Page 62 of Hot Receiver

“They’re safe,” I whisper against his neck. “For now. But if my dad owes Rusty more money… I just don’t know how I can save him. And Rusty doesn’t want money. He wants blood.”

Zak tightens his hold on me. “You can’t save everyone. Sometimes…sometimes it’s up to the other person to take control of his own life. We all make choices. You’ve just got to hope he’ll make the right ones going forward.”

Guilt gnaws at my gut, the rest of my sordid truth threatening to spill from the tip of my tongue.

But I bite it back. Swallow it down.

I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to tell him everything else about why Brett Travers has my balls in a vise.

Zak’s an NFL team owner.

If he ever found out what I did…

Shit.

There are league rules and regulations. A code of conduct. If I say something now, it could ruin me. Destroy the team if it came out that Zak knew and didn’t take action. Hell, he’d be fucked, too. Maybe be an accessory to it all.

So, I keep it buried.

Because there’s too much at stake here than just a wrecked career.

My entire world could be shattered… and if I’m not careful, the man I love might be the one standing over me with the hammer.

Chapter 26

Zak

Iwander around the massive ballroom smiling politely at the men and women around me but not making eye contact for too long. I really don’t want to look like I have any desire to talk to any of them.

It’s an important event, and these people are doing great things for child runaways in the area, so I was happy to write a big check to the organization Mom works with. But I’ve barely gotten a minute to myself since I got here. Seems like everyone wants to share their two cents about the game, the Crusaders’ season, and my impromptu press assault with Matt and Brett Travers.

Hiding in a corner seems like a good option while I finish my drink.

When Mom asked me to come here in her place, I was still riding the high of the game, so I agreed. But making the rounds at this event isn’t top on my list of things to do tonight, not when my head’s still twisted over that visit from Matt after the game.

We didn’t have sex. He didn’t unload the kind of news that inspires mind-numbing, body-spasming kinds of orgasms, so we just hung out, talked, ate, and watched Netflix.

Things we haven’t done in a long time. Things that felt right and comfortable with no expectation.

I fought the urge to kiss him more times than I can count while we were sprawled on my couch, but he made it clear that his stakes are too high to get in any deeper with me. Gritting my teeth, I clench my hand around the glass. He’s not the guy for me. I need to accept it and move on.

Unfortunately, my damn heart still hasn’t acknowledged the message.

Stopping at a high-top table in a darkened corner, I raise my highball glass to my lips and take a small sip of bourbon. A quick glance at my watch confirms I’ve been here for exactly an hour. I’ll just finish my one drink and duck out before anyone else?—

“Zak, right?”

A female voice jars me from my plans.

I turn to see Anna Taylor standing near my table. My gut clenches. The woman is a goddess with her porn star curves, long, blonde hair, and blue eyes so deep they almost look purple.

She can have any man on the planet.

A sharp sting of jealousy sears my insides.

And she gets to fuck Matt.

Logic tells me it’s ridiculous to be envious. He’s gay, and they don’t have a relationship beyond the fictional one he’s created for the world to see.

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