She laughs softly. “Okay, well, Zach told us you were his girlfriend last night...” She pauses, taking in my face. “Should I assume that was true, or should I assume he was just a little overeager?”
“Definitely the second one,” I mutter. “Very much the second one.”
Bella’s brows raise. “I get it. Dinner with him was...eye opening.”
“He’s a lot, isn’t he?”
She smiles, relaxing a little.
“My dad coached him, and between him and Drew, I’ve basically had secondhand Zach Evans updates for years. Mostly football. Occasionally stories about how stubborn he is.”
“Wait—your dad, what?”
“My dad is Coach Summers. I guess Zach forgot to mention that.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Coach Summers was Zach’s coach at St. Michael’s. I didn’t even know he had a daughter. Let alone one who’s dating a franchise quarterback in the NFL.
Bella laughs softly. “Yeah, not surprised. My dad doesn’t like to advertise that I forced his favorite player to leave his team.”
Woah, if that’s not a loaded sentence. I have so many questions. None that feel appropriate for this conversation.
I shake my head. “That feels like important information Zach should’ve shared before letting me embarrass myself in front of you.”
“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” she says easily. “And I get why he didn’t mention it. The second he saw you at the hostess stand, everything else kind of stopped existing for him.”
Bella smiles and folds her hands over her book.
“That’s the problem with Zach,” I mutter.
She lets out a small laugh.
“Oh, believe me. I get it. Bad men are simple. They leave and move on. Good men are... inconvenient. They wait. Theypine.Even when you’re thousands of miles apart, they are still right there in the back of your mind, making it very hard to pretend someone else could ever feel the same.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” I ask with a brow raised as I hold back my smirk.
She nods once. “Maybe it’s a quarterback thing. They’re trained to commit to a play and see it through, no matter how messy it gets. Turns out they do that with people too.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
“Yeah... he’s not exactly subtle about it.”
“No,” she agrees. “He’s not.”
“Honey Sanderson?” The spa attendant appears in the doorway. “We’re ready for you.”
I close the book and stand. Bella waves me off.
“Have a good treatment,” she says. “Maybe I’ll see you later?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, surprised to find that I think I would be okay with it.
I follow the attendant down the hallway, clutching my towel close to my chest, hoping this massage will get my mind off everything.
Ascent Sportswear wants to move forward on the campaign. It would be a full launch, three-day shoot in early September. The other athlete you’ll be paired with is Whit Marlow, LPGA champion.
“Whit Marlow,” I say under my breath as I relax against the lounge chair and look up to the sky. The only thing I know about Whit Marlow is that she’s had it pretty similar to me. Ever since she won her first LPGA tournament, the press has been all over her, acting like she’s the golden child, sent to them to save their sport.
I can fucking relate.
