Page 27 of The Defender
The money I got from sponsors was my safety net. If I got injured tomorrow and had to quit football, I’d still be set for retirement. I earned more from my brand deals than I did my Blackcastle salary, and I’d invested that extra cash wisely.
But—and I’d never tell anyone this—the other reason I loved working with brands was because of the validation. Every deal was proof that they believed in me and that I deserved to be here.
I wasn’t good enough for everyone, but I was good enough for someone.
“I hope you stay at Blackcastle,” I told Brooklyn. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
She obviously didn’t want to talk about it, but I couldn’t let her go without sharing how I felt. I’d been in her shoes before. I’d waited for offers that never came, and I’d been passed over for opportunities that I worked my ass off for.
I couldn’t change Brooklyn’s employment circumstances, but I could make sure she knew she was appreciated. Her presence made a difference, regardless of what HR did or didn’t do.
Her face softened. “Thanks.” A smile played on her lips. “I think you’ll get the Zenith deal whether you make it to the finals or not. You’re you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Usually, no, but in this case, yes. Don’t read too much into it,” she warned. “I’m delirious from lack of sleep.”
“It’s not even ten yet, Grandma.”
“I woke up early, slacker.”
My smirk mirrored hers as we fell back into our comfortable banter. Our brief moment of vulnerability had passed, but the echoes of it lingered, smoothing the edges of our insults.
“I’m going to bed.” Brooklyn let out a genuine yawn and stood. “I have a long day tomorrow.” She hesitated, then said, “Thanks for inviting me to watch the show with you. It was…fun.”
“Anytime. Night, buttercup.”
“Goodnight.”
I waited until she disappeared into the hall before I cleaned up the living room and went to bed.
It wasn’t until I turned off the lights that I realized I hadn’t thought about our bet at all after we started talking. My guard had been completely down. If she’d made her move then, I would’ve fallen for it.
I covered my eyes with my forearm.Fuck.
CHAPTER 9
BROOKLYN
I wasn’t a big astrology person, but the planets had to be misaligned. There’d been too many strange occurrences for any other explanation.
First, there was the bet with Vincent, which set off alarm bells the minute he suggested it. I loved a good challenge, but competing with him to see who could seduce the other first was a bad idea on every level. One, it would force us to interactmore, as if living together weren’t enough. Two, winning the bet would mean violating Blackcastle’s anti-fraternization policy, though I supposed no one would know if we didn’t tell them. And finally, three, as much as I hated to admit it, I did find him infuriatingly attractive.
I thought living with him would kill his appeal because most guys were messy, dirty, and gross. He was the opposite. He cleaned, he cooked (sort of), and he folded laundry flawlessly. I kept running into him on his way out of the bathroom, and he used the world’s best-smelling aftershave. It was infuriating.
None of that was enough to make me kiss him. Not even close. But it was enough to make me uneasy.
The unease was exacerbated by our strangely enjoyableBake Offnight. I’d gone into the living room hoping to win our bet early. He was a guy, and guys couldn’t resist a girl in a football shirt. That was a universal fact. But instead of getting him to kiss me, I’d started…having fun. Talking to him, snuggling against him (albeit reluctantly), and having a real conversation without our usual insults and snark. It was the standout night of my week, so that was unsettling.
Now, my dad and I were at our long-postponed dinner, and he didn’t look right.
Correction: he lookednice, which wasn’t right. The planets were definitely out of sync.
Frank Armstrong famously lived in athletic wear. He once made national news for showing up to a black-tie fundraiser in slippers, but here he was, dressed up in a suit and tie.
“Who invented this thing?” he grumbled. He tugged on his tie, his expression pained. “How can anyone eat comfortably when they’re slowly choking to death?”
I stifled a laugh. “You don’t have to wear a tie, Dad. A jacket is fine.”
