Page 30 of Play Fake
I guess we’re really doing this.
CHAPTER 11: Dex Bradley
Violence Isn’t the Answer
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mutter as I study the citation.
“Sorry, Dex,” Milton says.
I slam the piece of paper down on his desk. “It’s not your fault Jensen Bybee is a dickwad. The fucker had it coming.”
“I’m certain he did, sir,” Milton says.
I’m fucking livid, but there’s not much I can do. He wants to press charges like a little bitch, and he’s only doing it because my court date is in six weeks when the season will be underway. He’s doing it to get a rise out of me. I’ll pay him back by kicking his team’s ass on the field.
“It’s fine, Dex. Consequences, remember?” a soft voice by my side says tentatively. “It’s a misdemeanor. You didn’t hurt him, but he has the right to press charges.”
I clench my jaw. Her truth-telling skills are on point and also unnecessary at the moment.
“Let’s just get upstairs,” I huff, and I take the citation with me to hand over to my lawyer to see if there’s something he can do to handle it.
I shouldn’t be surprised that Coach has already texted me that he wants to see me in his office in the morning. I’ll be there. I don’t have much choice.
But tonight with Ainsley—after we left the event—just felt sofun. It felt oddly…freeing. Like she grounds me in a way nobody else ever has. Like she is holding me responsible in a way nobody else ever really believed I was capable of. Like she cares about me and sees me. And that’s why it’s so strange that it feelsfreeing.
If anything, she’s trying to restrain me and get a handle on me. But it’s like knowing I can be myself and have her as the safety net I’ve never had.
I need to shake all this off. The lavender, the black dress, the neckline, the kiss on my cheek. All of it.
Except somehow and totally out of nowhere, I just agreed to be her husband, and that sort of throws a wrench into shaking any of it off.
I give Madison a couple hundred bucks for watching the kid, who’s sleeping soundly in his new room far away from my weight room, and we bid her goodnight.
I bid Ainsley goodnight, too, before I do something stupid like strip her out of that dress and see what she’s hiding underneath it, and instead, I head toward the shower to take it all out on my dick.
And I pretend like I don’t moan her name as I jizz all over my hand.
I don’t feel any better when morning dawns since I spend the night tossing and turning, though I must fall asleep at some point because a glance at the clock tells me I need to get to Coach’s office pronto.
I brush my teeth and throw on some clean clothes, and I bolt to the kitchen to grab a protein shake I can drink on the way.
“Good morning,” Ainsley says from her spot on the couch where she’s wearing glasses and reading a book to my son.
It should stop and give me pause. My son with the woman I agreed to marry last night.
I can’t pause, though. I need to get the fuck out the door so Coach can yell at me.
“Morning. I have to meet with my coach. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” I rush out the door without waiting for a reply, in part because I’m having mixed feelings about howadorable(fuck, I hate that word no matter how fitting it is) the scene in the family room was, as I’m starting to regret our conversation last night.
I feel differently this morning, and I’m thinking about the consequences for once in my goddamn life. It’s a bad idea to marry a girl I’m starting to have feelings for.
I realize how little sense that makes, but it is what it is.
I arrive at the Complex, the name of our practice facility, and I navigate toward Lincoln Nash’s office. He’s standing outside the office talking with his secretary, and he waves me in when I walk up.
“Talk to me, Bradley. What went down last night?” he asks once he’s shut his office door and he’s sitting behind his desk.
“Jensen Bybee opened his stupid mouth and pissed me off, so I slugged him.”
