False Start: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Red Zone Rivals)

My hands were embarrassingly sweaty as I sat at a corner table at Rains, quietly drinking my water and eyeing the door.

I prayed he wouldn’t show up.

Almost as hard as I prayed he would.

My stomach flip-flopped with every minute that passed, with every tall man who entered the restaurant. I expected him to let me down, to show up late or not at all. But then there was the small part of me that wondered if he still had a little bit of that innocent kid I’d babysat left in him, if maybe that kindness still existed.

I snorted internally at the terms kid and babysit.

He’d been fifteen, and I’d been seventeen — counting down the days to my eighteenth birthday.

A softness washed over me then. God, we were so young, so naïve. We had our whole lives ahead of us then. Endless opportunities. Endless goals to achieve.

At least one of us had followed through on those.

My throat was thick with my next swallow, a flash of the last time I’d seen Kyle Robbins before this unexpected run in hitting me square in the gut.

The hard set of his jaw.

The accusation in his eyes.

The secret I thought I was keeping written out so clearly on his face.

He’d never talked to me again.

Until now.

I shook out of my memory just in time for him to blow in through the front door, and it really was like a stiff wind. Every head snapped in his direction, every mouth murmuring as I watched table by table get excited.

They recognized him instantly.

Kyle kept his sunglasses and ballcap on, speaking in a hushed tone to the waitress who then led him over to where I sat. I stood, folding my hands in front of my waist and putting on my best smile as he approached.

I knew when I asked him to come here for dinner that it was beneath him. I didn’t know exactly how much money he made, but judging by his house budget, it was easy to guess that it was at least fifteen million, if not more.

I couldn’t even wrap my head around that kind of money.

But seeing him strut toward me now, it was almost laughable how out of place he was. The rest of the room consisted of families celebrating birthdays, or couples grabbing a bite to eat when they didn’t feel like cooking dinner. Rains was kind of like an upscale Chili’s, and even in athletic slacks and a long-sleeve training shirt, Kyle looked too rich to be here.

The hostess gestured to the table once she was close enough, and then blessedly left us before Kyle peeled off his sunglasses and hit me with a sideways quirk of his mouth that made my stomach flip for entirely different reasons.

I knew that smile intimately.

“Madelyn,” he greeted, his voice a rumbling promise. “You look beautiful.”

I glanced down at the one nice dress I owned, the one without stains or tears in the fabric. It was navy blue, form-fitted and modest. I wore it to every important dinner I had. And when it came to showing houses, I had a whopping four outfits that I rotated between.

Not that I cared. I’d never been one for fashion. I would much rather spend my extra money on Sebastian — on a toy that would make him smile, or a new book to add to his rapidly growing collection. I loved that kid more than any dress, more than anything in the entire world.

Still, I arched a brow when I looked up at Kyle again, because we both knew me in this dress was not beautiful, nor impressive to him.

I may or may not have done some social media stalking and googling before our meeting.

For research purposes, of course.

And in that research, I discovered the kind of woman who usually clung to Kyle’s arm at charity events, or grinded on him in crowded clubs. They were all the kind of gorgeous you found on covers of magazines, the ones you scrolled past on social media thinking there’s no way this woman is real.

So, him saying I looked beautiful right now in this dress that could have been worn by my mother?

Well, it felt more insulting than complimentary.

“You’re on time,” I said in way of greeting.

“Surprised?”

“Disappointed,” I countered. “I thought this was a meeting that would be over before it started. Please,” I added, gesturing to his seat before I took my own.

“Ouch,” he said as he sat, the waitress butting in long enough to fill his water glass and top mine off. “Is the commission not enough to make it worth suffering through a few days with me?”

On the contrary, that commission was the only reason I was considering this at all.

One thing I’d learned about myself over the last eight years was that I was much better at facing my trauma behind closed doors. I wasn’t the kind of person who found peace in facing my demons head on. I much preferred to write a letter I’d never send, or sing Celine Dion at the top of my lungs while I sobbed and stress-cleaned my entire house.

So, agreeing to work with the first boy to ever break me was not exactly at the top of my to-do list.

But it was a way out of the current hell I lived in — and I was just desperate enough to take it.

“Thank you for filling out the questionnaire,” I said, opening the three-ring binder I’d put together on his preferences and ignoring his jab. “I do have a few questions before I can start culling homes, and I also want to reiterate that my time is valuable. If I feel like you’re wasting it, I will drop you faster than an old picture frame with a nest of baby spiders on it.”

“What a visual,” he teased, sipping his water with his eyes dancing in the low light of the restaurant.

I flushed, looking down at my binder so I didn’t fall into those eyes like I did as a young adult. I knew firsthand how easy that was to do.

The waitress came and took our food order, giving me a sacred moment to catch my breath and suck down some water. Once she was gone again, Kyle leaned forward, his elbows balanced on the table and those damned eyes on me.

“I won’t waste your time,” he promised. “One, because I respect you—”

I flattened my lips at that.

“And two, because I don’t have time to waste. I need to be settled by the time the season starts, and I already have my hands full trying to get my body and mind in shape to play at the level I need to. Add in the fact that everyone and their fucking mom keeps inviting me to weddings, and you could say my availability is scarce.”

I didn’t miss how he sat back in his chair with a little more force than necessary when he added that, drinking his water with more gusto. I was surprised he didn’t order a drink when he sat down. I knew why I didn’t, but this was a pro athlete who I knew for a fact partied harder than a whole fraternity of college boys.

I’d seen the pictures, the videos from The Pit — whatever the hell that was.

“Do you have time to commit to seeing houses?”

Kyle’s eyes flicked between mine. “Whatever spare time I have is yours.”

I nodded, ignoring how my chest fluttered at the way he said those words. “Good. Now, I have a few questions.”

“So do I.”

That startled me, and I smoothed my hands over the napkin in my lap before folding them on the table. Of course he had questions. This was essentially like an interview. He didn’t have to hire me as his realtor — despite the way I acted like the job was already mine.

“Okay, go ahead.”

His eyes were like the sea. They always had been. Green in some light, blue in others, a deadly combination of the two when the sun was setting and casting his face in a warm glow. Right now, they leaned more in the deep blue direction, and they searched mine like he saw right through me.

He always had.

“You’re married.”

“That isn’t a question,” I pointed out.

“Your last name is different, but you don’t have a ring on your finger.”

I covered my left knuckles like I had something to hide. “Very observant, but still not a question.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”