When we’re done, I check my phone, wishing for a note from Brooke.

  But she offered to cool things for me, for my fucking benefit so I could do the job I’m paid to do. And I took her up on a generous, selfless offer.

  She’s not going to reach out since she did this for me.

  She’s a woman of her word.

  I should be a man who gets his job done.

  I go to bed alone, the same damn way I wake up the next day. I do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

  Practice, focus, miss Brooke.

  Then miss her again, and again, and again.

  After practice Thursday morning, I head out to meet my agent for lunch, trying to shake off the hollow feeling chasing me—my guilt too. It’s the day of the press tour. I should be there to show the bloggers and podcasters around. They’ve been good to me. I should be good back to them.

  Maddox waits for me at the Indian food truck. When he heard I didn’t get to try it a few weeks ago, he insisted on taking me out.

  I stride up to Maddox and say hello, focusing on the here and now. I will be present for lunch with my agent. “I am here to repent,” I say, flashing him a smile.

  “Good. The chana masala will make you never ditch this truck again,” he says, then asks if he can order for me.

  “Hell, yes. You always know what to pick,” I say.

  He orders naan, eggplant bharta and the aforementioned chana masala, then we grab a picnic table.

  As we tuck into the tasty dishes, he asks about my mom. “She’s keeping busy with Sophie and Mira, I presume?”

  “She is.” This is one of the things I’ve always loved about Maddox. He cares about me beyond my performance on the field.

  As we eat, we chat about my family, then he says, “And what are you thinking you want to do when your contract is up at the end of the season? Renew?”

  My stomach dips with new nerves. “If they’ll have me.”

  He furrows his brow, clearly surprised I said that. “Pretty sure they’ll have you. I can’t make any promises, but you’re one of the top quarterbacks in the league.” He tilts his head, studies me. “What’s going on, Drew?”

  I’m so used to being the confident guy with him, showing him I belong in the sport, that I’m worthy of the contracts he inks. Usually that’s all I need to be. But my emotions are seeping through the cracks today. I’m still unsure if I made the right choice on Monday morning.

  But I don’t need to burden Maddox with that.

  “Nothing really,” I say, but I can hear the lie in my voice.

  Maddox must too, since he sets down his fork with purpose. “What’s really going on, and how can I help you?”

  I don’t want to be the guy who complains about his lady woes. But I can’t keep it from him, especially since he seems to be figuring it out already.

  “Just woman trouble,” I say, trying to make light of it.

  He looks concerned. “Did something go wrong with Brooke?”

  He knows I was seeing her, since our pics were all over socials.

  I heave a sigh, then let a little more of the truth out. “Yeah. And it’s probably all my fault.” Fuck, that’s a relief to say.

  But I just miss her ridiculously.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  That is the question, but I’ve got zero answers. “I don’t know, Maddox. I thought maybe I was distracted because of her. And I was supposed to do this press tour with the team today. She got me out of it. But it’s not in my nature to back out.”

  “It’s not. That’s not your style. You work hard and you represent,” he says. “But is that what’s eating at you?”

  I scratch my jaw, then shake my head. “Yes, but mostly I just miss her.”

  He gives a soft smile. “And have you talked to Carter about that?”

  I give him a quizzical look. “Why do you ask?”

  “He’s always the one you talk to about your romantic woes. He usually knows what you should do.”

  Maybe I’ve avoided talking to him about Brooke these last few days. For that very reason.

  But I can change that right away.

  25

  THURSDAY AFTERNOON QUARTERBACK

  Brooke

  Drew and I never went parasailing, but even so, I shift my gaze away from the parasailer floating above the ocean. It reminds me of the day we met.

  I don’t need any reminders of the conversations we had, the way we flirted, or our instant connection.

  I’m at an oceanfront café Thursday afternoon with Cara. I worked from home this morning, and I’ll be heading to the stadium for the tour shortly. But first, lunch. We’re celebrating that Cara just aced one of her key exams.

  “I’ll say it again—I’m seriously proud of you.” I toast with the remains of my iced tea one last time as we wrap up.

  “And I’m amazed by you,” she says.

  I arch a brow in question. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve eaten a full meal and you haven’t mentioned Drew once. You have some serious restraint.”

  I sigh heavily. “There’s no point. There’s nothing to say.”

  Except my heart aches still, and that sucks. The only thing that’s taken my mind away from him is work. I’ve logged twelve hours most days. All the work reminds me that I’m closer to paying off my loans.

  And it’s better to worry about loans than a real fake romance. Or a fake real romance? Or whatever it was.

  I raise my chin, take a hearty sip of the last of my iced tea, and set down the glass. “And on that note, I have to give a tour to the press.”

  “Why are you doing the tour? You’re a lawyer,” she says.

  It’s a damn good question. Originally, Stephen just wanted me to be part of the event because I handled all the deals with the food vendors. But then he wanted me on it because of Drew. Now, I’m leading the dang thing. “Nancy in publicity is out sick for the day, so Stephen asked me to fill in. Plus, he says I’m the best at only saying to the press exactly what he wants said. Yay me.”

  “Well, you’re pretty damn sharp, Miss Legal Eagle. Maybe you should have Nancy’s job,” she says.

  I shudder. “No thanks. Contracts are my speed. But it’s just one tour, so it’ll be fine.”

  I stand to go but Cara grabs my arm, gently pulling me back into my chair. “What if they ask about the two of you?”

  My throat tightens. “I’ll say something…pithy about how football requires focus.”

  Though that sounds horribly canned. Also, it’s a lie. Plenty of athletes can handle romance and work. Plenty of humans can. I’d thought we could.

  But I was wrong.

  “Brooke, his bad game isn’t your fault,” Cara says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You actually believe it’s your fault. You buy into this whole focus blah-blah-blah. But it’s bullshit.”

  Whoa. Cara hardly ever swears. “Tell me what you really think.”

  “You saw the game on Sunday, right?” she asks, a blazing intensity in her eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “And did San Francisco not play its ass off in that game?”

  We are both football daughters. Cara knows the game inside and out like I do. “They were great,” I agree.

  “No one was going to beat them. He’s an idiot if he thinks he lost because of you. The Hawks were relentless. They played a tight, intense game, and they took advantage of every opportunity.”

  Can’t argue there. “But it’s not my place to convince him of that.”

  “I know. But I don’t want you thinking you rattled him. He had a bad game. It happens. Don’t put it on you, and don’t let him put it on you.”

  Cara makes a good argument. One I should share—not to win Drew back, but because it’s true and because it matters.

  Sometimes you win; sometimes you lose. A pro baller knows how to play through life’s ups and downs, the bad times and the good times.

  Drew’s not just any pro baller.

  He’s a damn good one. He needs to have faith in himself. Maybe he needs to know others have faith in him too, even if he has one imperfect game.

  When I see him again, I’ll tell him as much. Only, I have no idea when that’ll be.

  After I go home, change, and head to the stadium, I decide I’m not going to leave this moment to chance.

  26

  THE REAL STREAK

  Drew

  Carter can’t stop laughing. He goes on for thirty seconds and once he’s done gasping for breath, he points at me over FaceTime in case I didn’t realize I was the butt of a joke. “I wish I’d recorded that. I’d play it at your wedding.”

  I jerk my head back, staring hard at his face on the screen. “What are you talking about?”

  “That whole thing you just said. I walked away from the best relationship I’ve ever had because I can’t handle being an adult.”

  I groan. “That is not what I said.”

  “But that’s what I heard,” he says, laughing once again.

  I stop pacing around my condo and drop my head into my hand. “Why did Maddox tell me to talk to you? Is he a prankster?”

  Carter scoffs. “Because he knew I’d tell you the cold, hard truth,” he says, turning starkly serious. “You didn’t fuck up a game because you fell in love. It was just a game, man. One that you didn’t happen to win. Don’t throw the woman out with the L.”

  I blink and shake my head like a dog shaking off water. “What did you just say?”

  He repeats the part about the game, but I gesture for him to back it up. “The other part.”

  “Oh,” he says with a laugh. “The part about you being in love? Yeah, that’s why you’re all weird and shit. You’re in love with her, and you freaked out. And you totally can fucking handle football and love. You’re a pro baller, so go out and do it.”

  I take a moment to let the weight of his words sink in. Then I check the time.

  Oh, fuck.

  Then, as I spin into action, I spot a silver charm on my nightstand, and it gives me an idea.

  Traffic sucks.

  “C’mon,” I mutter as I check the clock on the dashboard for the fiftieth time. I’ve got ten more minutes to go one mile.

  It could take an hour, or it could take a few minutes.

  Most likely it will feel like a year.

  But luck shines down on me, and I cover the final mile in eight minutes, pulling into the players’ lot and snagging the first spot I see.

  I grab my phone without checking my messages, without calling Brooke. I don’t want to do this on the phone. I want to see her in person.

  And I want to be a man of my word.

  I said I’d do the tour, and when you say you’re going to do something, you should damn well do it.

  I run to the players’ entrance then downstairs to the corridor that leads to the locker room, where the tour starts. I pick up the pace until I spot a group milling around the door one hundred feet ahead—twenty or so reporters, then Clements, then…

  There she is.

  Wow.

  She looks stunning, and I’m such an idiot for letting her go.

  I don’t slow down.

  I’ve got ten seconds to be on time, and I’m going to fucking be on time for my commitments.

  Especially the one I made to Brooke when I told her I was falling for her. Part and parcel of that is I won’t want to cool off again.

  She spots me, looking at me as if I’m as unexpected as a housecat wandering through the stadium. Her head tilts, her brow furrows, and her face is unreadable. Her poker face is tight, but her brown eyes are full of questions and, I think, hope.

  I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s gorgeous in her black skirt and red blouse, her blonde hair twisted up on her head.

  But it’s her heart that I want most—the heart that wanted to give me space.

  Fuck space.

  I don’t want that anymore.

  I’m about to run past all these reporters when a guy in glasses speaks first, stopping me. “Hey, Drew. We didn’t think you were going to be here.”

  A redheaded woman with freckles goes next. “Are you joining the tour after all, Drew?”

  Then Clements strides forward and gives me a fist bump. “Always showing me up,” he says with a smirk.

  “Thanks for being my backup,” I say, but I’m not in the mood to joke.

  I’ve got eyes for one person and one person only.

  “I’d love to show you all around,” I say to the reporters, my gaze locked on Brooke’s. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

  I walk past them all, and they part, letting me reach her quickly.

  She purses her lips and waits for me.

  I reach into my pocket, take out the charm necklace, and press it into her hand. “I love you. I want you to leave this at my place any time, and I’ll keep finding it and bringing it to you.”

  Instantly, her bluff vanishes. She smiles like a Jumbotron caught us kissing.

  Which sounds like a damn good idea but I’m not done. “I want football and romance. I was a fool to think we couldn’t make both work. I don’t want any space from you. I want to see you every night, and every morning.”

  But before she can speak, I realize my faux pas. “Oh, shit,” I whisper. “You probably didn’t want me to say all that in public.”

  With her free hand, she grabs the collar of my shirt. “I do. I did. All I want is you.”

  I loop my arms around her neck. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “But thank you for giving me another chance.”

  “Drew,” she says, her voice soft and feathery and just for me. “You’ll have bad days at work, and so will I. But we’ll have good days too. We just can’t let the bad days dictate how we feel about each other.”

  I nod, still a little guilty, but that’s okay. I should feel guilty. I fucked up when I freaked out. But I can learn from it. “I know. I believe that. I didn’t think there was room for love and football, but I was wrong.”

  “I want love and football too,” she says.

  “Oh my God, just fucking kiss her,” Clements breaks in with an aggrieved groan.

  The guy with glasses chimes, “Yes, yes, yes!”

  The woman cheers me on too. “Right now.”

  I look at Brooke, asking permission. “Are you sure?”

  She laughs. “Trust me, it’s no hardship to kiss you in public or private. But first, maybe put this on me?”

  She hands me the charm necklace, and I loop it around her neck, clasping it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the phone cameras go wild. Pretty sure they’ve been going wild this whole time.

  Works for me.

  This moment is as real as all the other ones—the Whac-A-Mole game, the walk after the charity event, the kiss on the beach.

  But this one is the start of the real us.

  My heart beats faster as I move in closer. Then my lips are on hers, and I kiss the woman I love.

  But not for long. We have a tour to do.

  When I break the kiss, she’s smiling like she has a secret.

  “What’s that for?” I ask.

  “Oh, I just love you too,” she says. Then she clears her throat, and meets the eyes of the press, who’ve caught all this on camera. “Let me show you the locker room first.”

  Just like that, we give a tour of the stadium together.

  When it’s over, she grabs my hand, pulls me into a stairwell, and kisses me hard. “I can’t believe you showed up here like that.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t show up three days ago. I’m so sorry,” I say, wishing I could have gotten my act together. “And I’ll keep saying that. You deserve to hear it. You deserve everything good in the world, Brooke.”

  Shaking her head, she presses her finger to my lips. “We’re good. No groveling is necessary. I get it.”

  My heart thumps harder. She’s too good to me. “You really do?”

  “Drew, you had a great start to the season. You had all sorts of luck, but it came from talent and hard work. Then you had one rough game. But you blamed yourself when the reality is…it’s just football.”

  That’s what I started realizing the other day in the locker room with my guys. But hearing her say that means a lot to me too. That’s another form of luck—when the person you love completely understands you.

  “Took me a while to figure that out,” I say.

  “You were doing a lot. You’ve taken on a ton of extra responsibilities. It can be overwhelming. Just know I’m here for you. And I know you’ll do great this weekend,” she says, then studies my face. Her eyes are full of question marks. “Didn’t you get my message?”

  She sent me one? Of course she fucking did because she’s awesome. “I didn’t look at my phone. I was in such a rush to get here and see you.” I grab it from my pocket and click on it, reading words she sent a little while ago.

  Streaks never last. It’s the very nature of streaks to end. But I believe in you as an athlete and as a man. You’ve handled this season so far with grace and confidence, and I know you’ll keep doing it.

  My heart thunders. “I don’t deserve you. But I want to deserve you.” Then I kiss her again, reveling in the sweet taste of her lips, the scent of her hair, the feel of her in my arms once more.

  She kisses me back tenderly, as if she’s delighting in this kiss too. Like she’s savoring every second of us coming back together.

  But I’m also getting turned on, so I end it. “I should go, or I might try to hike up your skirt here in the stairwell.”

  She wiggles a brow. Such a naughty woman. “I probably wouldn’t stop you.”

  I groan, wanting that badly. “All the more reason for me to take off. So I can get you off later. When do you finish work?”

  “In a couple of hours.”

  It feels like an eternity. “Can I bury my face between your legs then?”