Page 49 of Wicked Player

My thumbs flew across the small keyboard.Oh yes. LOTS of drink.

Uh oh…trouble with the hunk of meat?

I’d tell her all I could later but now wasn’t the time.

A pair of black dress shoes stopped in front of me. How much worse could this day get?

“What do you want Connor?” I asked.

I didn’t have to look at him to know who it was. He was the only guy in the place wearing dress shoes. The players had on cleats. The cameramen were wearing running shoes.

I typed back my quick reply.Men suck. Talk later. Be to the station in 45.

She sent me a “thumbs up” emoji and I stepped toward where Jason was still taking care of his equipment.

“You know what I want,” Connor said.

His voice had gone soft and thready. I knew exactly what that meant.

I stopped, barely able to conceal my eye roll. He’d like it too much.

“No.”

He stepped in front of me and lifted his hands.

“Seriously?” I arched both brows. Was he joking? “Do not block me with your body thinking intimidating me will get me to change my mind. My answer is no. It will stay no.”

“You haven’t heard what I had to say.” He was smart enough to step to the side. Too bad for me he didn’t walk away.

I flicked my hand in the air. “It’s irrelevant.”

“I’m breaking up with her.”

That stopped me. How dare he. How dare he! This week of all weeks. Today of all days. This lifetime of all lifetimes. I couldn’t stop the burn heating the backs of my eyes and whatever look I gave him made him flinch.

“You’re kidding me. Tell me you are not doing this to me right now, right here. We are atwork.”

“I know. But tell me you don’t remember how good we were. I was confused. The reason things aren’t working with Mel is because I miss you, Lizzie. I don’t know what happened. I wanted you then. I cared about you. I just…I got scared when you said what you did and Mel was there…”

“Don’t finish that.” My chin wobbled. Hot cheese on toast this man who broke my heart was not going to make me cry in front of hundreds of people. No one was paying us a lick of attention. We were reporters. Working on a story. We could have been collaborating on a story, but the only collaborating going on was my brain convincing my foot not to slam into his nuts.

It was a battle I was losing.

“Please,” Connor said. He stepped closer to me. Still professional. Still not touching. The man must have seen my look and prized his balls to come any closer. “Tonight. One night, Lizzie. I’ll give you whatever you ask for. Whatever you need. You don’t want it, I’ll never talk to you again. Promise. I know I hurt you. I’m asking for the chance to make up for it. Give me a second chance.”

I swiped at my cheeks. Damn him. Why couldn’t this have happened five months ago? Why couldn’t he have shown up at my door with flowers and chocolates and a bottle of wine and talked to me about this?

It wasn’t fair, but it didn’t mean he didn’t still have the power to twist my heart.

I looked up and froze. My lips parted.

Across the indoor field, Gage was staring at me. Arms crossed, helmet at his feet. He’d already ripped off his practice jersey and his pads were visible along with the blocks of muscle on his abdomen.

Even from far away I could see smoke pluming from his ears.

Well, screw him, too.

I placed my hand on Connor’s arm, grinned at Gage, and beamed that same, fake grin at Connor. “I’ll be there at nine.”

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