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Ever since Sports Illustrated published their latest issue with a seriously misleading headline, Quinn had been receiving non-stop phone calls from friends, people working for news centers, various reporters, and even a few previous hook-ups wanting to get together for pity sex.

Quinn didn't do pity sex. And he certainly wasn't interested in answering reporters' questions of what he was going to do with his life now that his promising career had crashed and burned at only twenty-nine years old.

Quinn stared down at the article on his kitchen island that he'd been reading over and over since it was delivered.

The only thing really misleading was the headline; the article itself was pretty accurate.

That was the problem these days though; people couldn't be bothered to actually read a whole news article, they just liked the shock of the headline and created their own story.

Quinn re-read where he'd been quoted saying that he was being set up with the best sports medicine team in California, and that even though he knew what he brought to the team, he was confident they'd remain the kings of Los Angeles in the upcoming season .

He had just set his phone down when it began to ring again. Quinn let out a groan of frustration and threw his head back, exasperated. How did all these people have his personal phone number anyway?

Just then Quinn heard his front door swing open and footsteps making their way into the kitchen.

Mitch Hemlock, a tall, clean-shaven man with brown hair, green eyes, and the beginnings of a pretty solid dad-bod walked through the archway and into the large, immaculate space and pointed at Quinn's phone, still ringing on the island. "Do not answer that!"

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief, his hands coming together in prayer.

"Oh, thank fucking goodness, Mitch." He swore he had never been more excited and grateful to see his agent walk into his house unannounced.

Quinn jogged past Mitch and into the entryway where the inside door had been left open.

He didn't want any reporters or paparazzi trying to get into his house or get a peek inside, but was instead met by Zoey Nunez, his publicist, walking through the door and closing it behind her.

With another great sigh of relief, Quinn wrapped Zoey in a tight hug and whispered, "Thank you, Mamacita, you're a life-saver."

Zoey's body tensed up briefly, surprised at this sudden and rare show of affection from her client. She gave him an awkward pat on the back, as he was significantly taller than her. Unlike most women in her position, she didn’t let out a dreamy sigh or try to feel up his thickly corded forearms or biceps.

Nonetheless, he gave her his signature devilish grin and a quick wink before heading back into the kitchen where Mitch was handling his phone.

"We're getting you a new number," Mitch declared.

Quinn leaned back against the counter, stretching his long legs out in front of himself and crossing them at the ankles, far more relaxed now that he had been saved from this nightmare. He quirked an eyebrow up. "Again?"

"Yes, again," said Mitch. "You need to stop giving out your real number to all these women. You sleep with them, they go home, they don't get a call, and I'm willing to bet they sell your number out of spite."

Quinn let out a low whistle, "That's cold.”

"So is sleeping with a woman, telling her that she's 'not like all the other girls, ya know?' and never calling her," Zoey said in a challenging tone. Her dark, chestnut brown hair fell in a wave over her shoulder as she dug in her purse for her tablet.

Quinn gave her another grin. "Ah, Miss Nunez, you know my secrets. I'm just trying to be authentic."

"You're trying to come across as authentic," Zoey corrected him, "while lying through your teeth. There's nothing authentic about it, which is why you would be completely lost without me here to make you look good."

"Maybe you should be there next time I bring a girl home from an after party," Quinn said mischievously. "It could be fun and you'd be able to make me look good in the morning."

Zoey rolled her eyes, clearly not taking the bait. "Oh sweetie, who broke you?"

"What do you mean?" Quinn said with the slightest trace of a laugh in his voice. Zoey was the one person in Los Angeles who knew Quinn on a personal level. She was with him nearly every day, made all his appointments, and managed his mishaps, but she still didn’t know everything about him. With a slightly guilty pang, he realized the only thing he really knew about her was that her golden-olive skin tone was a result of her unique Greek-Mexican heritage, and that she was about the only gorgeous single woman in the area that he’d labeled as off-limits.

"Every guy who drowns himself in some vice- drugs, sex, alcohol- has been heartbroken at some point. Are you sure you're not taking your anger or heartache out on the rest of the female population?"

Shaking his head, he grinned. “Zoey, we’ve been over this a hundred times. There’s no girl. No one who broke my heart, no...just no one. I am who I am, Zo. Don’t try to change me. ”

Unconvinced and, as usual, not ready to drop the subject, Zoey pressed, “Oh come on, Quinn. Did she cheat on you? Beat you at your own game playing the field? Pick your best friend over you?”

There was a moment’s pause before he responded flatly, "I've never been in love.”

An image of golden blonde hair blowing in the wind underneath a baseball cap- his baseball cap- came to him, along with a pair of bright blue eyes.

He remembered teaching her how to swing a bat, though she probably didn't need him to.

He remembered her friendly smile inviting him to join her overdone birthday party when he had come to the beach by himself, and taking her hand when he finally agreed to join at the prospect of being able to throw a baseball at something.

Then the image of her across the high school gymnasium kissing a guy who was most certainly not him, and the sudden pain in his chest and sick feeling in his stomach when he realized that they really were just friends .

"Maybe I'm wrong then. Maybe you were just born to be the center of everyone's attention," Zoey shrugged. She didn’t believe this, of course, but she was at least dropping it for now.

It took Quinn a moment to come back to himself, realizing he had been staring hard at the edge of his long, hand-carved dining room table where no one ever really ate meals.

The pain in his chest and the rolling feeling in his stomach suddenly felt new again, not having visited that memory in quite some time.

He shoved the memory back down and looked up with a grin he hoped looked normal. "I think you're right. Plus, it's kind of hard to settle down when I'm on the road all the time."

Mitch clapped his hands together like he was about to relay a football play. "Okay, we're going to get you a new phone with a new number, then we've got a press conference, and ESPN wants an interview."

Zoey nodded. "I'll get his responses ready."

"Good. Quinn, go get dressed and let's get going," said Mitch. "Twenty minutes? "

Quinn pushed himself up off the counter, nodding and heading out of the kitchen to the stairs. At the top of the stairway, he spotted a slightly disheveled looking brunette making her way out of his bedroom. She smiled when she saw him.

Aw shit , he cursed inwardly. He forgot this one had slept over. Nice job, Case, I thought we learned how to avoid that ages ago.

He sighed and then put on his best smile. "Hey baby," he traced one hand lightly down her bare arm. "My agent and publicist just barged in. I'm sorry, I thought we'd have the morning to spend together, I'd even bought stuff to make breakfast."

That was a lie.

The brunette, Julia? Julianne? Jenelle?, gave him a sympathetic smile, "Aw, that's okay. I'll give you a call and we can do this again sometime."

"I would love that."

Another lie.

Quinn wrapped his arms around her and gave her a slow kiss- enough to make her feel special, but not enough to make her want to drag him back to bed. They pulled apart and she slowly headed down the stairs with a dreamy look over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip. Jesus, he should get an Oscar.

He rolled his eyes on his way to his bedroom. What didn't women get? If he's not a gentleman enough to walk her to the door, why would they think he's enough of one to give them a phone call?

He dressed quickly and brushed his teeth.

He didn't have enough time to shave, so he was leaving the house a little more scruffy than usual.

Running a hand through his dark brown hair, flecked with natural auburn highlights, he tried smoothing it down, then messing it up, then combing it, before giving up and grabbing his baseball cap and pulling it over his unruly hair.

He had yet to eat breakfast and that was far more important than styling himself to perfection.

If he had interviews and press conferences, there would no doubt be someone there to worry about his look for him .

Rushing around the kitchen he threw ingredients into a blender for a power protein smoothie, poured it into a cup and walked out the door, followed by Mitch and Zoey, who were both on their phones. As usual, an all black Chevy Suburban was waiting for them out front and they all slid into the back.

"She was cute," Zoey commented, hanging up and getting ready to dial a new number. "Did you tell her you'd call her?"

For a moment, Quinn wasn't sure what she was talking about but then remembered the woman whose name just wouldn't come to him. "I didn't have to, she said she'd call me.”

"We're on the way to get you a new number," Zoey scoffed.

"Worked out perfectly, didn't it?" Quinn cocked an eyebrow and then stared down at his soon-to-be old phone.

Zoey shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

Quinn simply shrugged.