Page 21 of The Game We Played

I scowl at him. “Didn’t you go to college? Didn’t you ever study in the library?”

His nose wrinkles. “Nah. The library wasn’t really for me.”

“What did you major in?”

“Kinesiology.”

My eyes widen. “I’m impressed.”

He scowls. “Did you think I’m stupid?”

“Honestly?” I don’t wait for his answer. “I assumed you went for some easy major. Maybe communication.”

“Kinesiology was interesting, and there are several careers I can pursue after I’m done playing football.” He pauses. “Assuming I can continue to play football for a few more years,” he mutters.

“What do you mean? You’re twenty-eight. Your performance hasn’t begun to decline. You can easily play for another four or five years.”

He blinks at me. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about football.”

My cheeks darken. I feel the heat but I ignore it. No reason to bring more attention to this embarrassing situation than I already have.

“I did an internship with a sports magazine. I thought they’d hire me after the internship, but…”

Some jock got the position. Why did I bother getting my hopes up? I should have known better.

The men were patronizing and thought they needed to protect me since I was working in a ‘man’s world’. I can’t count the number of times I didn’t get an interview with a male athlete because he was a playboy. Always under the guise of ‘it’s for your own good’. As if I was a child who couldn’t decide what was good for her.

“Their loss.”

I don’t want to discuss my professional failures. Especially not with Tanner, who’s at the height of his career, earning eight figures a year while I barely eke out an existence with my writing. And even that may disappear soon.

“What’s going on? Why do you think you won’t be playing much longer?” When he doesn’t speak, I push. “And what’s this proposition you have for me?”

He shoves a hand through his hair. I drop my gaze before I stare at how his biceps pop with the motion. I’m not dating this man. It’s not happening. No matter how much I want to touch those muscles and feel his skin.

“I have a situation.”

My curiosity alarm is now blaring. I want to pelt him with questions, but I know better. He’s jumpy and will bolt. I lift an eyebrow and wait.

He drums his fingers on the armrest. “My agent wants me to get my act together. He hired a PR company to help save my reputation.”

“Save your reputation?” My brow furrows before it hits me. “You’re in trouble again?”

He scowls. “We are not discussingit.”

I hold up a hand. “Understood.” For now. Who knows what the future will hold?

“Thanks.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, this PR firm wants me to do some charity events – visit hospitals and go to some balls – that sort of thing.”

“I’m struggling to understand what this has to do with me.” I’m not exactly the kind of person who attends charity balls.

“They…ah…”

My patience is gone. Curiosity is killing me. “Spit it out.”

“They want me to date a ‘good girl’ to help save my reputation. They gave me a list of names.”

I hold out my hand. “Hand it over. You’ve come to the right place. I’m excellent at research. I will have everything you need and want to know about these women in your hands before dinner.”