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

He looked like I’d just thrown a bucket of ice water over his head.

Kyle stood frozen for a long moment, and then he nodded, over and over, like I’d just told him the NFL schedule for the year, and not that I had bruises on my arm from my stupid ex-husband.

His eyes found mine, and I thought I saw them break before they hardened into stone.

“He’s dead.”

Kyle was already turning for the exit, key fob in hand and shoulders tight as a bow string. But I reached out for him, my hand catching him by the crook of the elbow.

The moment our skin touched, fire licked along my spine, a thousand memories racing to be the first to reach me. But I snuffed them out, focusing on the matter at hand.

“Don’t,” I begged, voice cracking a bit. That only pissed me off, and I blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m serious when I say he didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. But if you go acting like a big tough guy with a savior complex, you’re going to make it a lot worse.”

He spun to face me. “He can’t be worse if he’s not fucking breathing.”

I sucked my teeth, letting my hands fall against my thigh with a slap. “You sound like an absolute brute right now.”

I left out that it was annoyingly hot as hell.

“Your ex-husband bruised you,” he pointed out, slowly and with punctuation like I was ignorant.

“I am aware,” I shot back. “I am also aware that you are blatantly ignoring me when I tell you repeatedly that I am fine. You think I’m some poor victim stuck in an abusive situation? Why do you think I’m divorced?”

I waited for him to put the pieces together.

“I got out,” I said. “But unfortunately, the state doesn’t think I have enough proof to keep a well-respected veterinarian from his son. So yes, occasionally, I have to put up with his drunken temper. And yes, sometimes, he gets in a mark. But I am not a victim. I am a survivor, and these stupid bruises on my arm don’t mean shit other than that there was a situation and I fucking handled it. So, if you would kindly back out of my personal business, we can get back to finding you a house. Okay?”

The bruises that had Kyle in a tizzy didn’t even hurt — not anymore. Marshall had thrown a fit when I started to leave his house after getting Sebastian settled in the car. He was drunk and mad that I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to him try to belittle me, which happened to be one of his favorite pastimes.

He’d tried to stop me from going, his hand squeezing tight around my wrist.

I’d pulled free and warned him to keep his hands to himself.

Fortunately, that was the end of it.

It wasn’t often his temper got to that level. Usually, he used his financial power and his words to hurt me.

But this time, he’d gone just far enough off the rails to use his hands.

I’d snapped a picture of the bruises when they started to appear and hid it in a secret album on my phone, just in case.

I didn’t know how much proof the court needed, but if this little incident could help me one day — I was going to make sure to use it.

For a long moment, Kyle and I just stared at each other — me with my chin lifted, not backing down, and Kyle with his chest rapidly rising and falling, his fingers curling into fists and then releasing over and over.

Finally, he let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and holding up the other toward me. “I’m sorry.”

“Look at me when you say it.”

That made his head snap back like I’d slapped him, and the corner of his mouth curled a bit. It reminded me of when he was a bratty fifteen-year-old, and I was sent to straighten him out.

I was halfway to it.

And then I had to go and fall in love with him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his blue flame eyes locked on mine this time. “Not for wanting to kill his punk ass,” he clarified, holding up one finger. “But for thinking you need anyone, least of all me, to save you.”

We were back to staring at each other, and now it was my chest rapidly rising and falling.

I cleared my throat. “As I was saying, the next house—”

“Let me help you.”

I looked up at the ceiling before letting my hand slap against my thigh. “Didn’t we just arrive at the conclusion that I don’t need your help?”

“I said you didn’t need saving,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Then, he stepped into me, and all the air in the room split like an atom, leaving us in the tight, unbreathable space between.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, Mads.”

I closed my eyes at the nickname, wetting my lips and willing myself not to let my memories get the best of me. My body was already a traitor, chills racing up my arms, my heart fluttering at the way it sounded rolling off his tongue in his new, older, deeper voice.

“How much?”

I blinked my eyes open. “How much what?”

“How much do you need to be free of him?”

And just like that — all the ooey gooeyness was gone.

I scoffed, pushing past him. “Wow.”

“I’m serious,” he said, and this time, it was him stopping me from storming out. His hand caught the inside of my arm, but it was gentle, enough that it took a half shrug to break free of the grip.

“Absolutely not, Robbins,” I seethed. “I am not now, nor have I ever been, a charity case. When this closes,” I added, motioning to the binder still clutched in my other hand. “I’ll have money. And don’t you dare try to rush it,” I threatened, pointing my finger into his chest. “Because I’ll light you on fire and dance in the ashes. I am not a weak, helpless thing. I can handle myself. And if you respect me at all, you’ll honor this.”

He opened his mouth, and I already saw that he was about to argue.

“This isn’t up for debate,” I said. “We are doing business together. Fair business. The only money I will take from you is the commission I rightfully earn after finding you the house you want. Do you understand?”

Those last three words came out the same way they did when I had to get stern with Sebastian — which wasn’t often, but enough that I had the severity of them down pat.

Kyle’s nose flared, his lips curling into a devilish smile.

Something told me he liked that tone I used.

Something told me it sent him down memory lane the way him using my nickname had done for me.

“I understand,” he finally said. “But I have a proposal.”

I arched a brow.

“Business,” he clarified, holding his hands up in surrender before I could even aim.

I looked at my watch, then back at him. “We have thirty minutes until this next showing, which means we need to be on the road in ten. Talk fast.”

“Date me.”

My jaw might as well have been a mop, for how fast it hit the floor.

“Hear me out,” he said before I could tell him to take a hike. “I understand you wanting to take care of yourself. I know better than most people that you can do it, too,” he added. “But I haven’t seen you in years, Madelyn. Isn’t it kind of crazy that we would bump into each other on the opposite side of the country the way we did?”

I waited, not sure where he was going with this, but decided I’d let him finish before I turned him down.

He inched closer, taking up even more oxygen when he did. “I want to protect you — whether you need it or not. And I feel like I was put here to do that. If your ex is going to be in your life, he’s going to respect you.” He paused. “And Sebastian.”

Fuck.

My heart swelled, doubling in size, and no matter how I tried to tamp it down, it bucked against my resistance.

“Besides,” he added, stepping back a bit, which allowed me to take my first deep breath. “Everyone and their fucking mom on my former team is getting married, and like I told you at dinner, my teammates are like my family. I’m so fucking tired of going to these things stag.”

The admission was meant to sound grumpy. I knew because I saw it so many times when we were growing up.

But it landed flat.

It landed like he was hurt, like he was lonely.

Just like he had been back then.

“My proposal is that, from here on out, until we close on a house — you’re my girlfriend to everyone who isn’t you and me. No one else knows the truth but us.”

It was me who opened my mouth this time, but he held up a finger to stop me.

“I get to do my part in keeping your…” He swallowed, jaw tense, and then chose his words carefully. “Ex in line. I get to keep you and Sebastian out of harm’s way. And you pretend to be my girlfriend so my friends will lay off the jokes and take me seriously for once.”

He stopped talking for a moment, and I shocked even myself when I didn’t immediately say thanks, but no thanks.

He stepped into my space again, and this time, he reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around my wrist, as if he wanted to erase the bruises with just that touch.

I closed my eyes against the sparks that ignited every cell in my body.

“Madelyn,” he pleaded, and he waited until I looked at him to continue. “This is a deal that works for both of us, and you know it. Tell me you wouldn’t sleep better at night knowing that a six-foot-seven, two-hundred-and-thirty pounds and counting professional athlete has your back.”

My heart pounded harder, faster, the sound echoing in my ears.

Was I actually considering this?

“Besides — this would guarantee that I wouldn’t rush buying a house. I wouldn’t be in a hurry to get you your commission if I knew I could watch over you in the meantime.”

“I don’t need—”

“I know you don’t need me,” he said, cutting me off. His eyes flashed with something achingly familiar when he added, “But I need you.”

I swallowed past the wad of sandpaper in my throat, searching his gaze as I tried to find something, anything, to say to that.

“Come on, Mads,” he said after a while, one corner of his mouth ticking up mischievously. “What do you say? Do we have a deal?”