Page 36 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

Dex

I am a fucking idiot.

For real.

Why was I stupid enough to take that phone call with Trent with Margot in the room?

Why didn’t I lie to her to spare her the details?

Because, asshole, you’re a fucking idiot!

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that you should Never tell a woman you’re dating her because someone told you to because it would be good for business.

I am seriously a bona fide jackass.

Spiraling into self-loathing typically isn’t my MO, but today I haven’t been able to stop myself from wallowing in my bad decisions.

My cell phone rings, snapping me out of my thoughts. It’s Trent, again. Of course it is, the timing of his call not lost on me. God must be punishing me for being a douchebag.

I hesitate before answering. Take a couple of cleansing breaths.

“Yeah?”

“You said you were going to call me back when you were alone,” he barks, getting straight to it.

“I don’t recall telling you I’d call back.” And even if I had, it would have been a lie. “I don’t even know why we need to have a conversation about this in the first place. Things are going great.”

Are.

Were.

Past tense.

“The paps got a picture of you leaving her house last night, and you looked pissed, so we should get ahead of it. Damage control.”

The paps catching me looking pissed isn’t news, and it isn’t new. I’m a big dude and often look angry—why the hell should I have to stomp around blowing sunshine and roses up everyone’s ass all the time?

“Damage control?” I run a hand down my face. “That’s all you can think about right now? My relationship has gone to shit.”

“You know how this works.” My agent ignores my whining. “They get pictures, we post a comment. Whatever you did to make your girlfriend mad, apologize—make a grand gesture, do whatever it takes because it’s too soon for a breakup announcement. Not when we just leaked that you’re dating her.”

Unfuckingbelievable.

I feel a surge of anger. “Jesus Christ, if only it was that simple. You are my agent, not my publicist. This isn’t just about my image or my career. This is about Margot, her daughter, and the mess I’ve made.”

“Margot isn’t my responsibility—you are. No offense, but I really couldn’t give a shit about how some random woman you’re dating feels right now.”

I am not on her payroll. His unspoken words linger.

Trent sighs, clearly frustrated with my lack of cooperation the same way I’m frustrated by his lack of consideration for Margot.

“Dex, you have to separate your personal feelings from your professional obligations. This is what you signed up for.”

“No. I signed up to play football—I didn’t sign up to fuck with someone’s emotions.”

“Listen, man, you—”

But I don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence; I hang up without another word.

He doesn’t get it.

I hear Carrie fussing in the kitchen, so I walk to my office door, shutting myself in—and her out. I pause, hand on the doorknob.

Carrie has always been a sounding board; perhaps I should talk to her.

No way, she’ll tell you to your face that you’re a stupid bastard, and she would be right.

I need someone who won’t kick me while I’m down ...

Someone who knows what I’m dealing with because they’ve been where I’ve been.

I flop down in my massive leather chair and settle in, dialing the only person who can talk me off this ledge.

“Dude. Why do you look like you have to shit your pants?” he greets me, and from the looks of it, he’s in the backyard of his house, tongs in hand.

For once in my life I don’t have a smart-ass comment for my friend.

“I fucked up.”

“Sorry to hear that, man.” Landon’s tongs go down, and I can see him lean against his grill, sobering up when he realizes I’m being serious. “What’s going on?”

“Margot thinks I’m only dating her because it boosts my reputation.” He knows the backstory, so I spare him the dirty details. “She’s furious, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Do not tell me you listened to Trent.” Landon stares at me through the phone. “Harlow would claw my fucking face off if I pulled a stunt like this—no offense.”

“None taken.” Tons taken. I need help, not to be made to feel worse.

“I fucking like her, man. She and I were texting a lot and making each other laugh before Trent made his suggestion. So I didn’t think it would hurt to go out with her a few times to see how things went.

And if it, you know, made me a media darling—great. ”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t ever call yourself a media darling. It makes you sound even douchier than you already do.”

“Sorry.”

Landon hums. “I think you need to provide me with a few more details. Catch me up to speed.”

That I can do. “Honestly, bro, I didn’t mean to tell her.

Everything is great—totally falling for her.

Wyatt is awesome, too—if I’m gonna date someone with a kid, this would be the one.

But Trent called while I was in her bedroom, I had him on speaker, she overheard everything and now wants nothing to do with me. ”

Landon whistles low. “He called while you were fucking? No way.”

“She was taking off her makeup, and I was sitting on the bed keeping her company, calm down,” I mutter, frustrated. “It was already a rough day, and the convo with Trent made it so much fucking worse.”

I give him the scoop about Colton stopping by—what I’d heard and the things I had said.

“Sounds like a game of ‘who’s the bigger moron’ when it comes to Margot.” He laughs.

I sigh. “I need advice, dude, not you sitting there stating the obvious.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Give me a damn second, I’m processing. This is such a major fuckup.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

I scowl. “Not helpful.”

After several long, painful seconds—after staring out into his yard aimlessly, as if the answer to my problems were written in the clouds—Landon addresses me again.

“Real talk: I think the best way back into her good graces is through her kid.”

Is he out of his mind? I can’t use Wyatt to win her back—she would kill me!

“Her kid? Now you’re talking crazy. That’s fucking creepy.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say!”

I doubt he knows either. “Spit it out then!”

Landon clears his throat. “What I meant was—if you plan to apologize, enlist the kid’s help. If you have the kid on your side, it’s two against one. Hasn’t her daughter gotten you out of trouble once before?”

He knows all about my date with Madisson and how Wyatt came to my rescue.

I rub my chin. “That’s not a bad idea.” Still, “It’s a kid. I can’t contact her.”

So how would I get her help? I can’t text her—even if she does have a cell phone, you cannot slide into a child’s DMs. I might occasionally be a dipshit, but I’m smart enough to know at least that much.

“Don’t show up to her house without gifts,” Landon adds. “Like flowers or something expensive. Earrings always work.”

“For her or for the kid?” I grab a pen and notepad from the side table and scribble away.

“Her.”

Gifts for her. Earrings, I write. “Wait. So am I not going over there, or am I?”

This has got me so fucked up I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.

“In my opinion, you’re going to have to convince her to see you again,” Landon instructs with the authority of a man who bosses other men around for a living. “Invite the daughter, and when Margot leaves the room to pee or whatever, you begin plotting against her with her kid.”

“Leaves to pee, plot with Wyatt.” I scribble that down. “Right. Got it.”

“Don’t fuck this up.”

“’Kay. I won’t.”

I mean.

I’ll probably fuck it up ...