Page 15 of Sidelined By Love

Zoe and I aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve known her in passing since I was drafted. And everything I know about her is that she is not that woman. She’s not someone who would purposefully break up a marriage—or any relationship for that matter.

But just because I don’t believe the headlines doesn’t mean I need to get involved in her life. Or let her into mine. I have enough to focus on with Kenna under my roof. Not to mention the rest of the season ahead.

Besides, I’ve seen my name in tabloids before. Stories I didn’t want and sure didn’t appreciate. That’s what happens when you spend time with the wrong woman.

As if that isn’t reason enough, Jordan Jenkins, the team’s PR director, reminded every single guy on the team not to get involved with or make a comment about Zoe.

Her life is completely separate from the Colorado Fourteeners. No matter who her dad is.

I don’t need another reason to pass. But the words are surprisingly hard to get out. “I’m—It’s—Maybe—It’s probably not a good idea.”

As her eyebrows pinch together, I’ve never wanted a dog to take off running more than I do in this moment. Guster doesn’t move.

Though, if he did, I have a feeling Zoe and her Muppet slippers might chase us down, even with her lack of high-altitude training.

“I need you to help me with an audition.”

“I have absolutely no acting skills.”

“I know that.”

Ouch. “You don’t have to sound so sure about it.”

She rolls her eyes as she plasters on a highly practiced smile that still looks almost real. Yep. She doesn’t need my help. She knows how to play a role.

“It’s based on the true story of a high school football team, and their coaches were killed in an accident, so—”

“Their teacher steps in and takes them to the Texas State Championship.”

Eyes growing wide, she nods. “You know the story?”

“I read the book when I was a kid. They’re making it into a movie?”

“And the script is getting all sorts of award buzz.”

“But aren’t you out of Hollywood?”

The light in her eyes dims, and I want to bite off my own tongue. I hadn’t meant that to come out so callous.

I watch the steel seep through her, squaring her shoulders, straightening her posture, and lifting her chin. She swallows audibly before whispering, “Not if I can help it.”

That side of the war in me wants to agree to anything she needs. Instead, I blurt out, “It’s probably not a good idea. After all, your dad signs my paychecks.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Okay, that’s true. The team’s CFO, Bernie Franks, signs them. But still. “The principle remains.”

“What my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“But I’ll know. And I don’t feel great about lying to your dad.”

“You think he’s going to ask you if you’re showing his daughter how to throw a football?”

No. But there is such a thing as a lie of omission. And worrying about that means my mind can’t be one hundred percent on the game. And I have the literal scars to prove what happens when I let myself get distracted.

“Is this about the tabloids?” Her eyes narrow for a second. “The stories aren’t really true.”

“I didn’t think they were.”

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