Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
A While Later
“How long does this game last?” I ask, shifting in my seat for what feels like the hundredth time. “Like, how long does it take to play one game of football? And why do they even need a halftime? Just play through. Get it over with.”
Genesis turns and looks at me like I’ve just kicked her shin. “Honey, what is wrong with you?”
“I don’t understand this game,” I admit, loud enough for a few nearby heads to turn. I don’t even care anymore.
“It’s not complicated,” she snaps. “One team tries to get the ball across the field. The other team tries to stop them. That’s it.”
Her tone stings more than it should. I instantly regret speaking. I don’t want to talk to her again—ever, if I can help it. But it’s my job to keep things copacetic, to maintain this illusion of cohesion.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
But she’s not done. “How do you go on a show to date a football player and not know anything about what he does?”
“That was one of the show’s requirements,” I say flatly. “Contestants couldn’t know anything about sports. It was supposed to be about emotional connection.”
“Well, that’s dumb,” she scoffs. “That’s why those relationships never last. Your man needs you to be in the game with him. You should breathe him, sleep him, eat him, honey.”
“That’s true,” Chris’s wife chimes in from the row below, pretending not to have been eavesdropping but clearly listening the whole time.
I resist the urge to argue. Even if Jaxon and I were really a couple, I would never base my entire life around his career. That’s just not who I am. But I bite my tongue. I’m not here to make enemies or stand on a soapbox. I just need to survive this.
I reach into my purse, grab my sunglasses, and slip them on.
I just need to close my eyes for one second.
What sounds like distant thunder turns out to be the crowd going absolutely wild. Someone’s jabbing my arm. I jolt upright, catching myself before I completely collapse onto the woman next to me.
Holy crap. Did I just fall asleep?
I blink at the Jumbotron. The word TOUCHDOWN is emblazoned across the screen in giant letters. Jaxon’s on it—center stage, standing there, scowling… at a replay of me.
There I am, dead asleep. Mouth slack. Sunglasses slightly askew.
And now that I’m fully awake, I can feel it—everyone is staring at me. Genesis. The other wives. The camera crew. All frowning. Judging. Horrified.
I missed it. I missed Jaxon’s touchdown.
Oh—no.