, faking a yawn that thankfully turns into a real one. “Well, I think I’m gonna go to bed,” I tell her. “Sorry, all of a sudden I just got really tired.”

  She’s still not looking convinced, but apparently she decides not to push it. “Sounds good,” she says with a shrug. “You getting up early?”

  “Nope. Day off tomorrow.” Normally, I get up at insane o’clock on days I have to be in front of the camera bright and early.

  “Cool. You wanna go get breakfast?”

  “Brunch,” I correct her. “I want to sleep in.”

  She shoots me a grin and gives me a thumbs up. “I’m up for that. ‘Night!”

  “‘Night.”

  I go into my room and get undressed, then turn out the light and get into bed. I lie there in silence for a few minutes, listening to Harriet change channels. Finally, she seems to settle on a show, and volume on the TV goes up.

  Sliding out from under the covers, I go to my dresser and quietly open the bottom drawer. Reaching inside, I fish around until I find what I’m looking for.

  Back in bed, I do the only thing I can think of to get Mason Robichaud out of my head.

  It almost works.

  7

  Mason

  An hour before I’m supposed to meet Tom for lunch, I take a quick shower and dress semi-casual, pulling on a pair of slacks and a shirt with the top buttons undone. I grab a sports jacket to put over it and a pair of casual shoes. By the time I headed out of my house, I have the message from Tom telling me where I need to go.

  It’s a place I’ve heard of, called Tully’s, and I only need to take a quick look at his directions to know where to go. I get there with five minutes to spare. It has valet parking, so I step out and hand over my keys as I head for the door. I stop by the host booth, clearing my throat so the hostess will look up.

  “I’m here to meet someone… Tom Price?”

  She glances at her clipboard before stepping around the podium.

  A flicker of recognition crosses her face, but I’m not sure whether she knows who I am or has just seen my picture around.

  “Certainly. Come right this way,” she says, with a smile that’s just a shade past professional, into flirtatious. I ignore it.

  I let the hostess lead me through the restaurant, all the way to the back, at a table with a bit of space from the others. At least Tom has thought about privacy. He sees me coming, and waves at me. I make it to the table and sit down.

  “Has a waiter already passed by your table?” she asks Tom.

  He nods. “Yes, I asked him to come back around once my friend arrived, thank you.”

  She nods back, then turns around and is gone.

  “Tom,” I say in greeting as I sit down.

  He grins at me. “Why the serious face, kid?”

  I frown in annoyance. “Would you please stop calling me ‘kid’?” I grouse. “I’m twenty-eight years old, for crying out loud.”

  He just laughs. “You’re on your way, but you haven’t stopped acting like a kid since I met you, I swear. You’ll make it there eventually, but I’ll still be seven years older than you.”

  I sigh and sit back as we wait for the waiter. Tom’s been a good agent, but he loves to pull this “you’re so young and stupid” shit with me. I’m just gonna let him tell me his news in his own sweet time. I’ll be damned if I try to coax it out of him.

  It doesn’t take long. Just a few minutes later, the waiter comes around, and we both place our order. We chat about inconsequential shit like the weather — which actually make me think about Anna for a bit, for some reason. Then the food is brought over and we start eating.

  “All right,” Tom says, partway through the meal. “Let’s get down to business. I have a proposition for you.”

  A proposition? What the fuck does that mean? “Tell me what you’ve got,” I say instead.

  He doesn’t waste time. “So, it’s not definite that you’re in.”

  “Ugh,” I groan in disgust, leaning back against my seat as I stop eating. This fucker cannot be serious! “You made me come all this way for a goddamn no?” I snarl, leaning forward in my chair.

  “It’s not a no!” Tom says, then amends quickly, “Not exactly. The thing is, a condition’s been set for you. It’s a little bit out there.”

  I frown. I expected conditions, of course. When the photos of me at the rehab center surfaced after I had to take temporary leave, it completely tanked my image. But whatever the team’s demanding, if it’s giving Tom pause, it’s probably not good. I look down at my plate, but suddenly my stomach’s turning and I’m not hungry anymore.

  “They know what really happened!” I growl, looking at Tom in anger. A couple people look around, and I clear my throat and continue in a lower voice. “You’ve told them everything. Why don’t they fucking believe me?”

  “It’s not that they don’t believe you,” Tom says in a conciliatory tone. “Or, rather that they don’t believe me.” He spreads his hands wide. “But that’s not the point. It’s the optics. The public’s perception of you. They don’t want to deal with that. It’s bad for the team. They want something new about you that the media can eat up. Something positive. Because you know the press is gonna want a story, or else they’ll just go back to rehashing the rehab one.”

  “Great,” I mutter gloomily. “So I’m gonna continue to be punished for something that happened a year ago.” Something I had no control over. Fuck my life.

  “Look. It’s like this,” Tom continues. “You’ve been clean for months.” I glance up at him sharply, but he raises a hand to silence me, then continues. “I know, I know. You’re a good guy, and most importantly a fucking hell of a linebacker. You can go with the condition and get the contract you fucking need right now. I could do it for you by next week. If you decline, the opportunity walks. I actually expected something like this. You’re just lucky I managed to get them to see your potential enough that they’d agree to it
.”

  I sigh and sit back again as I listen to him stall. He isn’t saying what I really want to hear, and I wait until he runs out of words.

  “Just give it to me straight,” I say blankly. “Please.”

  He looks down a moment as he clasps his hands on the table, and when he looks at me, his eyes are serious.

  “They want you, to look like exactly what you are right now. A changed man. But they want something concrete, not just your face looking pretty again.”

  I narrow my eyes, but let it go. “So? What do they want?”

  “They want you to fake a serious relationship,” he says promptly. “A fiancée, actually. It has to be someone perfectly suited for the job, mind you. You play the all-American family in front of the public, and you’re in the clear.”

  All I can do as he explains it is stare at him.

  “Are you fucking serious right now?” is all I can manage when he’s finished.

  I’m not sure what expression is on my face, but I feel a mix of disgust, admiration and resignation. This is the craziest, stupidest shit I have ever heard.

  “Yeah.” He starts to look apologetic, then his mouth sets in a hard line. “Look. This isn’t even that bad.” Tom fixes me with a hard stare. “You go on some dates, you get seen in public with a gorgeous girl on your arm. You make up some story about how in love you are and how all you want is marriage and a family.” He shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal. “I mean, shit, it’s not like you have to go through with the marriage, for Christ’s sake. You do this for, say, a season, then you break up amicably. The girl makes a public statement saying you’re a prince of a guy but things just didn’t work out. No harm no foul, and now the fans think you’re just a one-woman man who’s unlucky in love.” He gives a bark of laughter. “Hell, after that every chick in Springville will want to take this chick’s place as Mason Robichaud’s woman.”

  I cut him a look. “I don’t need fake publicity stories to get tail,” I inform him.

  “Focus on the situation at hand, Mason,” he shoots back. “This is your career that’s on the line, kid. You don’t take this, you may never play again. Two seasons without being signed is a fuckin’ death sentence.”

  Goddamnit. He’s right. It’d be pretty damn hard to bounce back from that. Not to mention I’ll go fucking crazy if I have to sit out another season with nothing to do. Hell, it might drive me to become the alcoholic everybody already thinks I am.

  I shake my head in disbelief that I’m even considering this.

  “How are we gonna keep my ‘fiancée’ from spilling the beans about what’s really going on?” I ask.

  “A non-disclosure agreement,” he responds immediately. “We can draw up a contract that outlines the whole thing. The confidential information not to be disclosed. The obligations and duties of the party receiving the confidential information. The time period that your ‘fiancée’ will be in a relationship with you. Compensation for her time and services.”

  “Compensation?”

  “You’ll be paying her,” he tells me. “Out of the fabulous salary I’m negotiating for you.”

  My stomach is churning unpleasantly. I heave a deep sigh and push away my plate. “Do you have anyone in mind?” I ask wryly.

  “We were thinking Kayla Barnes. The cheerleader,” he adds, as though I don’t know exactly who that is. “We’ve spotted you a few times with her.”

  “What the fuck?” I explode, half-rising out of my chair. “They’ve been spying on me?”

  “Calm down, kid,” Tom soothes. “Look. They’re on the verge of making a big investment in you. What do you think they’re gonna do?” I sit back in my chair and try to push down my anger as Tom continues. “She seems like a good fit, seeing as she’s got a link to the team. You think she’d do the job?”

  I almost laugh. I have no doubt Kayla would do it. But I can’t imagine spending that much time with her. Plus, she’ll get ideas.

  But I have an idea of my own.

  Anna.

  She’s in my head almost before I know what’s happening.

  She’s hot. She knows how to act in front of a camera. She’s not boring as shit. And best of all, we could both get something out of it.

  I get my fiancée — and I get to spend some more time with her. She gets exposure as the girlfriend of a high-profile NFL player for the local team. It could only help her ambitions to move up the ranks at the station where she works. Hell, maybe we can sweeten the pot by giving her a version of the story to tell afterwards that doesn’t violate the NDA. This deal could end up launching her career, not just locally but nationally.

  It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

  “Not Kayla,” I say firmly. “But I have someone else in mind. If she’ll agree to do it, I’m in.”

  8

  Anna

  The next few days are uneventful. I go out to brunch with Harriet. I get my cell phone fixed. I go to work. And little by little, I manage to put Mason Robichaud out of my head.

  Mostly.

  I mean, sure, there’s the fact that the next night, my trusty vibrating friend comes back out of his hiding place in my bottom dresser drawer. And I may have had a steamy dream about him at some point. But mostly, I don’t think about him all that much. I keep busy with work, and follow up on a human interest lead my boss Ethan finally gives me about a high school all-star girls’ basketball forward. It’s a start, I guess.

  But that’s about it. Now, it’s almost a week later, and I still haven’t heard any breaking story about Mason getting signed to the Rockets. I can’t help but wonder if something’s fallen through. I hope for his sake that they’ve decided to pick him up. But if it does happen, I’ll have to hear about it in the news, just like everyone else.

  Friday afternoon at the station, I’m just about to call it a day. I was up early for my normal three a.m. slot, and I’ve been here for over fourteen hours. I’m starting to lose some serious steam. I’m just checking my email one more time before shutting my laptop when my colleague Mackenzie appears at my desk.

  “Hey, Anna!” she says, giving me a wide smile that displays her perfectly even, white teeth. “How did the story with the high school all-star go?” She cocks her head and gives me a little smirk. “I’m the one who suggested to Ethan to give it to you, by the way.”

  Mackenzie has been working at the station for just a few months longer than I have, but rumor has it she’s already being considered for one of the supporting slots on our morning show, Sunrise Springville. She’s exactly what you think of when you hear the phrase morning show TV host: perfectly straight blond hair; a golden, sun-kissed tan that I assume comes out of a bottle or a spray tan booth; a wardrobe that must have cost a mint and rides the bleeding edge between professional and sexy.

  She’s nice, though. I can’t fault her for playing the part to such perfection. I guess Mackenzie is just more ambitious than I am, or something. Just looking at her, it’s clear that in five years or so she’ll probably be one of the highest-paid talking heads at the station.

  And with my luck, I’ll probably still be stuck covering minor high school sports stories, waiting for my break.

  “Uh, it was good,” I nod. “Thanks for putting in a good word to me with Ethan.”

  “No problem!” she says brightly. “Also, guess what? I have some news!”

  She looks like she’s bursting to tell someone. Her expression is so excited that I can almost guess what it is.

  “Spill it,” I tell her.

  “I got the morning show slot!” She does a tiny little dance in place, with a miniature fist pump at the end. She looks absolutely stoked, and radiant.

  It’s a good thing I like her, because otherwise I might hate her just a little bit right now.

  “Congratulations!” I say, faking the enthusiasm that I really, really want to feel for her. “That’s just excellent news!”

  “Isn’t it?” she gushes. “Oh, my gosh, when Ethan called me into hi
s office earlier I was so nervous! But he didn’t keep me in suspense for very long, luckily. I’m supposed to start in two weeks.”

  “You’ll be great,” I say, and I mean it.

  “You want to go grab a drink with me?” she asks, glancing at the clock. “TGIF, and all. And I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

  Honestly, I really don’t want to do it. I’m tired, and all I really want to do is go home and spend the evening doing laundry or something pathetic like that. But after all, Mackenzie is a good person to have in my corner at work, and she is fun to hang out with. And, she just got a promotion. So instead of turning her down, I fix a bright smile on my face and nod.

  “That sounds like fun,” I say. “My treat, as a congratulations. I’m just finishing up here.”

  “Great!” she enthuses. “I’ll meet you down in the lobby in ten?”

  Half an hour later, we’re sitting across from each other at Six, a trendy local bar a couple of blocks from the TV station. We managed to grab one of the few free high-top tables, and the waitress has just brought us our drinks. Mackenzie holds up her lemon drop martini and announces, “To Friday!”

  I pick up my cosmopolitan and clink it against her glass. “To Friday,” I agree, even though in our field, weekends don’t always mean much. “And to your promotion!”

  Mackenzie gives me a happy smile and takes a delicate sip of her drink and sets it down. “Oooh, that’s good,” she croons. “So. Do you have any good weekend plans?”

  “Not really,” I admit. “Clean the house. Get some research done. Do some laundry. Call my dad.” It sounds pathetic, even to me. Instead of trying to think of something more exciting to add, I pick up my glass. “How about you?”

  “Oh, Nathan is supposed to take me to a work party on Saturday. It’s a formal event, at the Plaza.” She shrugs her shoulders as if to say it’s no big deal. “So, I have to go get my hair and makeup done tomorrow afternoon.”

  Mackenzie’s boyfriend is a commodities trader, whatever that is. He frequently rubs elbows with the some of the richest people in town, which means that Mackenzie does, too. They’re kind of an up and coming power couple, I suppose. It would be easy to be jealous of her, except that privately I think Nathan is kind of a dick.