Page 17 of Hot Receiver

I jump out of the truck, my hand on the door. He stares at me, his jaw tight. Spots of color flood his face. A fierce pounding in my chest almost drowns out my next words, so I spit them out as loud as I can. “Shame on me for trusting you. I won’t make that mistake ever fucking again.”

Chapter 8

Matt

Isit in my truck for the next twenty minutes, mindlessly scrolling through websites on my phone. It amazes me how many sites have already picked up the footage about what happened outside the fundraiser event tonight and how many more people have something to say about it. I mean, Christ. Don’t people have better things to do than comment on shit that doesn’t concern them?

Watching Zak stand against a cement column, his long, muscled body hunched over while he glares at his own phone screen, makes me so fucking angry. I want so badly to tell all of the people attacking him to fuck the hell off. He’s the goddamn victim, and yet they’re punishing him like he instigated the whole thing.

I can see sparks shoot from his eyes even from way over here. I bet his lips are twisted, too. The beard is new. Fucking hot as hell, but I can’t see the shape of his mouth clearly. He shouldn’t be alone right now.

And I didn’t want him to leave me tonight.

Or ever, really.

But I didn’t have a choice.

I couldn’t tell him the truth. Nobody was ever supposed to find out about the one thing I tried so hard to bury.

Until someone did.

I slam my hand on the steering wheel, still hating myself for a fuckup that could have ended my career.

It still hangs around my neck like a collar. One tug and I’m finished.

I’ve wanted two things in my life: the opportunity to play for the NFL and Zak Kacey.

Because of my bad judgment, I lost one and put the other one in serious jeopardy.

Marc’s publicity plans to parade me around like a celebrity pussy magnet make my stomach twist, but if it’s the only way for me to keep the one good thing left in my life, I’ll do it.

And the part about me and Zak being attached at the hip? That’s gonna be fucking torture of the worst kind.

His words loop through my brain, each one making me cringe harder.

He thinks I cut him off to save my own ass.

He believes I walked away because I didn’t care.

The truth is, I cared too much.

Then, I lost myself, got forced into a corner, caught between obligations and expectations.

A rock and a hard place is a gross understatement.

I never stopped caring about Zak. Or loving him, if I’m being honest. I gave him a piece of myself I’ve never shared with anyone else. We did that for each other, only I didn’t deserve it.

I didn’t deserve him.

I don’t even bother to try and drag my eyes away from him while he waits for his ride. There was always something so captivating about the guy. Even his prick façade can’t waterdown the effect of the spell he cast on me. He used to be so easygoing and confident. A team player, a leader. The best quarterback that the Buckeyes had seen in a long time.

That made him a target for jealous punk assholes like Stevens, who didn’t have a quarter of the talent Zak did. He knew Zak would be scouted by the NFL. Hell, we all did. Except none of us were willing to go to the same lengths to put ourselves in the spotlight.

A shudder runs through me.

I’m still not safe from Stevens. I never will be.

Quid pro quo is what he called it.

---