“I think if your username is ‘Babe Watcher,’ touching grass is not the core issue.”
Lindsey ducks forward with a laugh. “You’re so crazy.”
“I mean, it is the Internet, and we are putting critiques out there.”
“Still, would he say that to you in person? If you met him in the Tropical Isle, would he say that to you?”
“I don’t want to find out,” I mutter under my breath as I change legs.
“Don’t forget we’re registered as a corporation with a P.O. box.” She takes out her phone. “But I can try to find us a cheap space if it makes you feel better. We don’t have a lot of extra money lying around.”
Chewing my fingernail, I continue scrolling through the comments. “How easy is it for people to doxx us?”
“I expect if they’re determined…” Her voice trails off. “This place looks interesting. They’re asking for a credit card to hold it.”
“That’s weird.” I straighten, walking over to retrieve my card from my wallet. “They want my credit card just to look at it?”
Searching my wallet, my chest tightens. I drop my purse and dig through every pocket in the small, snap-front leatherpouch. Tossing it on the table, I jog quickly through our apartment to my bedroom.
When I get there, I drop to my knees, feeling in all the pockets of every pair of pants I’ve worn in the past week.
“I can’t find my credit card!” My eyes are wide, and I run back to the front room where Lindsey is still waiting, concern lining her brow.
“When’s the last time you used it?”
“I don’t know…” My voice drops to a whisper, and I turn my entire purse upside down, shaking everything out onto the rug.
Then I drop to my knees, raking my fingers through the assorted lipsticks, fingernail file, tampon, condom, key fob. “It’s not here.”
I sit back on my heels. My shoulders drop, and I let out a broken sigh.
“Don’t panic.” Lindsey puts her hands on my shoulders. “Just call and cancel it.”
“I need it for gas!” A firm knock on the door pulls me to my feet, and I walk to the door, looking back at Lindsey as I answer it. “Think I can go in and get a replacement card on the spot?”
“Are you Melody Dunne?” The familiar male voice steals the breath from my lungs.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, turning so fast I almost lose my balance.
My eyes rise up… up… up… to meet the sapphire blue ones of Knox Bradford.
Oh, shit.
CHAPTER 7
Knox
My fingers tighten on the pigskin, flexing as I scan the field, left to right, from Kyler to Baker, looking for any opening.
Our linebacker Brady Armstrong makes a beeline, heading straight for me. He doesn’t tackle me because it’s practice, but the dude is a fucking Sasquatch. He’s bigger than my uncle Garrett if that were possible, and I recall the way he sacked the Cardinals’ quarterback like he was nothing more than a rag doll.
I step away, running to the center, when I see Baker is open and pull back, firing a hard pass straight to him as Brady grabs me around the waist.
“Sacked,” he growls, but I twist away before he brings me to the ground.
“Hartfield has it. He’s running it in for the score.”
“Fuck,” my teammate hisses, and I cut an eye at him. Didhewantto plant me like a tree? “You still need me for Monday night’s game.”
