Page 66 of Play the Last Card

“Sure,” I choke out, swallowing down the rock that has lodged in my throat.

He goes over to the couch in the living room and I wish he didn’t.

I am already emotionally invested in this man. I want him. If I can’t have him, the decent thing to do is to stay standing and not soil the memories I have of him on that couch. Reluctantly, I sink into the couch cushions next to him. He drops his head and runs his hands over his jaw, rubbing at the same spot. He sighs, his voice sounding almost defeated when he speaks.

“I should’ve told you this from the beginning, but fuck did I love that you had no idea who I was when we met.”

Confusion courses through me but I stay silent, letting him talk.

“My name is Scott Harvey; you already know that. I work for the Boston Broncos. You know that too.” I nod, reaching up to play with the ring that hangs around my neck. “I have been avoiding work related conversations because the first time we really spoke, back at the bar, you told me you didn’t like football. It made sense that you had no idea who I was when you said you didn’t like watching it or like anything to do with it. I used that to my advantage and decided not to tell you the whole truth.”

“You don’t work for the team?” My brows crush together, the confusion surely written all over my face.

So he lied? About working for the team? Was that it?

“No. I do. I just … I’m more involved than I’ve really let on.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. My breathing becomes shallow and my heart pounds in my chest.

What the fuck is going on?

“I’m the starting quarterback for the Boston Broncos.” He stares at me but my vision starts to blur from the outside in. Just like the fantasies had, the sight of him is turning to ash as he keeps talking.

“I got traded to the team at the beginning of the year. When I walked into the bar two months ago, I’d been in Boston for a few days, and was miserable about being here and moping around. I saw you through the windows of the bar and I—I just had to meet you. When you didn’t know who I was to begin with, I thought I’d got lucky. This line of work, we’re told to be careful from the moment we get some level of success playing college ball.”

I can’t breathe.

I can barely register his words anymore. My throat is closing, my stomach still turning over and over.

“I should’ve told you that night I came to the party at the bar,” he continues. “When I saw you again, I just … I don’t know. I wanted to know you. Then you told me you weren’t a fan of football, that you pretty much hated anything to do with the sport. So, I played off my job as something minor with the team.”

So he lied.

Dread fills me. My stomach is churning and my nerves are shot. All the questions he dodged. All the times he shut down whenever I asked about work. It was because he’s lying to me.

Oh my god.

I barely see Scott still sitting in front of me. His voice sounds so far away now, my eyes unfocused.

“When you told me about your family and your connection to the game, I felt like shit. I don’t want to put you in a position to be forced back into my world but then I almost ran into you at the stadium—”

“What?” I snap out of my haze.

“Youwere at the stadium last week with the coach's daughter. I almost ran into you coming out of his office.”

“Oh my god.” A little bit of bile rises in my throat and I struggle to swallow.

I feel sick.

“You should’ve told me.” I get up from the couch, moving around it so that there is something between us.

My skin crawls and I feel like I should take a shower.

“I know.” He stands too.

My head is pounding. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“We slept together,” I whisper, unable to look at him. “We had sex. Oh my god.”