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As soon as the photos started coming out, I told Shawn I’d had no clue who the brunette in them was when we went into that restroom together. Owens had a financial interest in the team. He wasn’t showing up for practices with a whistle and his wife by his side. I didn’t get why people didn’t think me having no idea who Cassandra Owens was, was a possibility. Still don’t. Aside from the fact that me sneaking around with my club owner’s wife is a much more scandalous story than me having sex in a bar restroom with a stranger.
“Look, I know this is the last thing you want. But you come out of this looking okay. She’s actually very complimentary of you. He’s a hot sex god. He treated me well. He was the bright spot in a dark time. Blah, blah. It’ll be a softer landing than the first story. More details, but the same people involved. Nothing that juicy.”
Shawn’s taking this better than I would have expected. Better than I am.
I can feel a vein pulsing in my temple. The last time this story broke was one of the worst days of my life.
Everything that seemed certain—my team, my friends, my future, where I lived—crumbled around me. But this will be worse, I realize. Waking up and coming to this field for practice and knowing that all the guys I’m fighting for some respect from will know—will think they know—that I had an affair with a married woman lasting months. That any progress I’ve made with them will likely get erased. That the approving nod Wagner just gave me will revert to a disapproving frown. Sophia will see it. Some of her photos might accompany the articles that will get published about it here.
“I want to put out a statement,” I decide.
“What?”
“I mean it, Shawn. You told me to keep my mouth shut and ride it out before, and I did. Not this time. Kluvberg can’t release me for saying she’s lying when she is.”
A pause, then, “I’d rather not find out.”
“This is way too fucking far. She twisted the truth before, acting like I knew who she was, but technically, we did have sex. I screwed up there. But this? An affair lasting months? It’s complete fiction. I don’t care what you say about rising above and not adding fuel to the fire and not getting involved. Silence means guilty to anyone else. At least my side of things will be out there. And she’s lying. She got lucky that people took photos of us that night. There’s not a single shred of evidence she could possibly have to support us having an affair for months. Everyone in Seattle—teammates, trainers, coaches—knew I didn’t do relationships.”
Shawn blows out a long breath. Instead of arguing, like I’m expecting, he agrees. “All right. We’ll draft something, send it to you for approval.”
“Thank you.”
“Written statement is it, okay? No sound bites. No comment is all you say if you get asked about it after a match. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Good. Check your email in a few hours.”
I hang up. Then fling the water bottle I’m carrying as hard as I can at the cinder-block wall of the training facility. Plastic explodes, water spraying everywhere.
Predictably, it doesn’t make me feel any better at all.
SEVENTEEN
SOPHIA
“Wow. You’re soooo pretty.”
I force a smile in response to the slurred compliment, leaning away when the guy takes a step forward. He’s cute. Drunk, but cute. Probably a university student, based on his casual clothes.
There’s not even the slightest spark of interest when he continues flirting with me, which is annoying. It piles on to the irritation I’m already experiencing.
I mutter an excuse to the guy, then head for the corner booth, where my friends are sitting. I don’t even bother to wait for the approaching bartender to order another drink, which is why I originally went over there.
I’ve been here for three hours, and I wish I’d left a while ago.
My friends love coming to the club Adler owns because there are often Kluvberg players hanging out here. And possibly seeing Will is the main reason I agreed. Which I feel stupid about, seeing as he’s not here. Seeing as he hasn’t texted all week. We haven’t spoken since the night we swapped secrets while he built furniture. I saw him at the game earlier, but only from a distance and through the lens of my camera.
It shouldn’t matter to me. Just the end of a few unexpected yet compelling hours spent with a guy who no longer feels like a stranger. A footballer who I should have absolutely no feelings for.
Relief is what I should be experiencing, that things ended cleanly between us. That we’ll both move on with our lives like we would’ve if I’d never sat in that seat.
But I’m not reassured. I’m restless.
“What happened to your drink?” Emilia asks when I reach the table.
I shrug. “They were busy.”
