The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

33. My Secret Boyfriend

33

MY SECRET BOYFRIEND

Beck

If my brother were here, I’d ask him for advice. How do I handle a secret boyfriend?

He’d probably tell me not to have one, so I amend the question.

Am I doing enough to manage my anxiety?

I ask myself that question over the next few days—as I practice on Friday, as I help Portia fix a loose drawer in the kitchen on Saturday morning, and as I go to the team hotel that night.

Jason talked me off the panic ledge when I needed him to, but what if it happens again and he’s not around? I’ll have to step up for myself.

After dinner at the team hotel, I do some research online in my room. There are meds, and alternatives like hypnosis, biofeedback, maybe even therapy.

Good to know there are more options for me to consider.

Then, there’s this welcome nugget—get a good night’s sleep. Sounds like a great idea, and I’m about to turn off my phone when Carter texts me with a link to Jason’s Instagram feed and a note saying Make him eat crow!

I laugh—because Carter is soooo Carter—then hit play.

Jason stands on the Hawks’ football field, grinning into the camera. “Hey, there, Hawks fans. Just want to say we kicked ass last weekend in attendance because you are the best. And I know we’re going to beat that other team in the city—I can’t even remember their names, I’m sure you can’t either—in the attendance game. And if we don’t, then any of their players can come out to our field and gloat on my Instagram feed.”

I can easily handle gloating without therapy or hypnosis. I’ve proven it this whole season of podcasting with my rival.

But as I turn off my phone, I hardly think of him as my rival anymore. He’s definitely my boyfriend, and that’s kind of terrifying and kind of awesome too.

I try to focus on the awesome part for as long as I can.

I never doubted our fans, but it’s still sweet to walk through the tunnel at the Hawks facility on Monday, head out to their field, and find Jason waiting there—stoic, chin up, ready to eat a whole plate of blackbirds.

Reese is with him, waggling her cell phone, prepped to shoot the video. “Hey, Beck,” she says, then lifts the phone and hits record.

I turn to the Hawks’ quarterback, savoring this moment. First, because our fans rock. Second, Jason loves it when I’m hard on him on-air, online, and between the sheets. Win-win-win.

“Tell me, McKay, how does it feel to know that the Renegades have five thousand more fans than the Hawks? Five thousand,” I repeat.

“It feels like it’s raining cats and dogs at the city’s shelters since my awesome, amazing, caring team is donating money to them,” Jason says with a big grin, and I laugh.

“Aww. You’re so sweet. Trying to turn the convo around. But we matched the donation, and we also beat your team at attendance.” I blow on my fingernails.

He scoffs. “This guy,” he says to the camera. “Can you believe him?”

I just shrug. “I get it, Jay. Our numbers feel pretty unbelievable.”

He laughs again. “You’re killing me, Beck.”

He’s using my first name, and I don’t even care. It feels right for this moment.

“Don’t die before we beat you in the Super Bowl,” I say.

“Better switch that up, Beck. It’s more like the other way around.”

Then, we lock eyes, and his are glimmering. Holy shit. I know that look. That’s how he stares at me in bed when he’s about to tackle me. A charge ignites inside me. We’re talking to each other like we do before we fuck.

If we go another second like this, everyone will know we screw when the cameras are off.

This is how I can be a good boyfriend to him today—by knowing when to pump the brakes for us.

I zip up my emotions and smile at Reese’s camera like the rival I’m supposed to be. “Thanks again. Go, Renegades.”

Reese stops shooting, and I blow out a relieved breath.

Jason mouths a quiet thanks , just for me.

“Anytime,” I murmur.

A few minutes later, Reese escorts me out of the facility, full of energy as she keeps glancing at her phone. “They are going wild for this video! Jason’s fans love the banter between you two. It’s just so deliciously electric.”

There’s a reason for that, but no one seems to be catching on, so I’ll take that as another win.

The next week, we both win our games. I can start to smell a playoff berth. I return home well past midnight on Sunday, so I don’t go to his place. But on Monday, I text him in the Lyft on my way to the studio.

My car is in the shop today getting an alignment, but I’ll pick it up this afternoon. I should be able to drive the fuck-me car when I come over tonight.

He writes back quickly. Good, so then I can come all over you.

I laugh. I walked right into that one.

Also, why the fuck didn’t you tell me your car was getting serviced? I’d have picked you up.

I write back as the Lyft pulls up to the building on Market Street. I would have wanted to maul you in the car.

Fair point. But I will drive you home. No car make-outs, though. I won’t be able to resist if you start one.

I reread the sexy exchange in the elevator as I head up to the twelfth floor, amazed we’re pulling this off. I didn’t ruin our thing at the bookstore, and no one has figured us out.

While we’re on the air, near the end of the show, Megan gives that impish smile that says she has something up her sleeve. “Guys, listeners are loving you. How would you feel about taking some calls from your fans when we return after Thanksgiving?”

In the last few months, I’ve learned a thing or two about what makes her tick, so I execute the roll with it play. “Would love to, Megan,” I say.

I have a play for the coming holiday too. Something I’ve wanted since Jason and I went out for boba. I didn’t act then. But I will act as soon as we leave the studio and reach his car in the parking garage.

I slide into the passenger seat, meet his gaze, and jump. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

Jason’s blue eyes twinkle like the sea. “I usually spend it with my dad and my brother. But I want to see you too.”

“Do you want to get together later that day?” I ask, buoyed by that possibility.

“Or,” he begins, taking his time. “I’m hosting it at my home. Do you want to come to my house and cook?”

“You mean, I’ll cook and you’ll watch me?” I tease.

“That’s what we do,” he says, and holy shit. It sounds like we’re a couple. Like we both want to be a couple.

I crave that so badly, but I try to slow down my wild thoughts because something nags at me. If he’s inviting me to spend the whole day, does that mean we need to hide our feelings from his family? I love being at his home where I can relax with him. I don’t want to revert to how I felt the night at the bookstore. “What about your family, though, and you and me?”

A shy grin tugs at his lips. Jason’s never shy. Fuck, that’s cute. “Would you be okay with them knowing about us? I don’t want to hide with them.”

My heart leaps. “I don’t either,” I say, revved up, spurred on by the plans we’re making. “Want to kiss you so badly.”

Jason peers out the back window, weighing the risks. “Parking lot’s empty,” he says.

I grab his face and brush my lips against his. When I break the kiss, he whispers, “Wow.”

“I feel that way every time we kiss.”

“Me too.”

He backs up the car and heads for the exit, passing a sleek green Jaguar. The car is a beauty. I crane my neck to admire it and catch sight of the woman at the wheel.

Chestnut brown hair, sharp cheekbones, looks like money.

That’s . . . Nadia.

My heart ricochets painfully, boomeranging around in my chest like an out-of-control pinball machine.

I lean back in the seat, take a deep breath, and picture my sky tattoo.

Then, I look over at Jason. He’s focused only on driving. He didn’t see her.

Maybe she didn’t see us.

Yeah, that makes sense. These days, we both have all the luck.