Page 31 of Most Likely to Score
I’m surprised because I expected Liam to have a driver. That’s what I’m accustomed to when guys from big sponsors show up. I figured he’d be sporting a tailored suit, too, rather than jeans and a crisp button-down. I researched him, too. His family’s from Scotland originally, but he’s lived in the United States his whole life.
His smile shows off straight white teeth and hesounds like he’s spent most of those years right here—he’s got a California accent. “You must be Jillian. Ford Grayson raves about you.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Liam.” We shake hands. “And a little bird told me Cletus raved about your dog food.”
Running a hand through his hair, Liam laughs. “Man, we are thrilled about Jones. Love that guy. Love his commitment to excellence. To healthy eating. To being the best in every single game. He just delivers on the field, doesn’t he?”
“You can’t argue with fifteen hundred and two yards for the season and fourteen yards on average per pass,” I say, sharing Jones’s stats from last year. “Not to mention his love of animals. He’ll be a great face for your brand.”
“I’m stoked, Jillian. When I found out about him and Cletus, I knew he was the guy I needed to take us to the next level.” Liam rubs his hands together. “He’s such a fan favorite already, and we really want to make sure the heads of household who buy our dog food love him the way we love him. So many dogs and cats these days are just like family.”
I make a mental note to remind Jones that Paleo Pet sees itself as a family-centric brand. “You need to come see Jones’s co-star today, then. This little kitten will melt your heart, and we can also take a shot of just you and Jones to post on social—something to show you’re now in business with him.” A picture like that can help spread the word about the sponsorship and continue to present Jones in a new light. A true win-win. Thecalendar teaser shots, though? Those I keep for the team feed.
I gesture to the door of the winery. Liam quickly strides ahead, holding it open for me. “I’m glad we’re working together, Jillian.”
“Me, too,” I say.
When we reach the room with the barrels, Jones glances over then does a double take when he sees Liam with me.
As if he’s surprised for some reason.
But then the look on his face turns to a scowl.
I have no idea why he’d be upset with a sponsor, but I’ll have to remind him later to keep on a happy face.
15
JONES
What is this feeling in my chest?
It’s like a ball of steel lodged in my sternum. I’m tight, a little tense, a bit frustrated.
It’s not exactly like when we’ve lost a big game, but this is damn close to how I feel when I’m home in January watching the playoffs on TV rather than competing in them. In fact, this is like when I watched our rivals, the Los Angeles Devil Sharks, hoist the Vince Lombardi trophy over their heads last year when they won the Super Bowl.
“Meow.” From his spot on top of the wine barrel, Smoky bats at my shoulder again with a white paw that was burned in the fires a few months ago. The little dude is now nearly recovered, thanks to the local rescue that found and saved the stray, putting him in a foster home till he’s able to be adopted. I give the cutie a kiss then return him to my shoulder for another shot, as per the photographer’s orders.
“Perfect! A five-pound kitten perched on a two-hundred-fifty-pound athlete,” the photographer coos as he snaps a shot.
Briefly, I glance over at Jillian, waiting for her to correct the guy. She knows my stats like the back of her hand and nearly always fires off corrections. But she doesn’t shouthe’s two hundred fifty-eightsince she’s too busy charming my new sponsor.
That’s when I know what this emotion is.
Jealousy.
Raw, bitter jealousy.
As Smoky clambers over my shoulders while I lean against the wine barrels, I can’t stop sneaking glances at Liam and Jillian, chatting in the corner. When I tune into their conversation, they’re not even talking about pet food or sports. They’re talking about school because it turns out he went to Stanford, just like her.
Fuck.
My ego is a little bit crushed. Now I have to contend with a brainiac CEO who has the good fortune to be a ringer for a movie star. Clearly, I have no choice but to ham it up. I kiss the orange kitten on the nose, inducing oohs and ahhs and huge smiles from everyone here at the shoot.
Including Jillian.
Take that, brainy boy. I’ve got a kitten and I’m not afraid to use it.I smooch the little fellow once more as the photographer encourages me to keep it up. As we move through different poses and set-ups, heading outside to the vineyard for the final round, I might walk a little taller, I might strut a little prouder, and I might generally do my best to make sure the camera—I’monlydoing this for the camera—is having a field day with the pussycat and me.
When the shoot ends—complete with social media pics for the new deal—the kitten stretches in my arms, shuts his eyes, and purrs.
