Chapter 9
NINE
They don’t have to tell me.
They show me.
On an iPad.
Hunks of Junk Jocks is a website exposing professional athletes accused of mistreating women.
Post after post—some with photos, some with long captions—details Jaxon Wilde’s alleged misdeeds.
Lying. Ghosting. Using his status to lure women into bed.
Screwing them, then vanishing. Fifteen of them even say he gave them the clap.
“So… did you give them the clap?” I ask, recoiling at the thought.
“No,” Jaxon replies, defensive.
I study his eyes, trying to figure out if he’s lying. I can’t tell. But then I remember something, and shrug. “You know what? I don’t care. You’re a hypocrite, though. Remember what you said to me during our first meeting?” I nod, slow and righteous. “Hypocrite. A real one.”
Jaxon scoots forward on the couch. “I apologized for that.”
I tilt my head. “Did you mean it, though?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
I raise a finger. “But. You flirted with nearly every woman on that show.”
“To be fair, that was his job,” Roger interjects.
Jaxon points at me. “Exactly. It was part of the role.”
“But you made out with almost everyone,” I snap. “I think I’m the only one who kept my distance from your mouth.”
“Your choice, not mine.”
I jerk back at that. Stalled.
That was a comeback I didn’t see coming.
“And,” Jaxon adds, “I’ve been tested for everything. The clap included. I’m clean. Always have been.”
He says it firmly, like it’s the one thing he needs me to believe. And maybe I do. Maybe.
I only look away when Anne claps her hands together, loudly. “I’ve got another meeting. Now that you both know why you need each other, let’s wrap this up.”
My head’s spinning as Roger and Anne volley ideas back and forth, totally in control of the two tools in the room—Jaxon and me.
“Six months and, let’s say... seven days,” Anne says, sinking back into her sleek chair like the queenpin she is. “You know. Keep ’em on their toes.”
“Half a year?” I squeak.
“In two days, we tape the reunion,” Roger cuts in, talking right over me. “You two need to look in love.”
“Understand,” Anne says, “we’ve seen the post-show surveys. There are a lot of unhappy ladies. So the stage is going to be hot.”
“But they’re all under NDA,” Roger adds.
“They’ll still try to get under your skin,” Anne warns, eyes darting between us. “They’re crafty. Season after season, same story. They’ll want you to crack. To expose yourselves.”
I think I nod. I’m not sure. I’m too busy reeling.
This is more than learning lines. More than acting.
This is performance… but with a script I never wrote.
And God help me, I never wrote that I was in love with Jaxon.
“This is too much,” Jaxon says, finally pushing back. “You’re laying a lot on us. Why not cancel the reunion? Say I’m in training camp. Or just send one of us.”
I slap my chest. “Me? You want me in front of the firing squad?”
“No,” he says, quieter now. “But you can handle them. You’re strong.”
I pause, surprised.
That’s twice now he’s said something almost… complimentary.
“You both will be there,” Roger snaps, commanding. “And speaking of next season—you,” he points at me, “will attend every home game. But don’t worry. They’ll never make the playoffs.”
He winks at Jaxon.
Jaxon flips him off.
“Ooh, fire in the belly. Maybe they will,” Roger taunts.
“Okay, boys,” Anne says, standing abruptly. “This is not a locker room. Or whatever man-space you all hype each other up in.”
She checks her smartwatch. “It’s set. Sadie will send your schedules. You both have my direct line—use it only if you must. Now…” She gestures toward the couch.
“Stand.”
We rise.
“Show up on time for whatever’s on your schedules,” she finishes. “Don’t be late. Don’t be absent. And for God’s sake—look in love.”