Page 6 of False Start: Chicago Engines (Gridiron Warriors #3)

Weston

There was nothing better than the smell of fresh cut grass.

I took a deep breath as I jogged out onto the gridiron for the first time in far too long.

My body hummed with a level of energy I had no right to, considering I’d spent most of the night learning a woman’s body instead of sleeping.

Maybe sex did cure all ills because I felt god-level ready for training.

“How was your night?” Christian Morales, our star quarterback and my best friend, asked as he jogged toward me. The question was innocent enough, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“The best night I’ve had in a while, my brother. Thank you for letting me use your crash pad.”

He scoffed, waving off my thanks as he glanced at the stands where his personal cheer squad sat in their usual seats.

“No thanks needed. It’s not like I’ve had the opportunity to use it much lately. Zara keeps me too busy. She looked cute, though.”

“Who, Zara?” I asked, adjusting the chin strap on my helmet.

“No, man. The redhead from last night. You know you made the sports pages this morning, right?”

“At least they’re talking about something other than my shoulder,” I muttered, ignoring the slight twinge as I rolled it out. I’d done the physio time, and I’d been cleared to play. My body was going to get with the program.

Christian laughed. “Sorry, brother. They’re talking about that too. You’re hot on socials at the moment. If you don’t have any endorsement deals, you will soon with the attention you’re getting.”

What the hell was the media saying about me?

I knew better than to look myself up, but while I’d been enjoying the anonymity of spending time with someone who didn’t know me as Weston Naylor, the football player who almost lost everything in a bad tackle last year, the local media had apparently been publicizing my downtime.

Exactly what I tried to save Georgia from.

Shit. I hoped she was okay.

When she declined my suggestion to swap numbers the night before, I’d been more disappointed than expected, but a couple hours of sleep had given me some much needed perspective.

What we’d had last night was explosive. Fun, hot, and exactly what both of us had needed.

We’d allowed ourselves that experience knowing it would end as soon as we left Christian’s apartment.

She needed to focus on her stuff, while I needed to focus on getting back into the game.

With the way my last relationship fell apart, I couldn’t see myself trusting anyone anytime soon.

Harmony had taken something vital from me when she left, and I wasn’t sure it was something I could ever get back.

“Hey,” Christian murmured as our team gathered around Coach Laudner for a pre-training brief.

“It’s good to see you putting yourself out there again.”

I grunted and turned my focus to Coach’s start of season speech.

“Holy shit. I think I let Zara talk me into one too many movie nights over the offseason,” Christian panted as we moved toward the locker rooms for showers. He grinned, waving at the stands where his sister, Cami, sat with the troublemaker in question.

“It’s not the movie nights, it’s the monster milkshakes you keep drinking with her that got you in trouble,” I said, stretching out the ache in my shoulder as Christian’s ten-year-old daughter raced toward the field.

“They’re hard to resist.” He shrugged, completely unrepentant.

“Daddy, can I go to Amber’s house this afternoon?

” Zara was the spitting image of Christian.

Her dark eyes framed by long black lashes were especially large — all the better to wrap her father around her little finger.

Her long brown hair was tied up in a ponytailwith maroon and gold ribbons to represent the Engines, and she bounced around with the kind of energy of a natural athlete.

“Have you asked Amber’s mother if it’s okay?”

“I texted her as you were finishing up. She’s fine having Zara for the afternoon, if you’re okay with it. Hey Weston, good to see you back,” Cami said, stepping up beside us.

“Thanks, good to be back.” I knocked knuckles with her.

“Weston Naylor.”

A grin spread across my face as I turned to face the woman I thought I’d never see again.

“Who’s that?” Cami asked behind me and was quickly shushed by her brother.

“What brings you here, princess?” I asked, striding across the grass toward her.

“We need to talk.”

Her hair was pulled back from her face today, the lengths curling down her back in a fiery waterfall and leaving her long, creamy neck exposed.

The memory of her taste called to me as I forced myself to focus on her expertly made-up face and the words she was saying. Talk. Yes, I could talk with her.

“What about?” I asked, aiming for a casual stance, despite the sensation of multiple eyes burning into my back. My team were all like brothers. So close, that sometimes boundaries were blurred, and gossip spread faster than wildfire through the changing rooms.

“Have you…” Her startlingly blue eyes flicked toward the field behind me, proving we were, in fact, the center of everyone’s collective attention. She lowered her voice and moved a little closer.

“Have you been online this morning?”

“No, but Christian mentioned we’d made the headlines. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to drag you into the circus that is preseason football.”

Those eyes softened, and she half lifted her hand, as though she were going to touch me but reconsidered. I wanted her to touch me.

“I don’t care about attention. I’m an actor. I just didn’t expect this all to get complicated so quickly.”

She twisted her hands in front of her, chewing on her lip like there were more words she wanted to say.

“Tell me. I’ll help if I can,” I said, gripping her hands lightly to still them before she hurt herself.

She ducked her head, and a wave of her vanilla scent hit me as her ponytail slipped over her shoulder. “You may regret offering that.”

Giving in to the urge to touch her, I cupped her chin, lifting gently until her eyes met mine.

“Tell me.”

Her shoulders dropped at the touch of command I put into my voice. I’d noticed it the night before, and the memory threatened to make the situation in my warmup pants a little NSFW.

She liked to give up control, and the idea of a repeat of the night before was becoming less of a bad idea by the minute.

“My manager wants us to keep up our fake relationship.”

I paused, perfectly still despite the urge to pull away from her. She wanted to turn my good deed into a publicity stunt. To use me as a way to get her name out there.

Hadn’t I done that already?

She hadn’t sought me out because after some downtime she’d come to the conclusion we were really fucking compatible and should definitely see where we could go.

It was about the image.

Just like Harmony.

Although, at least Georgia was being open about it.

“She thinks it could be good for both of us. I guess, you’re returning to the field after some time off, so it could distract the media from your injury, and it’s already helping with my casting potential.

Lydia was going to call your manager this morning, but I didn’t want you to find out through him. It seemed… cold? I don’t know.”

She pulled away, pacing off a couple of steps before returning to me, eyes pleading.

“I’m sorry, I can hear myself talk and I feel like an asshole, but I still need to ask. Would you mind?”

I minded very much, but if Trent had been called, there was no way he wouldn’t go for it. Especially with the media attention that we apparently already had. As Denny said: people loved a love story.

But if this was going to happen, we’d need ground rules.

“If we’re going to do this, it needs to be purely business,” I started, pretending not to be hurt at how quickly she nodded.

“That means last night can’t happen again.”

“Of course not,” she agreed, those hands twisting hard enough to whiten her knuckles. A flash of red crescents carved into her thighs flashed through my mind, and I pushed the image away.

“We’ll swap numbers so we can send through information we might need to know about each other, but we’ll leave it to management to coordinate public appearances.”

I was a little worried she would hurt her neck as she continued to nod along with each new rule I set down, but I kept going, needing to control the narrative we were building.

“My last girlfriend left me when I got injured last season. It hurt my brand, and I lost… a lot. When it’s time to end this, I want us to work through the breakup narrative together. No going rogue and fucking up my image to make your own look better.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re willing to pretend to be my girlfriend for an unspecified amount of time to further your career. Forgive me if I’m a little less than trusting.”

I regretted the words instantly. She flinched as they landed, emotional arrows cast from a careless bow. I’d witnessed her have a panic attack less than twenty-four hours earlier, and here I was being an asshole because I got my feelings hurt.

Grow the fuck up, Naylor.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” She pulled her shoulders back, looking me square in the eye.

“You’re right. You don’t know anything about me.

I’ll do my best to help with that while respecting the boundaries you have laid out.

I can’t thank you enough for doing this.

Truly. Hopefully I can find a way to return the favor. ”

I grunted. This would be a lot easier if I could stop focusing on how fucking beautiful she was.

“Give me your phone.” I waited until she retrieved the device, and again for her to unlock it, then keyed in my number and called myself.

“Now you have my number and I have yours. We’ll see what our managers come up with and go from there. Deal?”

“Deal.” Her voice was a whisper, and I pretended not to notice the watery sheen to her eyes. I needed space and time to figure out how to be her fake boyfriend without being an asshole or losing more of myself than I could afford to give.