Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton
Seven
Britney
I’m having the best sleep I’ve managed since Coach Langford set foot in the New York office, when my alarm wakes me. Coming around, I remember that I didn’t set an alarm. My cell continues chiming incessantly. A quick glance at the windows, where the curtains are slightly ajar, confirms it’s still dark out. It’s either really late or really early. My cell continues being intrusive. When I look at it, I see I was right: I didn’t set an alarm. Jess’ name flashes on the screen as an incoming call, and my eyes catch the time: it’s four AM.
“What?” I bark down the line. “Don’t try and use the excuse of a time difference because there isn’t one.”
I can hear the smirk in her voice when she says, “You’re nice and grumpy this morning.”
“Do you blame me? It’s four AM.” I’m an early riser, but this is ridiculous. It’s like she’s never heard of a little thing called beauty sleep. Then I remember, she doesn’t need it—she’s beautiful enough. She works around the clock until her body gives up, recharges, then starts the whole process again. She’s an animal. Some call it driven, but I think she’s trying to fill a big hole of loneliness.
“Up and at ‘em. You have somewhere to be, and that article isn’t going to write itself. We haven’t paid for you to go to Jacksonville and sleep.” Her chipper tone isn’t improving my mood.
“You must know something I don’t. What happens at four AM that’s so important, besides sleeping?”
“The Jaguars’ practice that’s what.”
Damn it. I make a last ditched attempt to stay in the comfort of my bed, “At this time? How come you know this, and I don’t?”
“Becket rang yesterday to confirm and asked that you be there.”
Of course, he did. “Did he not think to get in touch with me himself?” It’s going to be impossible to do the article if he keeps me out of the loop and goes through Jess whenever there’s a need for us to communicate.
“Remember what Coach Langford said, it will take time for the dust to settle. For now, play the game.”
Slowly exhaling, I climb out of bed with my cell balanced between the crook of my neck and my ear. “I can’t play the game if I don’t know the rules. Oh, and it would have been nice if you’d rung and let me know the plan yesterday so I could prepare. Why didn’t you?”
“For that exact reason. You don’t need to prepare. All you need to do is make notes about anything of interest. I knew if I rang and told you, you’d get yourself all worked up and then come up with a reason to back out. That can’t happen. This article could be big for the magazine and for him. You will not mess this up.”
I roll my eyes. She’s speaking to me like I don’t already know what’s on the line. Placing a cup on the little ledge of the coffee machine stationed at one side of the room, I insert one of the coffee pods and press the button, watching as it flashes green. Steam billows out and I inhale the aroma of coffee now filling the room. For this, caffeine is needed. “Yeah, yeah.” I dismiss her with a fake yawn. “So, I just turn up and hang around?”
“And make notes, don’t forget the notes,” Jess offers unhelpfully.
“Like I could forget the notes.” I smile to myself for the first time since arriving in Jacksonville. She might be annoying at times, but she knows in her own way how to brighten my mood. Even at four AM. “When do I need to be there by?”
“Four forty-five.”
I pause, bring my cell away from my ear and check the time. “That’s less than an hour! How am I supposed to get ready in time?”
“Brit, you look gorgeous no matter what you do, just have a quick shower and go. It’s their early gym session. They won’t even pay you any attention.”
“Becket staring daggers at me and wishing I were dead is classed as attention, J.”
“Give it time. Brit, this is a good thing. At least he’s letting you be around him.”
I resign, there’s no way I’m getting out of this, no matter how hard I try. “Wish me luck?”
“You don’t need it.”
I wish I felt as positive as she sounds.
We hang up and I quickly get ready, doing exactly as Jess said, hopping straight in the shower and making little effort with my appearance. Who looks pristine before it’s even 5 AM anyway? The last thing I want is Becket to think I’m trying to impress him.
Once I look a little more presentable, I pick out some gym gear. I want to blend in, not stick out like a sore thumb in my usual professional attire. Finally, I scoop my long, platinum-blonde hair up into a messy bun and order an Uber with the app on my phone before I have chance to change my mind. The app alerts me that the driver is a few minutes away, so I quickly grab my things off the bed and go to leave, stopping abruptly when I almost trip over a huge bunch of flowers on the floor right outside my door.
Leaning forwards, I glance up and down the corridor, but there’s no one around. I pick up the huge bunch of white lilies and open the small, white envelope with a note inside. I read the handwritten message:
It’s time to play a game.
Becket. He’s messing with me. My cell bleeps again, it’s an alert telling me the driver is right outside. I don’t have time to over-analyze things, so I quickly set the flowers down on my dresser and bustle out of the room.
The location of the training session is different from yesterday, it’s a private practice facility about a ten-minute drive from my hotel. When I’ve given my name and he’s double-checked my details on the system, the security guard at the door lets me in and quickly rattles off directions to the gym where the team will be training.
Stepping foot inside the huge room, I pause. Instead of being greeted by the sound of weights slamming, the whirring of cardio machines and the sight of the whole team working out, there is nothing. Total silence, and not a soul in sight. I walk around, not quite sure what I expect to find. It’s not like the team will be hiding, they’re giants. I’m alone, with no clue what is going on.
I’m about to pull out my cell to ring Jess and see if she made a mistake, when it vibrates. On the screen is an unknown caller ID with a new message.
I open it, frowning when I read:
Fooled you once. My point.
Becket. I should have known it wouldn’t be this easy getting him to co-operate. It’s official: the games have begun.
***
There was no point going back to the hotel. The security guard confirmed a two-hour wait until the team’s actual practice began, and as I was already at the gym, with nothing else to do, I seized the opportunity to get in a workout, pounding away some of my nerves on the treadmill.
Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, it’s close to the start of the team’s training session. The last thing I want is to piss anyone off by leaving puddles of sweat for them to maneuver around, so I make quick work of cleaning up after myself before anyone arrives. When members of the team begin filtering into the room, the sun has risen, and the room is flooded by natural light instead of the artificial glare I’ve been subjected to for the past two hours. Like Jess predicted, no one pays me any attention. I sit on a bench next to one of the water stations located at the side of the room, trying to be as inconspicuous as the only female in a room full of males can be. My pulse elevates each time the door to the room opens and another member of the team enters. After ten minutes, I realize this is part of the game.
Becket is being purposefully late to keep me on edge. Asshole. I wonder if he will turn up at all.
The door opens again, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s one thing seeing him in his training uniform, kitted out in all the pads and gear. It’s another seeing him in a pair of gym shorts and a skintight workout T-shirt—they leave nothing to the imagination, hugging every muscle, emphasizing where the strength and power he uses on the field comes from. If he wasn’t such an ass, I’d almost think he looked adorable with his sandy-blond hair all ruffled and his face still groggy with sleep. I freeze when his eyes zero in on mine. He holds my gaze. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. I’m stuck in a Becket-induced trance. I thought I’d buried them, the memories of his lips on mine and how much I enjoyed it, apparently not deep enough. My stomach twists at the fleeting thought of what it would feel like to have him devour my mouth again.
He walks over and stops, his toes a couple of inches from my own, towering over me. It’s painful how far back I have to tilt my head to get a clear view of his face, but I refuse to let him intimidate me. If he wants to play this game, he can throw his worst at me. There’s nothing he can do that will shock me, not with my past.
His eyes narrow when they focus on the clothes I’m wearing. “Planning on joining us?”
“No. I’ve already finished my session thanks to my early start,” I keep my voice cheery and smile sweetly. Tou-fucking-che Becket.
“You train?” he asks, as if I’m part of some club.
“If by train, you mean exercise to keep healthy … then yes, I do.”
He looks over his shoulder to the bikes where one of his teammates is sitting, leaning against the handlebars, watching us intently. He looks back down and says, “Right. Well, I’ve got my own session to do. You can shadow it if you want? I know you like to watch me working up a sweat—you’ll be in your element.”
I don’t miss the sex tape reference and roll my eyes. “That one’s getting a bit old, isn’t it? I have better things to do with my time than watch you and your pals compete over who can lift the heaviest lump of metal.”
He blinks in surprise at my snappy response, a sharp contrast to the meek version he witnessed yesterday on the field. “If you aren’t going to watch me train, what exactly are you planning on doing?”
“I could do with a shower …” I reply, gesturing down at my gym bag, internally high-fiving myself for thinking ahead and packing spare clothes and toiletries.
He nods. “There are female changing rooms out the door and left along the corridor.”
“Great.” I jump to my feet quickly, forcing him to take a step back. Grabbing my bag from the floor, I make sure to bend extra-low, ensuring he gets the full view of my cleavage. I’m pretty certain I hear him groan. One point to me. I add an extra bounce to my step and sway my spandex-clad hips as I leave the gym, knowing it will piss him off. Especially after the cleavage show.
Expecting the best that the NFL can offer, it’s disappointing when I’m transported back to high school as I step inside the female changing rooms. I wish I was back in my hotel room where I could enjoy a long, hot, and most importantly, private shower. They could have at least forked out for thicker material, I think to myself when I’ve stripped off and stepped under the shower. The sheer material surrounding me does little to hide how naked I am. I can’t deny the water feels amazing as it hits my skin, easing my already achy muscles. Lost in my thoughts, I startle when cold air hits me from behind.
Spinning around, I yelp.
Becket is standing there, staring at me like I’m some sort of sideshow.
I try to cover my body with my hands and arms, but it’s pointless. No one has seen my body like this—no one that matters at least. I’ve been saving it for the right person and I’m furious he’s taken the moment from me without a care in the world, out of spite. With what little self-respect I have left, I storm past him, to the bench where I left my towel. Wrapping it around my body, I try to cover as much skin as possible, failing miserably, because the towel I picked up in my haste before leaving the hotel room, is a hand towel. Of course. I want to slap away the smirk on his face, but I don’t because it’s what he wants—a reaction.
“What’s wrong, Brit?”
“You know what’s wrong,” I say, failing to keep the venom from my voice.
“You know what they say, all’s fair in love and war.”
“Prick,” I mutter.
He ignores my comment and narrows his emerald eyes. “You did the same to me. At least you haven’t got the whole country ogling your assets while you pound into someone.”
I snap back, “Yes, but you weren’t a virgin.”
I wait for him to come back with some kind of scathing response but he doesn’t. “You’re a virgin? That was true?”
He doesn’t believe me. I don’t really blame him as it’s an unusual scenario for someone my age.
“Yes. Not everything that night was an act.” I begin rummaging through my bag, searching for my clean clothes, when I feel him move in close behind. I shudder, anticipating what he’s going to do next. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
His proximity mixed with the remaining droplets of water on my skin cause goosebumps to cover my body.
“I’m returning the favor after that little performance in the gym. You might be innocent, but you’re also a tease.” He leans his head down to my shoulder. His lips are so close to touching my skin it takes everything inside me not to fall back into him. He lets out a throaty chuckle. I hate that he knows exactly how he’s affecting me. “Be careful, Brit. You can’t win the game if you don’t know the rules …”
***
Becket
Small, yet strong hands trail up and down my body.
I let out a loud groan. “That’s it, right there, baby.”
“Seriously man, we’ve already spoken about this,” scolds Brad.
I can tell from the strain in his voice he’s biting back a moan himself.
“You can’t sweet-talk the physios. You’ve already been told. If Coach hears you again, you’re in trouble.”
“But they’re just so good … Ow!” I yelp as the physio working on my back presses down particularly hard on a painful knot.
Brad snickers. “And that’s what you get for being an ass.”
“Stop your bitching. Are we done here?” I ask, lifting my head and looking to the physios for a response.
They both nod and leave the room, giving us our privacy so we can get back into our clothes.
“Well, that didn’t end as enjoyably as I would have liked. Thanks for that.”
Brad holds up his hands. “That was all you.”
“Whatever,” I grumble.
“Let’s talk about Britney.”
I finish buttoning up my pants. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit.”
“Leave it, man,” I say, shaking my head.
He’s having none of it. “Has anyone ever told you it’s good to talk? Even guys. You never spoke to anyone about Abby—it all got brushed to the side after the media fallout and then you stuck your head in the sand and focused on football as you do with everyth—”
“Because that’s all that matters. Look where focusing my attention on football has gotten me: right to the top. I managed to reverse everything Britney did to me.” I take a deep breath, trying to control my temper.
“That’s all well and good, but for some unknown reason, you’ve requested she fly all the way from New York to do the article. Could you not have just done it by email or over the phone like most normal people?”
“No.” I bend over and pick up my bag, getting ready to leave.
“Why not?”
I groan. This is the part about having people get closer I don’t like. They push, they want to know more, and he can’t know more. No one can. Luckily, I never had this issue with Abby, even though we were together four years. She had her own secrets, so didn’t pry into mine. Don’t ask, don’t tell was the foundation our relationship was built on. “Because then she wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t be able to mess with her, the way she messed with me.”
“Is that what you really want? To hurt her? Come on, Becket, you’re not that guy, I know you.”
I start walking towards the door, muttering, “You don’t know me, no one does. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He picks up his bag ready to follow behind. “I do and that’s why you’re pissed.”
“Seriously, can we leave it? I’m not in the mood to talk about all of this.”
“You never are, that’s the problem. Speaking of problems … how is the article going … and where is she? I haven’t seen her for a couple of days. I thought she was meant to be following your every move?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, that’s the truth. I’ve not seen Britney since she stormed out of the changing rooms after the stint I pulled. I don’t blame her. I’d be pissed too. I am pissed. I’m merely following in her footsteps, making her feel how I felt after everything she did.
“You best figure things out between the two of you. She’s here to do a job, which she can’t if you won’t let her. The article is important for your career, so I suggest you get your act together.” Apparently having had enough, Brad barges past me as he leaves the room.
He’s right. I know he’s right. I’ve managed to fight back, reverse the damage she did to my career after that night. We’re going to have to learn to be around each other, whether I like it or not. The article is my final chance to put that night behind me and solidify my place once more as the NFL’s golden player. Easier said than done when you don’t know if you’re ready to forgive and forget.
