“So? There are tons of men in here who are cute, and most of them are lying, cheating, assholes.”

“But some of them aren’t.”

I wish she would stop defending Trace. “But he is.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He’s in all the papers and gets into so much trouble.”

“Seriously, Hollis? You’re the one who is always telling me not to believe anything I read in the papers or online, saying the media makes up information to sell stories—so how bad could he be?”

I laugh, tipping my head back, and when my eyes find their way across the room, locking with a set of dark brown ones, I swallow. “Bad enough.”

“Fine. You win.” She sips from the glass she’d been holding this entire time, which I’m sure is piss warm. Oops—I mean lukewarm. “I won’t mention it again.”

I stare at her, knowing she’s going to mention it again in five, four, three, two—

“All I’m saying is, you cannot let that man go to that party and tell people you’re knocked up.”

I roll my eyes. “He won’t.”

“No, probably not. By tomorrow he’ll invent something even more mortifying because look at him. His brain is probably the size of a walnut, all loose inside his head, knocking around in there.”

“Hey, don’t be mean. I’m sure he’s intelligent.” I study him now, as he stands in a cluster of players and their wives, the group of them laughing so loud I can hear them from here. Cheerful, carefree laughter. Like they’re having fun. Like I should be.

Those people will most likely all be there tomorrow.

One of them looks over his shoulder, directly at me. Raises his brows then turns back to the group.

Shit.

My forehead begins to sweat.

Surely he hasn’t already…

Surely he wouldn’t…

Again, our eyes meet. Someone else follows his gaze and I see an elbow bump.

A knot forms in my stomach.

That asshole!

Why is he doing this?!

The last thing I need is some pampered, spoiled, professional athlete who never gets told no using me as some sick form of entertainment. I am not a joke! I am his boss’s daughter, for God’s sa—

Shit, sorry God. I throw a prayer up, apologizing for using his name in vain. “What the hell am I doing?”

Shit. Sorry again.

“Talking to yourself, apparently.”

“I’m internalizing.”

“Clearly.” Madison holds up her glass, out of wine. “Can we take this little snooze-fest to the bar? I need a refill.”

I nod absentmindedly as I trail aimlessly behind her, a bit shook from this entire day—and it’s not nearly over yet. Tickets being forced on me. Marlon approaching. Trace ambushing us. The fake date idea.

It’s too much for my brain. This is not my style. I like plans and structure—spontaneous and impromptu invites make me twitchy, so in that regard, I’m a lot like my dad.

I groan.

Stare at the back of Madison’s head and start counting down the minutes until we can get out of this place.

Unknown Number: What time am I picking you up?

Me: Who is this?

Unknown Number: You’re adorable when you do this. It’s so cute.

Me: No for real—who is this?

Unknown Number: Your date for tomorrow. I’m going to come grab you and then we can get coffee, or tea, or whatever you want before heading to Harding’s. His house isn’t far from mine, but I can get you, nbd.

Nbd? What does that mean?

I google it, unsure. No big deal.

Right.

Me: Trace I am not going to that party with you. And how did you even get my number?

Trace: I called your dad’s secretary and told her I wrote it down instead of putting it in my phone and she gave it to me. The party is a backyard BBQ, so we’re good. Less pressure, wear shorts.

Me: Look I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but the last thing in the world I want to do is go to a party and be anywhere near Marlon Daymon.

Trace: Fine. But you should know he told someone else on the team that you’re full of shit and still in love with him.

Me: STILL IN LOVE WITH HIM! I WAS NEVER IN LOVE WITH HIM TO BEGIN WITH! WE WENT OUT FOR FIVE MINUTES.

Trace: Why are you yelling?

Oh my god, I’m going to kill this guy, for real for real.

Me: Please tell me you’re lying.

Trace: Loverboy told Jose Rodriguez you’re not going to show tomorrow because you’re still pining for him.

Me: Pining? Who even says that anymore?

Trace: I mean—he used different words, but you’re a lady so I used my filter. Shocking, I know. My mama would be so proud.

I cannot for the life of me imagine the actual sentence he would have said. If there’s one positive thing about Marlon Daymon, it’s that he might be a jackass, but he was never lewd or disrespectful. I mean…if you don’t count the cheating, ha ha.

Me: And you think me showing up today will make him stop talking about me? I never wanted anyone to know we went out in the first place. I don’t date players for this EXACT REASON.