Page 149 of The Coach

Shit.

I glance at Cassie, my stomach tightening.

Cassie barely hesitates. She beams, as effortless as ever. “This is Ivy. My friend.”

Friend.

Cassie’s friend.

Okay, so we’re still keeping this under wraps, I guess…

I school my expression, nodding. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Reagan’s sharp, calculating gaze lingers on me. “You must be a good friend to score a seat up here.”

Cassie laughs, casual as ever. “Oh, she’s the best. Wouldn’t want to watch a game without her.”

Reagan doesn’t look convinced.

My face burns.

She’s far from stupid. Known for her statistical brain, she runs the entire organization. She knows everyone up here. And I know exactly what she’s wondering.

Who the hell is Ivy?

I’m half-expecting her to press for more, to dig deeper. But instead, after a long pause, she simply nods.

Cassie and I exchange a look as Reagan crosses her arms, one perfectly arched brow raised.

“So,” she says smoothly. “What do we think about the current baby daddy scandal?”

I swallow, my pulse spiking. Wait. Is she talking about me? No. It’s got to be Travis.

She gestures toward the field. “We’re down. Is that what’s distracting the team today?”

Cassie recovers first, laughing easily. “Oh, please. The Stallions are still in this. It’s barely the second quarter. We’re a fourth quarter team.”

Reagan isn’t fooled. Her sharp gaze flicks between us, lingering on me.

“Mm. Sure.” She tilts her head. “But if I were, say, a betting woman, I’d wager that at least one other player on this team is dealing with a baby situation right now.”

My heart slams.

She knows.

She knows? How, though?

I force myself to stay calm, to breathe, to pretend I’m not internally spiraling.

Cassie leans in, smirking. “Reagan, honey, you love a good scandal. But I think you’re seeing ghosts. Travis knocked some girl up. Big deal.”

Reagan’s lips twitch, like she’s fighting a smile. “Right. Because Jackson Knox—most eligible bachelor in Chicago, famous for never settling down—is just totally unfazed by all of this?”

I grip my drink too tightly.

Cassie shrugs. “He’s a professional.”

Reagan studies me for a beat longer, then smirks.

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