Page 22 of Hot Receiver

I nod without really listening, my eyes still focused on the corridor where Matt will hopefully emerge from before this fucking circus begins.

For years, I’ve had to find new ways of locking up the past so it doesn’t swallow me whole, and now here I am, waiting to willingly unleash all of the pain and anguish because my dad saddled me with this goddamn team for some unknown reason. Marc puts his hand on my arm to stop me from pacing.

Shit, I didn’t even realize I was moving.

Elevated voices jolt me, and my gaze follows the direction of the gathered crowd. Matt walks through a doorway, flanked on both sides by security guards. I choke on a breath. The navy suit hugs him in all the right areas, the expensive fabric clinging to his broad shoulders. It’s hard to tear my eyes away as he moves toward us. My mouth dries up as people swarm around him, taking pictures of him at every possible angle.

Straight, dark blond hair hangs over his forehead, perfect pink lips curled into a small smile for the cameras, clean-shaven jaw smooth save for the dimple in his left cheek. But it isn’t until he’s through the crowd that I see that his deep-set blue irises look even more tortured than I feel right now.

Wait…what the hell?

The closer he gets, the darker his expression becomes. He locks onto my questioning gaze and uses it to draw himself in, like he needs an anchor or a lifeline. Marc doesn’t notice it, though. He just flashes a relieved smile and takes Matt by the arm to bring him in for a quick strategy huddle.

For a brief second, Matt stares at me like he’s trying to tell me something.

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking because I’m overwhelmed with latent desire for this man I swore to hate until my dying day. His signature scent of a woodsy fresh clean swirls around my head, intoxicating me, snuffing out the reason why we’re even here. Marc’s lips move, but I don’t process a word. I can’t focus on anything but Matt and my inexplicable need to wrap my arms around him and hold him tight.

Goddamn, I’m weak.

But I didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t waltz in here like the football superstar he is. Marc turns to talk to a nearby reporter, and Matt brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it hard.

“You okay?” I ask.

His jaw clenches. “Yep. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Looks like you didn’t get any sleep last night. I guess you really took the whole whoring around with Hollywood starlet thing to heart.”

Shit, I didn’t mean to sound so much like a fucking jealous prick. But the idea of him naked with a woman…with anyone other than me, really…makes my skin prickle like I’m being jabbed with tiny needles. Agonizing and irritating as fuck.

His lips stretch tight, his eyes a stormy blue gray. “Don’t make comments about shit you can’t possibly begin to understand.”

“What? You mean the whole girl-guy thing? Just because I don’t do it doesn’t mean I don’t get the mechanics.” Here I go again. Trying to sound light and funny, instead coming off as a possessive, green-eyed asshat.

Matt inches closer to me, lightning strikes in his heated gaze. Then, his lips curl upward in the fakest fucking smile I’ve ever seen. Leaning in, he hisses against my ear. “You know nothing about my life, Zak. And you never fucking did. We’re gonna pretend for the cameras that we’re long-lost teammates, and then we’re gonna go our separate ways. Do you get that? Then, you can figure out how to manage your sinking ship of a team, and I can do my best to help it stay afloat.”

I recoil, his scathing words zapping me with the force of a cattle prod.

This definitely isn’t the guy I was with last night. This isn’t the same guy who pulled me out of harm’s way to ease his guilty conscience. He’s right. I have no fucking idea who he is right now. But he’s angry. And slightly unhinged judging from the way he struggled to keep the rage from bubbling up in his voice.

I know that struggle well.

Marc ushers us into the room. I follow Matt to the table set up in the front of the room, the din of voices muted to white noise as the past rushes over me like a crushing wave I wasn’t expecting.

Suddenly, I’m back at Ohio State, lying on a gurney and being rushed off the field for the last time of my football career. Flashing camera lights pop between my temples like explodingbullets, while wide-eyed, open-mouthed fans blur my vision as I’m carried off the field. Matt’s guilt-ridden gaze makes my chest tighten. The fear in his expression, the reality that he just contributed to my very painful downfall.

I press my fingers to my temples, but the memory persists like a splitting, crippling headache.

Somehow, I make my way to the chairs at the front of the room. Matt drops into the one on my right while Marc sits on my left.

I hate him. Hate him!

Matt’s shoulders slump forward the slightest bit but I don’t miss it.

His smile is forced. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

I remember that smile. For a while, it had been reserved for me.

Now he flashes it at anyone and everyone like it means nothing.

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