Page 82 of The Game We Played

She shakes her head. “No, Tanner. I’ve got you.”

For a second, I can’t move – except to stare at her. Then I nod once and jog back onto the field.

The heat hasn’t let up. My muscles still ache. My lungs still burn. But something’s different now. Because for the first time in my life—

Someone’s in my corner.

Chapter 25

BREAKING: LOCAL WRITER DECLARES HERSELF A FAILURE Statement immediately challenged by a very persistent wide receiver

Alaia

I collapse on my sofa and rest my feet on the coffee table. I’m beat. I forgot how exhausting working the lunch crowd atBootleggercan be.

Silly me. I thought the absence of women dressed as mermaids would be a bonus. I didn’t realize every smuggler on the island would stop by for a drink and a chat. As if I’m going to spill everything I know about theSteel City Seals.

I write a gossip column. I’m not a gossip. There’s a difference.

My phone pings and I dig it out of my pocket. I have a new email. From the sports magazine I pitched the Knox story to.

My hands shake with excitement. This is it. My big break. Proof I’m worth it. Proof I don’t need my dad to make my career. Proof I can do things on my own. Proof I don’t need a man to manipulate things for my ‘owngood’.

No one else has managed to secure an interview with Knox Nichols. It’s an exclusive I know the magazine will love. An exclusive that will launch my career regardless of whether theGazettecloses.

I open the email.We regret to inform you…

Blazing bootleggers! It’s a rejection letter.

I scan the email. They praise my writing style but claim this is not an article their readership is interested in. What in the name of mermaids do they mean? It’s a sports magazine. The article is about one of the most popular offensive line coaches in the NFL.

My phone rings. I want to ignore it. But it’s the twins. Ignore them at your peril. I’m not stupid.

“What?”

“Someone’s grumpy!” They chant together.

I sigh. “What do you want?”

“What’s wrong?” Their initial cheer is gone. My sisters are a pain in my ass, but they’re supportive when I need them.

“My article was rejected.”

“Their loss,” Anne says.

“Yep,” Beth agrees. “You’re an excellent writer.”

My heart warms. “Thanks.”

“Do you want us to burn the newspaper building down?” Anne asks and I groan.

“No committing arson on my behalf. Besides, theGazettedidn’t reject my article; a sports magazine did.”

“We can train a bot to write nasty comments on all of their online articles,” Beth suggests.

“No. No revenge is necessary.” A bot will only be the beginning. I shiver to think what the end will be. “I’ll accept a drink, though.”

“We’ll be there in thirty minutes,” they declare in unison before hanging up.