away from a real relationship.”
“It’s not that—”
“Do you still want to find the right man? Settle down? Leah, you couldn’t wait to have kids.”
I pretended the folder full of information from the local fertility clinic wasn’t sitting in the bottom drawer of my desk. I wanted a family more than anything. Hell, I wanted it more than the marriage with Wyatt. It was unconventional, but I wondered what Jolene would protest more—an apparent relationship with the renowned manwhore Jack Carson…or the information on sperm donors I had meticulously catalogued in a hidden folder.
Both ideas were sounding crazy to me at the moment.
“Jack will not give you that life.” Jolene held her hand up. “This is me talking as a friend. He’s only going to run around on you. Do yourself a favor and stop before you get hurt. You’re a smart, lovely girl. Don’t let him break you.”
“Jack Carson will never break me.”
“I hope so, Leah. Just…consider my advice. End this before it gets too serious, for your own sake.”
She was right, more than she realized. I excused myself and marched to my office. My emails dinged with a dozen new requests for information, interviews, statements, and explanations. My first priority was spinning the accident and details of Jack’s latest indiscretion.
But I couldn’t do it now.
Jack’s plan wouldn’t work. We had to stage a breakup before the lie spiraled any further out of control.
I took an early lunch and raced to the Rivets’ practice facility, slipping through security with a flash of an issued badge courtesy of Ironfield’s star, trouble-making quarterback. Usually publicists didn’t get access to the field, but most publicists handled normal clients—clients who showed up on time, did their jobs as best they could, and managed their sponsorships with an ounce of professionalism.
I stormed through the tunnels and onto the field. The team wasn’t in training camp yet, but the players were encouraged to return to standard practices and exercises in preparation for the season. I thanked my lucky stars Jack was back where he belonged. He could make a spectacle out of himself on the field instead of in a bar, public restroom, concert venue, or roadside accident.
I didn’t recognize the receiver who caught the pass in the end zone, but he circled around the goal posts and walked beside me on the sidelines. His dreads clacked with crimson beads, matching his eventual uniform once the guys donned pads to practice. He grinned. It was a nice smile, but I knew where his goodwill was aimed.
“Hey, there, baby. I was hungry for something sweet.”
He was a worse flirt than Jack. I wasn’t in the mood. Didn’t stop him from trying.
“You’re the little drop of chocolate I’d love to—”
Caleb West, the largest man on the team as well as the gentlest teddy bear they signed, thundered from the sidelines to my side. He carried a water bottle and nearly chucked it at the receiver’s head.
“Whoa.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s too good a girl for you. Beat it, rookie.”
The receiver scowled, took his chances, then bolted when Caleb took a step too close.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem, little lady.” Caleb grinned. “You’re not here for me, are ya?”
“Not today, but do you remember you have a radio show tomorrow afternoon, broadcasting live from the new sushi place on fifth?”
“Yes, ma’am. Looking forward to it. Bringing my kids so I can see their faces when I give them raw fish. They still haven’t forgiven me for squid ink pasta.”
“Why can’t all my clients be like you?”
He laughed. “You here to kick Jack’s ass?”
“Changed out of my heels into flats to do it.”
Caleb pointed to the crowd of players running exercises. The men were working on a feat of strength that ached my abs just watching.
“Give him hell…but leave him in one piece?” Caleb said. “We’d like to make it back to the championship.”
“A quarterback doesn’t need both kneecaps, does he?”
Caleb sauntered away, shunning me as a hellcat. He had no idea.
I picked a cautious path between segments of the team completing their conditioning exercises and running laps. Now was the toughest time for the players. Eighty men competed for fifty-three active roster spots—every one of the players bigger, badder, and built stronger than the last.
Jack was no exception.
In the hot July morning, he shed his shirt and sweated with every completed rep of his crunches. He didn’t take a break or a breath before flipping onto his stomach and leading his men in a variety of