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CHAPTER TWENTY

JAKE

Practice wraps up earlier than usual. The entire team’s been summoned for a last-minute marketing and PR meeting. The subject line on the invitation? A vague “Team Sponsorship.” Then again, I’m not as interested in the purpose of the assembly as I am in the attendees—I have my own agenda.

I rush through my shower and head to the designated conference room. I haven’t spoken to Amelia since the weekend, yet I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. Though with her ringing review of my bedroom skills and then running off when I saw her spying on me earlier… A lesser man would have developed a complex. Good thing I’m not a lesser man.

And if she needs to reassess? I grin. I’m all for giving her another demonstration, if only to prove that I’m always up for some constructive criticism and spent all day after yesterday’s game figuring out a plan to up my star rating, and step one? Bring incentive.

When I enter the meeting room, Amelia and her colleagues are already up front, prepping. I wave and receive a chorus of “heys” and “hellos” from the team. Amelia, however, offers me the most perfunctory of nods before bending intently over her tablet again. I decide against approaching; ours needs to be a one-on-one assignation.

Chairs arranged in neat rows give the space the feel of a lecture hall. Clearly, we’re in for a sermon. I choose a discreet spot at the back and settle in. My gaze returns to Amelia. I watch her work, not minding the way she ignores me, amused because she doesn’t do a good job of it. Her whole placid, I-don’t-even-know-you’re-here facade tells me she’s very well aware of my presence.

Today, a knee-length navy skirt with a slit offers teasing glimpses of her thighs. Her legs shimmer. Stockings? Panty hose? Or maybe sexy hold ups? My gaze takes a lazy journey down to the modest heels she’s sporting. They may not be the type that scream “Come fuck me,” but damn if I’m not already picturing them digging into my back.

Right as my fantasy is gaining steam, Milo and Connor stroll in and drop into the seats by me.

Jessica enters, and the room falls silent. She eyes us, one by one, then nods to Rani. The lights dim, and the large screen behind her flashes to life, displaying “Nurture NYC” in big bold letters. My heart thumps harder, and I sit up straight. Logan and Hunter glance over, their expressions full of concern. They know how much the program means to me.

“Thank you all for gathering at such short notice,” Jessica begins, her voice all business. “As you are aware, the Titans have been a longtime supporter of Nurture NYC, most notably through the annual fundraising gala. However, recent events have prompted the foundation to re-evaluate our association.”

I’m about to jump to my feet, mouth open to protest, but she spears me in place, and my teeth clack back together. “—Despite these issues, our commitment to the cause remains unwavering. We don’t believe the charity should be adversely impacted because of our current predicament. As such, we’re piloting a new initiative this season to increase our support and rebuild our relationship with them.

The presentation slide changes to reveal “Skybox Supports” beside the Nurture NYC logo, sending a wave of excitement through me.

“This is a co-branded partnership that allows one sponsor per home game to align their organization with the Titans and Nurture NYC. It’s an opportunity to raise their profile, rehabilitate our own, and crucially, ensure ongoing financial support for the charity. Sponsors will receive exclusive branding rights and share a dedicated suite with foundation representatives and beneficiaries. Additionally, at the end of each game, two of our players will stop by the box for meet-and-greets. Note that while participation is voluntary, we encourage each of you to consider it. If we manage to match or exceed the proceeds from last year’s event, we’re hopeful Nurture NYC’s trustees will allow us the honor of hosting the gala in December.”

Amazed. That’s the word. Jessica’s strategy is brilliant, and if all goes according to plan, we could double the funds raised for Nurture NYC when combined with contributions from the end-of-season gala. And there’s going to be an end-of-season gala. All I have to do is “open sesame” some serious sponsorship dollars. Piece of cake.

“I expect everyone involved to conduct themselves in a manner befitting the charity,” she stresses, her warning gaze locking on mine. No sweat, I can dig out that halo and shine it up. I’ll be the poster child of good behavior.

Jessica continues, “This campaign commences with Sunday’s game, and we’re fortunate to have our parent company, Winters Inc., along with F&S International, as our inaugural sponsors. Margie Cuenca will be overseeing the project, and members of her team will engage and entertain guests until the players arrive. Amelia Stevens and Rani Metha are organizing the volunteer efforts and will serve as your point people throughout the program.”

Just like that, my plans for Amelia go ka-boom. There’s no way I’m messing with her or doing anything to jeopardize this program. My shoulders droop as I resign myself to a season of unfaltering, albeit celibate, commitment.

Resolute, I’m up and heading straight for the front. “I’m in.”

Amelia examines her tablet without glancing up. “What dates would you like to register for?”

“All of them.”

Her head snaps up. “All of them?” Her brows draw together in consternation as I nod. “Isn’t that rather…excessive?”

“Hey, I’m all for a weekly pimping, if that’s what it takes to get the gala back on.” I counter, casting a casual glance at Jessica. Boss lady is keenly observing our exchange. “That shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

Her gaze is appraising, and I resist the urge to squirm. After a moment, she responds. “I don’t see why not. As long as the focus is football and fundraising.”

I flash my most innocent Boy-Scout grin, innocence personified. “But of course. I’ll be an absolute angel.”

Did Amelia just snort under her breath? Nonetheless, her fingers already tapping away at her screen. “Very well. I’ve scheduled you for all the dates.”

“Why do you need to hog all the attention? Save some for us,” Hunter says, coming up beside me.

Rani, who’s standing by Amelia, jumps in before I can retort. “There’s plenty of room. The more the merrier.”

She takes down his preferred dates. I step back, leaning against a wall to observe, as more of the guys fall in line. It’s a huge relief that so many of them are pitching in.

When it’s Milo turn, he says, “Hello, Amelia. My name is Milo Reeves. I can’t wait to work with you.” He flashes her a brilliant smile.

“Umm, hi. How do you do?” she responds.

“Verrrryyyy well…” he drawls.

“Would you like to volunteer?” she asks, flustered.

“Of course.”

He bends over so their heads are close to touching and confer in low voices. They seem to be taking their sweet time. How damned long does it take to sign up for some dates?

When he finally finishes, he joins me by the wall. “Looking forward to working with your girl…”

I keep my eyes fixed ahead. “Not my girl.”

“Nothing going on?”

“Nope.” I tip my head, watching as she smiles at another of my teammates. Nothing now, at least. Delayed gratification never killed anyone, and I’m not going to let that one-star rating stand forever. In the meantime, I’m repurposing my lure.

“Hmmm.”

I don’t bother responding. Impatiently, I wait while everyone signs up. Bit by bit, the room empties. Even though I know I should leave with the others, I can’t fight the temptation to linger. “Amelia, hold up. I need to discuss some scheduling stuff with you.”

She purses her lips but doesn’t protest.

Only when the heavy doors shut after the last occupants do I saunter close.

“Jake,” she says. “Scheduling concerns, you mentioned. What can I help you with?” Oh, that damned posh tone. It makes me want to flip her skirt up and lick her sweet pussy and see how fast I’m able to make it vanish and turn her into a wild, screaming mess.

I lean casually against the table. “Thought I’d find out how you were settling in.” With a sly grin, I add, “Also brought you a little welcome present.” I retrieve a Twizzler out of my pocket and hold one end out.

There’s a brief softening of her features, quickly eclipsed by my next, “Can’t have you hogging the ones in the break rooms and leaving the rest of us with none. You want to make the best first impression.”

A scowl flickers over her face, but she reaches for the candy. Too quick, I pull it back.

“That’s just cruel, you know?” Irritation laces her tone.

I can’t hold back my smirk, relishing her vexation. “Maybe I’ll keep it to myself. See what all the fuss is about.”

Her lips press into a thin line, those blue depths narrowing as she lunges for the Twizzler again. I raise it even farther out of reach.

She huffs, crossing her arms and fixing me with a glare. “Sweets are bad for you.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve already told myself that, but some sweets are too much to resist. I study her, noting how her top stretches over her tits. There’s a similar tension in my jeans. But the slide for the Nurture NYC is still up on the screen. Caught between the delicious temptation of her and the disastrous consequences of yielding to it, it’s obvious I’m stuck between a sugar-coated rock and a hard place.

Opting for the less indulgent path, I clear my throat and offer her the Twizzler once more. She hesitates, eyeing me suspiciously, before slowly curling her fingers around it. “Thank you. It’s very nice of you.”

Naturally, I can’t resist that little opening. “You are right. I am nice.”

“And I’m not?”

The challenge in her tone ignites something reckless within me. Dropping my voice, I lean in closer. “Not so nice after what you said on Saturday. One-star, really?”

Her eyes dart around the room, her composed facade flickering as she checks for eavesdroppers. “I stand by my review,” she asserts with a firmness that almost convinces. “Also, I’m friends with your sister and that ‘incident’ was a one-time thing—that no one can know about.” Her gaze sharpens, a clear boundary set. “Plus, staff’s not supposed to get involved with players, and I’m not risking this job. You’re going to have to live with your one-star for now.”

“For now, hmm?” I murmur, latching onto her words, a hint of playfulness in my tone. “So, not forever…”

She doesn’t contradict me, and my grin widens. Patience might just pay off. “No constructive criticism in the meantime?”

“Maybe consult a book,” she tosses out the suggestion. Then, with a cheeky tilt of her head toward my hand, face alight with mischief, she adds, “Or perhaps some self-study?”

I chuckle at that. “I suppose it will have to do.”