Chapter 3
THREE
JO
Mondays should come with a warning label. Or free alcohol. Maybe both.
I stare at the spreadsheet on my computer screen for what has to be the tenth time this morning. The analytics refuse to cooperate.
“You okay?”
I glance up to find my cubicle neighbor, Paige, balancing a coffee in one hand and a stack of client files in the other.
“You’ve been glaring at that spreadsheet for five straight minutes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “The math isn’t math-ing.”
“Boo! Vent sesh later?”
I nod, and she disappears into the conference room before I can rope her into helping me survive another Monday.
My phone vibrates against my desk. I glance around to make sure nobody’s paying attention before I flip it over.
Cal. I finally learned his first name. I smile before I even open the message.
A month ago, I barely knew this man existed. Now my entire mood depends on whether or not my phone buzzes. Which it does now.
How much football do you watch?
I blink. Football? That’s random.
Enough to know touchdowns are good.
That’s...not very much.
You’re catching on.
A few seconds pass. Then...
Hypothetically...
What if I told you I play quarterback?
I grin. Oh. He’s joking.
Hypothetically, I’d ask if we’re talking NFL or your company league.
NFL.
I snort. Sure he’s a football player in the NFL. And I’m Taylor Swift.
Okay, Mr. Quarterback. Which team?
He tells me. I stare at the screen. The team definitely sounds familiar.
And your name is...?
Calhoun Murphy.
I read it twice. Why does that sound familiar?
Ten minutes later, I’m still thinking about it. Not enough to stop working. But enough that I text the one person in my family who lives and breathes sports.
Quick question. Are you free?
Patrick answers before I’ve even locked my phone.
Depends.
Are you finally admitting football is superior to baseball?
Let’s not get crazy.
Is there a quarterback named Calhoun Murphy?
Please tell me you did NOT just ask who Calhoun is.
What if I did? Should I know him?
Nothing. Then my phone practically explodes. One message. Then another. Then five more. Finally, a link. Another link. A screenshot.
I frown.
Jo.
He’s literally one of the biggest quarterbacks in the league. Former MVP. Face of the franchise.
King of Resting Murder Face.
I laugh.
Resting Murder Face?
Watch one interview.
You’ll understand.
So I do during lunch.
With my sandwich. And absolutely no intention of falling down an internet rabbit hole. Thirty minutes later... I know far more about Calhoun than anyone probably should.
Every article, every post, every video says the same thing. Brilliant quarterback. Elite leader on the field. Impossible off the field.
“Cold.” “Difficult.” “Arrogant.” “Emotionally unavailable.” “One of the least personable stars in professional sports.”
I frown. That doesn’t sound right.
I click another video. A reporter shoves a microphone toward him. “Calhoun, what happened in the second half today?”
“We lost.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
The interview ends. I blink. And click on another clip.
“How are negotiations for next season going?”
“I’m focused on the next game.”
Next.
“Can you comment on—”
“No.”
That’s it. That’s the interview.
I lean back in my chair. “Huh.”
Maybe I’ve been texting a jerk. Except... No. Because jerks don’t remember that I hate tomatoes. Or ask how my dentist appointment went.
Or stay awake talking to me when I can’t sleep because I keep replaying one of the worst days of my career in my head.
I open our text thread instead. There it is.
Good luck with your presentation today.
Don’t forget to eat lunch. I know your day is packed with meetings.
It’s your brother’s birthday today, right? Did he like the grill?
He remembers everything. I stare at another interview. Then back at my phone. These cannot be the same man.
I finally cave.
Can I ask you something?
Always.
I chew my bottom lip.
Delete my first attempt. Then another before finally biting the bullet and starting a message.
Why does everyone think you’re kind of...
I cringe and delete “a dick”. Too rude. Delete and try again three times before settling on a word.
Grumpy?
A full minute passes. Then another. I wonder if I’ve crossed a line.
Finally, his answer appears in a string of rapid messages popping up one after the other.
Because crowds and cameras make me forget how to be a person.
Seriously.
I’m terrible at interviews.
I never know what to say.
Then I get nervous.
Then I say even less.
Eventually people decided I was a jerk.
Another pause.
It’s easier to let them think that than keep disappointing them.
My heart hitches. I type before I can overthink it.
You don’t disappoint me.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then, return.
Thank you.
That means more than you probably realize.
I smile at my phone. No. The internet definitely has this man wrong.
Later that evening... We’re still texting.
He’s telling me about another meeting with his publicist. Apparently, “Smile more” is the phrase of the week.
“They think I need to be more approachable,” he writes. “They’re probably right.”
I disagree. But before I can tell him that, another message appears.
Which actually brings me to something.
This is probably going to sound insane...
My heart speeds up.
Okay...
My agent thinks I should bring a date to a charity gala in a couple of weeks.
I blink. Wait. What?
Before I can answer...
I’m not asking you to be my fake girlfriend. Just my date.
Would you let me fly you out for the weekend?
We’d go to the gala with me Friday night. You could watch the home opener from my suite that Sunday.
If any of this makes you uncomfortable, pretend I never asked.
An NFL quarterback I’ve never met. Has asked me to be his date to a charity gala. Watch his season opener in a private suite.
And spend a weekend together.
Every rational part of my brain screams exactly one thing. Now way. I absolutely should not.
So why am I texting him back asking what I should wear?