Page 16 of Score to Settle (Oakwood Ranch #1)

EIGHT

JAKE

JAKE: Can you get your hands on a swimsuit for later?

HARPER: There’s no way I’m going in that freezing lake!

JAKE: Does a sauna sound better?

HARPER: It does, but I’m a professional and I’m here to do a job, not hang out in saunas with you.

JAKE: A professional pain in my ass. Bring your swimsuit!

Stormhawks Park is a brand-new, state-of-the-art training facility a few miles south of the stadium.

It has everything we need to be in peak condition, including three full-sized football fields and a huge weights room packed with free weights, cables, and machines.

There’s also a cafeteria that serves healthy meals customized for each player’s nutritional needs.

Funny though, I actually prefer practice at the stadium sometimes.

There’s a buzz that comes from staring at the 70,000 empty seats I know will be packed come game day.

But this place gives us everything we need to train hard and be game ready, and the creature comforts don’t hurt either.

It makes the long hours and physical toll worthwhile knowing we have a space like this to come back to.

Especially now with a pool and sauna in the basement and Harper stepping toward me in a little red two-piece.

Damn! She looks good. Her body is all woman—toned, but with curves too. My eyes drag instantly to her pert breasts, barely contained inside the tiny triangles of red fabric. I realize I’m staring and drop my eyes, only for them to snag on the string tied in bows either side of the tiny red bottoms.

“Eyes up, Sullivan,” Harper says and my gaze shoots to her face.

“Can’t blame a man for looking when you’re wearing something like that.”

She rolls her eyes before turning to survey the empty pool. “Are you sure we’re allowed to be here? What if people find out?”

I fix her with a sly grin. “Not much of a rule-breaker are you, Cassidy?”

“No! And I don’t intend to start now, so if?—”

I chuckle and hold my hands up in defeat. “I’m joking. It’s fine to be here. It’s just luck there aren’t twenty of my teammates in here too.”

That’s not entirely true. I made sure to wait an hour after practice so any players using the pool, sauna, or ice baths would be long gone before bringing Harper down here.

My teammates still don’t know about the Sports Magazine profile feature and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

It might not be breaking any rules bringing Harper to the pool, but I’m still not sure if it’s a good idea.

Every conversation we have ends in sharp words or an argument, but she had my back yesterday when I was about to post a stupid rant on my socials.

Even if she did do it in the most annoying way possible and confiscate my phone in the process.

I’m still not happy she’s here, still pissed about her comment to Mia on the phone.

But the fake story about me yesterday was a reminder of how much I’ve got to lose and how easily I could lose it.

Which means I need to find a way to change Harper’s opinion of me.

Not exactly easy, considering our rocky start.

But I figure it wouldn’t kill me to be a bit more accommodating.

Harper steps to the edge of the pool and without a second of hesitation, she executes a perfect dive, disappearing beneath the surface with barely a splash before appearing a few feet away and cutting through the water effortlessly.

“You coming in?” she calls, and I grin before cannonballing into the pool, causing a burst of laughter from Harper. “Real smooth, Jake,” she taunts before throwing herself into her lengths.

For the next thirty minutes we swim in silence and I lose myself replaying the day.

I didn’t expect it to go as well as it did, and I have to begrudgingly admit that’s down to Harper.

Starting with being hauled into Coach Allen’s office this morning.

Thanks to Harper being with me and talking to Coach, he believed me when I said there was no truth to the story from the bar that now has over five million views and counting.

The message from Coach was clear though—true or not, Stormhawks management doesn’t want any more bad press about me.

I need to keep a low profile for the rest of the season.

Fine by me. All I want is to get my team to the playoffs and make sure my contract is renewed, something that feels a lot more possible after how I trained today.

It was one of those sessions where the instinctual rhythm of the game felt like it lived in my bones.

Effortlessly weaving between my teammates, like the turf was super-charged beneath my cleats.

For the entire three hours of practice, I was acutely aware of Harper sitting in the indoor viewing platform.

After every move I found myself turning to check if she was there watching.

By the end of the swim, we’re both breathless as we hit the sauna.

It’s a fight not to stare at the water droplets glistening on Harper’s chest, rising and falling as she catches her breath.

I close my eyes and rest my head against the warm wood.

Only when the heat has wrapped itself around my muscles from the inside out do I open my eyes again and find Harper staring at me.

“My eyes are up here, Cassidy,” I say, my voice husky from the yelling during practice.

I know it’s hot in the wood cabin and sweat is covering our skin, but the way her cheeks redden is kind of cute.

“What did you think of your first practice?” I ask.

She hesitates, shifting on the bench so she’s leaning against the wall opposite, long legs stretching toward me. “It was impressive.”

I quirk an eyebrow. Something has been nagging at me since my first sit-down with Harper on Saturday.

In the last three days, any time talk turns to football, she starts to fidget like she is now.

Her answers to questions about the game are always vague.

It’s almost like she doesn’t know the first thing about football.

Then I remember what she said about her writing at college and how she faked confidence until it came.

She wouldn’t…

Nah!

I almost laugh off my suspicions. Harper works for Sports Magazine . No way has she been faking knowledge of the NFL for the whole time she’s worked there. That would be next-level crazy. Still, no harm in testing the theory…

“Hey, by the way, Dylan interrupted you in the truck on Saturday. You were going to tell us if you think a team should punt if they’re in the fourth down.”

She scoops her hair back before she answers. “I was happy to stay out of that argument.”

“Seriously, I want to know. What would you do?”

She hesitates like maybe she’s thinking about it. “I’d probably punt.”

I nod like I don’t think she’s full of shit. “What if there’s a switch play at the two-hundred-yard marker?”

“I’d still punt,” she says. I don’t miss the question in her tone though. She looks at me, eyes a little wide, like maybe she knows what I’m about to say.

“That’s funny, because there’s no such thing as a switch play and the field is only a hundred yards long.”

Her eyes widen another fraction, like her thoughts are scrambling. “Oh! I…”

I let her squirm a little before going in for the kill. “I think you were probably about to admit that you know nothing about football.”

The second my words are out, Harper’s hands fly up, covering her face. And even though it’s unbelievable, I can’t help but laugh at her reaction. Gotcha!

“It’s not funny,” she says in a small voice as she moves her hands away and looks at me with fear in her eyes. “How did you guess?”

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” I reply. “You always fidget when we talk about football. Your questions and comments about the game are always vague, and you called the playoffs the finals. Do you even know what a punt is?”

She shakes her head and I roll my eyes. “It’s when a player drops the ball and kicks it before it touches the ground. The aim is to send the ball as far downfield as possible to push the opposing team into a worse starting position when you’re about to lose possession anyway.”

Harper looks at me like I’m talking in another language.

I shake my head in disbelief. “How the hell did you get given this feature without knowing a thing about football?”

Her face takes on a pained expression. “Because my editor, Tim, has no idea. Hit me with baseball questions or basketball or ice hockey, and I’m your gal. But not football.”

“I get that. Don’t most sports journalists have sports they know more about? But how did you get this feature?”

She looks uncomfortable. “After being fired from Insight , Mia got me an interview at the magazine and I really wanted the job, so… I sort of embellished my experience and knowledge of football.”

“Embellished?” I smirk.

“Lied,” she admits with a groan.

“How long have you been working at the magazine?”

“Three months,” Harper admits.

“Fake it ’til you make it?” I ask.

“I thought so, but I’ve hated lying. I’ve been waiting for someone to find me out.

And now you have. Even if Tim forgives me for lying in the interview, he’ll be all kinds of pissed I said I could do this feature without mentioning I was seriously lacking in football knowledge.

I’m still in a probationary period so it looks like I’m about to be fired from my second job in journalism in a year. ”

It’s impossible to miss how crushed Harper looks.

I think about what she’s saying. I’ve wanted out of this interview since I stepped into the kitchen and caught sight of Harper’s “don’t mess with me” glare.

But getting rid of Harper doesn’t change the fact that I need this profile.

If it’s not Harper being a pain in my ass for the next five weeks, it’ll be someone else.

I’m not about to admit this to her, but after how she spoke to Coach earlier when he dragged me into his office before practice, and how she had my back yesterday, I’m thawing to the idea of having her around for a little while.

Better the devil you know, isn’t that what they say?

I fix my gaze on Harper. I don’t miss the fear flashing in her eyes. A reminder of how much we both need this to work. “Last time I checked, Cassidy, I’m no tattletale.”

Confusion pulls at her features. “You’re not going to call the magazine and get me fired? I thought I was a giant pain in your ass.”

I grin. “Oh, you’re definitely that, but you’re nicer to look at than Kevin, if I’m remembering him correctly. The lead reporter with the beard who seems to like the sound of his own voice more than the person he’s interviewing?”

“That sounds like Kevin.” She smiles before biting her lip, looking shy for the first time since she waltzed into my life. “What are you going to do then?”

I lean my head against the sauna wall. “Teach you about football, I guess.”

“You’d do that?” There’s a level of surprise in her voice that hits me the wrong way.

“No need to sound so shocked.” My tone is sharper than I intend and just like that we’re glaring at each other and I’m wondering if keeping Harper around is such a good idea after all.

“I’m not… I just… Thank you. That would be great,” Harper says, her reluctant gratitude doing nothing to shift the sudden tension between us. Just when I thought we were making progress. It’s like on the field, gaining five yards in the first down only to lose ten in the second.

I heave a sigh. “Lesson one—know your positions. What’s the difference between a quarterback and a linebacker?”

“A quarterback throws the ball and a linebacker tackles people?” she hazards.

I huff a laugh. “Close enough. But we’ve got a long way to go if you’re gonna understand what the hell is going on when we play the LA Wildhorns on their home turf on Thanksgiving, not to mention write a feature on the best tight end of all time.”

A teasing grin lights up her face. “I thought I was writing a feature on you.”

“Ouch, Cassidy. That was cruel.” I laugh and the tension lifts. For now, anyway. Something tells me I might live to regret keeping her around. Harper Cassidy is making my head spin and not in a good way.