Page 80 of Almost Rotten

Fuckin’ A.

Rather than refute my claim, Sawyer remains frozen, shell-shocked, the delighted playfulness of a few minutes ago a distant memory.

“Your wife?” Nicole asks in a hushed whisper.

Clark leans in, elbows on the table. “You two are married?”

Sawyer stays silent, gaze focused ahead, unblinking.

Shit.

I shouldn’t have said that. It just slipped out. And now my girl has gone catatonic. I’m going to have to clean this up. And fast.

Clearing my throat, I sit up straighter. “I didn’t mean—”

Clark lifts both hands. “No judgment on our end. I assumed from your chemistry that you were in a relationship. Honestly, the PR team and front office will be thrilled.”

Thrilled? Really?

My gaze volleys between Clark and Sawyer. I ache to console her, but I have to fix this first. “Come again?” I ask the man across from me.

He waves to our server, indicating he wants the check.

Nicole laces her fingers on the table in front of her and leans forward, smiling.

“Lots of the guys on the team are married,” she explains. “One of our biggest PR concerns is how a rookie will handle the pressure and prestige of the league. From experience, those who come in with a committed partner seem to transition more easily.”

Makes sense.

Though it doesn’t make up for my slip.

Nor does it ease my worry about the girl sitting beside me, ashen and silent.

Sawyer hasn’t uttered a word or let a single emotion register on her face.

I blow out a breath. I can smooth things over tonight. For now, I’ll sit back, play it cool, and count the minutes until we can say our goodbyes and I can make this up to her.

Chapter thirty

Sawyer

One step.

Then another.

It’s all I can focus on: my footfalls slapping against the wet pavement, carrying me further away from the nightmare that just transpired.

It’s all I can do to keep from spiraling as we make our way to the car.

It’s raining harder now.

I don’t feel a thing.

A few feet from the vehicle, I take a deep breath and turn to Tytus. “Give me the keys.”

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “What?”

“Give me the keys,” I repeat.