Page 204 of The Coach

Oh. Hell. No.

One of the analysts chuckles. “Well, we all saw the footage of him at that fancy hotel, didn’t we? How many ‘mystery women’ does this guy have? He’s starting to seem like a real Travis Carter.”

The other guy nods, smirking. “Sure did. A woman was with him. Only got a blurry shot of her from the back, but you could see the bump.”

The bump.

My bump.

I choke on my own saliva.

No. No. This isnothappening.

I mean, seriously? Don’t these people have lives of their own?

Another commentator raises a brow. “So…you think Coach Knox has a littleKnox-in-the-boxon the way?”

I groan, flopping back onto the pillows.

Kill me. Kill me now.

Before I can spiral any further, my phone vibrates again.

Cassie (Group Chat: Hot Football Wives (and sisters)™:

Cassie: Ivy. Turn on the TV. Now.

Reagan: Girl. Your brother is out of control.

Cassie: Who spilled the damn tea??

Reagan: Better question—how is Coach Knox handling this? And he better be ready to really handle it

Cassie: Forget Jackson. Ivy, are you okay?!

Reagan: We need to get ahead of this. This could have repercussions for Jackson’s ability to catch the team.

I blink down at the messages, my heart still pounding.

I type back quickly.

Me: I just woke up to it. Are you guys watching live?

Cassie: We’re literally SCREAMING.

Reagan: Cassie’s pacing like a damn lawyer in a courtroom.

We need brunch. Now.

Cassie: 20 minutes. Get your ass downstairs.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair.

Me: I just don’t understand why they’re so obsessed with this story. With us. Like…can’t we just have our little romance in peace?

Reagan: It’ll be okay, Ive. Let’s get together and chat about it. I know all about PR nightmares.

Well.

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