False Start (Paw Prints on My Heart #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Cincinnati?” Jif blinked. “Isn’t that... cold?”

Jordan lifted one shoulder, casually nonchalant. “Not as cold as North Dakota.”

“But there’s no team in North Dakota.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know, but I’m from there.”

She’d forgotten. Or maybe he’d never told her?

North Dakota. Brrr.

Certainly colder than Charleston, South Carolina. And Cincinnati, too.

Jif’s hands shook as she reached for her wine glass, breathing as she swirled the burgundy liquid, wafting notes of vanilla and oak tickling her nose.

Being picked up by the Bengals in free agency had not been what she’d envisioned when Jordan, star receiver of the Charleston Raptors for the last four seasons, said he’d planned a special evening for them.

Was she silly to have assumed the spa day, followed by getting her hair and nails done, and his request she wear his favorite little mini—a demure shade of ivory with pearl embellishments—would all lead to, well, a proposal, of course?

She took a large gulp of wine, cringing as the rich, tannin-laden flavor drowned the light, citrus tang of her meal. Jordan had simply chosen the most expensive bottle, uncaring of the vintage or even whether it fit their food.

That should have been her first clue. Who didn’t order champagne for a proposal?

“When?” she croaked, still clearing the taste and her bitter disappointment from the back of her throat.

Jordan spoke around a bite of steak. “Probably in a couple weeks. I want to find a place and get settled before pre-season starts.”

He swigged off the last of his glass, then poured another, topping hers off, as well, though she’d only taken one swallow.

In his defense, it probably went better with his steak than her fish.

She forced another mouthful of the vile red liquid down her throat, then set the glass aside for a cleansing sip of ice water. She didn’t want the cloying aftertaste to ruin the rest of her meal.

Well, ruin it more.

Tall tapers flickered on the table, artfully arranged with a posy of flowers.

The clink of silverware on fine porcelain surrounded them with a subtle chorus of music.

Everything about Serrano’s whispered class; it had no need to scream when it catered to the highest of Charleston’s upper crust and had earned its first Michelin star a few months ago.

Ostensibly for the steak. Though, maybe if she hadn’t requested the pistachio-crusted cod after Jordan had ordered the red—was it French?

Italian? Which one tasted like feet?—she’d be enjoying the meal more.

Then again, maybe if her boyfriend hadn’t dumped the news, he’d be moving halfway across the country in the next few weeks, she’d be enjoying it more, too.

Okay, so not a proposal, but most couples live together before getting married, anyway. She could make this work.

Her shoulders dropped as she smoothed her expression, the telltale pinch around her eyes bringing her mother’s voice to mind.

Don’t squint, Jennifer, darling. You’ll get wrinkles.

She smoothed her face and voice. “Congratulations.”

Jordan grinned, a Golden Retriever eager for even the slightest word of praise. All the players were the same: so performance-driven in their professional lives, it bled into the personal.

“But I can’t up and leave my students this late in the year.”

His grin slowly faded as she spoke.

She allowed an artful nose crinkle—not a wrinkle, of course, and far more adorable than a scowl. “Maybe in June? They’re probably already hiring for August, though, so unless you buy a place fast, I won’t be able to interview until next year. Or I’ll have to commute.”

Typical.

Assuming the rest of the world revolved around their weird schedule, assuming she’d drop her whole life because he’d switched teams.

Well, she would, wouldn’t she? Or move every year, or whatever other sacrifices it took to support her pro-football-playing husband-to-be. She could even learn to like...Idaho? Iowa? She contemplated the location of Cincinnati as she took another bite.

Although tiger-stripe-orange would not do her complexion any favors. She’d have to find a way to work around it.

He frowned, draining his glass again. “I didn’t think you would, to be honest.”

Jif’s eyebrows rose, and her mouth would have dropped open if not for the fish she chewed. She wasn’t a savage, for heaven’s sake.

Adding insult to injury, he continued, “We’re not really like that, are we, Babe?”

She swallowed. Hard. Then chased the suddenly dry fish with an ill-advised gulp of wine. It took a few moments for her stomach to settle and her eyes to cease watering, but when they did, she gathered herself, touching her napkin to her lips, before asking, “Not really like what?”

“I dunno. Serious.” He said it like an epithet. A dirty epithet, and not dirty in the fun way.

Okay, fair; before Jordan, she hadn’t really been the serious type, but they’d been together for a year, and even if wedding bells weren’t pealing, it meant something.

Right?

Instead, he’d geared her up for a proposal and then...

Oh, my God.

Was she being dumped?

What did I do wrong? a tiny, broken voice asked from the back of her mind.

Immediately, a sarcastic, bitter response mocked, You should have remembered he came from North Dakota, to start with. And worn that blue dress he liked more often. Not gone to Jackson’s gala without him... What did you think would happen when you couldn’t be perfect?

All pretense at sophistication gone, she grabbed her wineglass and chugged the whole thing, ignoring the burn as it hit her stomach and swiping away the tears that formed as her tongue curled up into her throat.

“Are we breaking up?” The words came out tight as her entire mouth puckered, and she didn’t even care that lip wrinkles were the worst kind.

Your lipstick will always betray you, her mother’s voice judgmentally reminded her.

“I’m going to take this job, Jif, and you’d hate Ohio.”

Ohio! Of course.

She probably wouldn’t be able to find Ohio on a map, and given she taught third grade, it must be in one of those boring, flyover states, right? Like, near Kansas or something? Why couldn’t he go play for the Chiefs? She’d love to get cozy with some of their WAGs!

Jordan’s voice burbled through the space between them, light and gentle. “...chilling with you is super fun, of course, but, like I said, we’re not really like that.”

Serious.

Well, she could do fun. Light.

Unserious.

Jif, everyone’s favorite party girl.

“No, of course we’re not. You’re right.” Her throat closed around the words, constricting, her body betraying the lie even as her mouth spoke it. “Well, best of luck, then. Congratulations, again.”

She shot to her feet, faltering as a wave of vertigo hit her like a defensive end slipping past an offensive tackle on the quarterback’s blind side.

That wine would be the death of her.

Catching her balance, she spun, ready to slink away with her signature wiggle. Jordan may be moving, he may not be proposing, but she’d make sure he never forgot what he lost.

Instead, her head swam, and gravity turned on its side.

A crash echoed as pain lanced through her hip, but her movements were slow and weighted as she fought to rise. Then, Jordan’s sympathetic face hovered over her, and a concerned waiter waved to the ma?tre d’ across the room.

Conversations around them went silent, and not even the clink of silverware and plates let her imagine she wasn’t the center of the most embarrassing attention she’d ever received in her life, including the day her brother’s college teammate had compared kissing her to giving CPR to a bass.

Colton had knocked him unconscious, getting both of them thrown out of a frat party she was technically too young to have been at anyway, but he’d ripped her a new one, too, right there on the front lawn.

He’d always hated when she dated his teammates. Well, he’d be ecstatic that after tonight, she’d be single again and not attached to his fellow wide receiver.

“Come on, Jif. I’ll take you home.” Jordan handed the ma?tre d’ a credit card, then easily lifted her off the floor.

By the time he carried her to the front door, the ma?tre d’ handed Jordan’s card back to him with an effusive invitation to return.

The grimace the ma?tre d’ shot her, though, warned her she wouldn’t be welcome back into Serrano’s anytime soon, even on the arm of another one of Charleston’s famous football players.

She closed her eyes and swallowed the humiliation as Jordan carried her out into the cool night.