The Lie : a bad boy sports romance

by Karla Sorensen

  “And there’s something wrong with wanting to keep that friendship the way it is?” I asked. When I imagined Nick reacting like stupid-asshole Walker—the anger, the pity, the disdain—my chest started aching, tightening the space around my heart.

  Her face softened. “No. But gawd, Faith, what if he looks like a Hemsworth or something? You could be tapping that right now if you’d just ask to meet him.”

  I laughed. “There’s no way I’d get that lucky.”

  “Why not? He probably thinks the same thing about you, and you’re a fricken ten, Pierson.”

  “Lydia is a ten,” I corrected because the hotness of my sister was something no one could argue with. With a rueful glance down at my My Little Pony T-shirt and dark jeans, I shrugged. “I’m an eight who can fake it with some good makeup.”

  “Get outta here.” She laughed, then glanced at the clock on her desk. “Ooh, you actually need to get outta here. I have to go meet the school group.”

  I blew her a kiss. “See you at home.”

  “Plan something really good for the asshole,” she called behind me.

  As I walked down the hall and out the doors into the zoo, taking the path toward the koalas, I had the tiniest of evil smiles on my face because I was going to do exactly that.

  Faith

  “This was a great idea,” the school director gushed. The parking lot was configured for easy traffic flow with buckets and brushes and stacks of towels set up next to orange cones on the asphalt.

  “I think it’ll go over well.”

  Shielding my eyes, I watched two soccer players from the Seattle team chat with a couple of baseball players. Next to them was the quarterback for the Wolves and one of his linebackers. Dominic Walker hadn’t arrived yet.

  Behind them, up against the brick walls of the school, were hoses, dog shampoo, and even more towels than the cars might need. I got this idea while helping Tori out at the zoo, washing down some of her babies. She made a joke that we needed a service to wash the animals and her car at the same time, and how much she’d pay for someone else to do it.

  So that was what we did.

  The joint fundraiser was for one of the Team Sutton elementary schools and an animal shelter right around the corner—people could bring their cars and their dogs for a scrub down by professional athletes.

  For a donation, of course.

  The Team Sutton staff had tables set up with team swag for purchase, all the sports teams represented from each of the athletes who’d shown up to help. Beyond the few I could see were players from the professional women’s team and a retired WNBA player, all chatting with the head coach from the men’s basketball team at UDub. It was one of our best athlete turnouts all year.

  I blew out a slow breath because these were the moments when I loved my job so much, it was stupid. When shifting stacks of paperwork and attending endless days of meetings all paid off in one epically awesome event that should raise a frack ton of money.

  When I heard the rumble of a truck pulling into the far side of the parking lot, I knew he’d finally arrived. The two Wolves players approached me as I watched Dominic Walker unfold his big body out of his truck.

  “Why’s he here?” Brody asked. He was a fifth-year linebacker, and I had to tip my head up to meet his confused gaze.

  “Serving some Allie-mandated time,” I told him.

  James, the QB and one of my favorite players on the roster, laughed under his breath. “Yeah, I heard about what he did.”

  “And you’re laughing?” Brody said to James. “He puked on the field, man. I don’t want that shit in our locker room.”

  Hearing it left a sour taste in my mouth, and I was glad I’d invited him here first. A test run where there was a lot less possible damage he could inflict if he couldn’t pull his shit together.

  James gave a chiding look to his teammate. “I’m not laughing at that, and you know it. But I don’t think we should rush to judgment either.”

  Brody huffed out a humorless laugh. “Well, he said he’s the one who did it. I left that partying bullshit behind in college, and I’m not okay with someone taking up a starting spot who can’t respect the opportunity we have.”

  As Walker approached us, Brody gave me a deferential nod.

  “Thanks for inviting me, Faith. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  I smiled. “Just wash a lot of cars.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  James tucked his hands into his pockets as we watched Dominic come to a stop a few feet away from us.

  “Good to see you, Walker,” James said.

  Dominic nodded. Just once.

  “I thought I had to work with kids or something,” he said to me. Under the brim of his black hat, his eyes were in shadows. It lent him a dangerous edge, one that worked for his entire demeanor. But even in those shadows, I saw his gaze skirt down to my vintage Wolves shirt with the faded logo from the 80s. Allie ran a limited edition printing a few years back, and the entire campaign had sold out in a day.

  “I don’t trust you yet,” I told him.

  James coughed, covering his mouth to smother what I suspected was a laugh.

  Dominic tilted his head to the side. “I’m hurt.”

  “I don’t think you are.” I motioned to a five-gallon bucket filled with two sponges, some towels, and a chamois cloth for drying off the windshield. “Today is when you prove to me that I can, though.”

  His jaw clenched.

  Brody approached behind us. “Faith, how do you want us to split up washing cars or the dogs?”

  Dominic must’ve seen something on Brody’s face because his entire frame tensed.

  “Walker,” Brody said. “Can you keep your food down today? There’ll be cameras here.”

  James pinned the linebacker with a look, and Brody lifted his hands up.

  “Just sayin’.”

  I rubbed my temples. “You guys are worse than children.”

  “I didn’t say shit,” Dominic protested.

  My head came back. “Should I recap our first meeting for them?”

  “Can’t stop thinking about it either?” He flashed a crooked grin that had my stomach go weightless for just one stupid second. “I’m flattered, sunshine.”

  My eyes closed for a moment, and I held up a hand to Brody, who opened his mouth like he was going to say something. “If you’re comfortable washing dogs, I’d prefer you there, Brody. We have a couple of athletes who don’t want to deal with it, but you will have a grooming tech with you from the shelter to help.”

  “Whatever you need, Faith.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Suck-up,” Dominic mumbled as Brody walked away.

  James shook his head. “Walker, I don’t think this is how you want to start here.”

  “Are you my boss that I don’t know about?” The look in his eye was so combative that I actually felt the hair lift on the back of my neck. What was Allie thinking? This guy was walking around looking for people to piss him off.

  But James wasn’t intimidated. He smiled widely. “Today? Nope. That’s her,” he said, tilting his head at me. “By the end of the day, you’ll wish it was me. Faith doesn’t mess around with her events.”

  “Dogs or cars?” I asked James.

  “I’ll stick with the one that can’t bite my throwing hand.”

  I handed him a bucket. “Good call. Thanks, James.”

  As he walked away, I was left with the big brooding baby, and I had to remind myself that while it wasn’t my job to get his ego in check, it was my responsibility for these events to go off seamlessly.

  As I picked up the next bucket, he eyed it cautiously.

  “It’s just a bucket,” I told him. “You afraid of a little hard work?”

  He exhaled a laugh. “Sunshine, you have no idea how little I’m afraid of.”

  “Ahh, the fragile male ego on display. A rare specimen indeed.” I handed him the bucket.

 
“Just didn’t want you clocking me in the balls with it.”

  I smiled. “Could I find them if I tried?”

  Dominic narrowed his eyes.

  “You can wash cars,” I told him.

  “What if I want to wash dogs instead?”

  I met his gaze. “Tell you what, you can wash the dogs if you want.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Why do I feel like that was too easy?”

  I took the bucket back from Dominic. “Because it’s a good test. When I said I don’t trust you, I wasn’t kidding. There’s no way I’m letting you work with kids until I know you’re not going to blow it. The kids who benefit from Team Sutton’s grants have been through enough, and a guy like you with an attitude problem is the very last thing they need.”

  His mouth flattened, but he didn’t argue.

  “So if you can manage this without one of those friendly little pooches biting your face off, we’ll call it good.”

  He eyed the lineup of dogs ready for their baths. “How much are these people paying for me to wash dog shit off their animals?”

  “A lot,” I answered cheerfully. “Now run along, hotshot. I’ll be taking notes from my position of power.”

  Dominic gave me a look that might’ve withered a lesser woman, but instead, my smile widened. I waved my fingers in a happy wave, and his glare deepened.

  But about ten minutes later when I looked in his direction, he was on his knees, hat turned backward, carefully scrubbing a tiny, used-to-be-fluffy white dog while it licked his face. Whatever he’d done to start that tiny dog’s bath had ended with a metric ton of water where it shouldn’t have been because Dominic’s shirt was plastered to the hard, muscular planes of his chest. And he had a lot of hard, muscular planes.

  And he was laughing.

  Dominic’s gaze lifted, and he locked his eyes with mine. Now the hair on the back of my neck lifted, not because of his temper or anything he’d said, but because something foundational seemed to shift with the way he looked at me.

  I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I tore my gaze from his and let out a deep breath.

  “It was nothing,” I whispered. “Just a little harmless eye contact.”

  But still, when I glanced at him underneath my lashes, he was still looking in my direction with his brow bent in confusion. He blinked, then carefully rinsed off the dog, chatting amiably with the owner as the tiny little animal shook off the water.

  I had a feeling, the kind of gut reaction that rarely steered me wrong, that Dominic’s reactions to people like Brody or me were far more bark than bite.

  It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something.

  Dominic

  The first shoulder-check in the weight room could’ve been chalked up to coincidence.

  The second clued me in because the offensive tackle in question actually knocked me back a few inches. Rock music blared in my earbuds, and I glimpsed over my shoulder at his retreating back. A couple of guys quietly going about their workouts watched the exchange with veiled interest.

  What a warm welcome I was getting here in Washington. So much for any of the prodigal son feelings I’d had before.

  In their mind, I had crossed some invisible line by doing what I’d done—they thought I’d puked all over the Wolves logo.

  By the time the third attempt came my way, I managed to sidestep actual contact because he was the outside linebacker, big and mean-looking and talented as hell. Yeah, I was no shrimp, but even though I could meet him eye to eye, he’d be able to snap my body in half without breaking a sweat. And he’d been playing in Washington his entire lauded career.

  Beneath my frustration that my time in Washington was starting like this was a small kindling of something unfamiliar. It took me a few reps at a couple of different machines before I recognized it.

  Embarrassment.

  They didn’t know what my problem was. They didn’t know why I did it. They just saw me as an interloper. Someone who didn’t respect the system they’d all worked so hard to build. It was a marked difference from Allie’s approach.

  If she’d met me with this same closed-off energy, it would’ve been so much easier to write her off. Write off this entire place as an experiment gone wrong. And maybe it still was. Maybe I belonged somewhere like Vegas, where they cheered and applauded when I acted out. Where my coach used to grab me by the helmet and scream at me to go knock people out on the field.

  Literally. He told me to actually knock people out once.

  Even as self-destructive as I could be sometimes, I knew it wasn’t a good environment if I wanted to do this job for at least a decade.

  But I wasn’t in Vegas, even if these guys thought I belonged there.

  My focus narrowed in on the equipment I was using, the ability to take whatever I was feeling and channel it onto the weights until my muscles were warm and my chest was loose. It was the kind of energy I needed gone before I left the facilities freshly showered and ready to meet with Little Miss Sunshine again.

  As I curled my arms, hefting my weight through some pull-ups, I couldn’t banish the image of Faith Pierson from my head.

  Her dark hair and her big smiles and her absolute refusal to take any of my shit. I’d never met anyone like her, and it showed, considering I’d struggled to keep my mind off her even after I’d left the first event.

  Making me wash dogs to see if I could be trusted.

  Gritting my teeth, I did one more pull-up before dropping down onto the rubberized floor of the weight room.

  Coach walked in, followed by his longtime defensive coordinator, Logan Ward, the clear shoo-in for the Wolves’ next head coach once the position was open. They had the same steely-eyed look about them, even if Coach was a decade or two older than Ward, who didn’t show his age much except for some silver at his temples.

  Hands on my hips while I tried to catch my breath after the pull-ups wasn’t how I wanted to meet him for the first time, but I nodded as they approached. Coach looked me up and down, nothing in his expression that made me think he was about to rip me a new asshole for what I’d done. Ward, however, had a look in his eye that made my balls shrivel up.

  I straightened in the way I know my mom would expect of me when meeting my superiors. “Coach Marks, Coach Ward.”

  Coach shook my hand. “Coach Torres is running a little late, but I expect he’ll try to find you before you leave,” he said, referring to my offensive coordinator.

  With a quick glance at the wall of the weight room, I nodded. “I’ll be around for a bit longer.”

  “Got somewhere important to be?” Ward asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Judging by the expression on his face, he knew exactly where I needed to be. I wanted to match his stance, cross my arms over my chest and spread my legs wide, tighten my jaw. But I kept my arms loose, attempted a smile. “Mrs. Sutton-Pierson was kind enough to…” I paused, searching for the right word. “Volunteer me for some time spent at her foundation.”

  Coach’s lips twitched, but he kept the smile from spreading. “She’s good at that. Team Sutton is a world-class organization, so if she wants you to help out, it’ll do you good.” He glanced at Ward, nudging Logan with his elbow when he didn’t move a muscle. “You know he’s not yours to intimidate, Ward.”

  “Shame,” he uttered in response. “You got off easy, Walker.”

  Coach Ward couldn’t have known how I was feeling all morning, that there was a slow simmer to my anger just under the surface. And unfortunately for him, it was his tone that unclipped the leash on my reaction. “Did I? I haven’t done shit to anyone in this room, but every single person in here is acting like I slashed your tires or something. I thought Washington was supposed to be the good guys,” I said smoothly. “Maybe you’re all just a bunch of hypocrites.”

  He stepped closer, hands dropping to his side. The entire weight room watched us as the temperature went from chilly to downright fucking arctic.

  I’d heard so ma
ny stories about him as a coach, stacked on top of his reputation from when he played. Well-respected didn’t even come close to touching what people thought of him. If you listened to the pundits, to the guys who he used to coach, he damn near walked on water, and he was looking at me like I was less than dirt.

  Logan’s chest was only a couple of inches from mine. “You don’t disrespect this house, this family, Walker. When you make the choice to treat it like a frat house”—he leaned in, and I felt my hands curl up into fists—“I have a problem. From the top down, we operate under the belief that everyone here demands respect, and when you act like you’re too good to give it, don’t expect me—or anyone in this locker room—to kiss your ass because you’re good at this job.”

  I tilted my head and studied his face. He meant it. If I moved wrong, I had a feeling that this guy—twenty-plus years my senior—would kick the shit out of me.

  From the corner of the room, the rookie edged away from a machine and opened his mouth to say something. I silenced him with a mighty glare and a short shake of my head. Then I looked back at Ward.

  At my silence, which was born out of whatever shred of self-preservation still held on by a single, sad thread, he pointed at the locker room, to the rapt audience watching us. “They’re all good at this job. The whole league is filled with guys who can play this game. And outside of it, there’s no end of untapped potential just waiting for you to waste this chance.” He lifted his chin. “If you fail here, there’s only one person to blame, and you look at him in the mirror every single morning. You made a choice when you started here.” His voice carried through the whole room, and my face burned hot as I realized the full spectacle we were putting on. “Make a better one, Walker. Because you could be key to this team’s success, but only if you actually shut your punk-ass mouth, work harder than you’ve ever worked in your entire life, and learn some respect for this place. You got it?”

  If I closed my eyes, I could visualize the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other. The devil, red-horned and hissing, whispered in my ear that I should shoulder-check someone on my own, starting with the guy in front of me. But louder, calm and steady, was the angel.