Chapter 6
JAMESON
I’m down at the facility, like usual, just sitting to have some lunch.
Scrolling through social media to pass the time, I see an ad for that dating site the guys were talking about.
I feel like this site is quickly becoming the bane of my existence.
Everywhere I go now, I’m hearing about dates. Or the ball. Or being single.
The guys had a great time hearing about their poor matchmaking skills. If I didn’t need them on the field, I may consider retaliation.
I think back to the dating site again.
Okay. Let’s think about this. What will it hurt?
I can match with someone, meet her one time before the ball, get our stories straight, and get through the holiday together.
If I’m seen with someone, maybe the hype of getting me a date will settle down.
My family and the GM will let me breathe, and the questions will stop as we prepare for the final games of the season and a potential Super Bowl appearance.
And then once we make the playoffs, that will sidetrack them from the girl.
I’ll tell them I have to concentrate on the game, which should appease both the front office and my intrusive family for the time being.
I quickly download the app, open it, and begin filling out the information.
“Hey, man, what are you doing?”
Connor slides into the seat next to me with his tray and digs in. I swear I see sparks coming off the fork.
“Will you slow down? No one is going to take it from you.”
“Mime Marving,” he says around a mouthful. He’s just like Jackson. Those two spent way too much time together while I was in Candy Cane Key.
Sighing, I flip my phone around to show him.
His eyes widen. “You’re gonna do it?”
I shrug. “Whatever gets them off my back.”
“Jame, listen—”
“No, I know how important appearances are. I know the team banked on me being the small-town kid next door. And for my family, my dad worries. I know they want me to be happy. I just want to concentrate on the game right now. But if this will keep everyone subdued for a minute and off my back so I can actually concentrate on the game, then it’s worth it. ”
Connor doesn’t say a word, and I continue talking myself into this ridiculous idea.
“It will be fine. I’ll meet her once. Ask her to come with me to the ball and then move on.”
He takes the phone from me, scrolling through the application. “This is kind of weird. You’re buying a date.”
I bumped his shoulder and grabbed my phone back as he continued to shovel the food in again. “It’s the same if I took her to dinner. You’re making it weird.”
Stalling, I process what he’s saying. Fuck. That is what I’m doing. “Do I use my real name?”
“Bro. Yes. They’re going to know you by face anyway. Might as well let the shock wear off.”
“You’re right.” I enter my name and age. “Job?”
He deadpans. “Quarterback. The quarterback.” He laughs.
“You’re ridiculous.” Still scanning through everything. “What package do I want?”
“Shouldn’t she be asking that question?”
Rolling my eyes. “I’m not sleeping with this chick. That’s all I need. A clinger or an accidental pregnancy. No, thanks.”
He leans over my shoulder, scanning the availability.
“Well, you’re going to have to travel together.
Spend the weekend. You have to make it look real.
I think you should fill out for a weekend excursion.
Meet up one time before, set the limits, and get it done.
If these are professionals,” he eyes me with a sly smirk, “they’ll be fine with it. ”
“I feel like you’re making this a Pretty Woman part two.” He furrows his brows. “Tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Oh, I know the reference, but that was a prostitute. Is that what you’re hoping for, Mr. Winters?”
I scoff. “Get the fuck outta here.”
He shakes his head. “Does Daddy Dash know you have a potty mouth?” When I flip him off and aggressively warn him to never call my father Daddy again, he continues, “Whatever. Just saying. Wouldn’t hurt you to get laid. Maybe your throws will be more accurate.”
“Man, fuck you! My throws are dots, and you know it.”
He laughs to himself. “Listen, you want them off your back. Fake it for the weekend, then say it isn’t working out. You want to concentrate on getting to the Super Bowl. Everyone has to respect that. And seeing you with someone will ease their fears for a bit.”
I nod, gathering our plates as we head out to the locker room to watch some game tapes.
“But be ready. After we win, they’re going to be on you even more.”
“Is that the kiss of death?”
“Nope. Confidence, baby.”
Later that night, after a grueling practice, I’m lying in bed flipping channels and land on SportsCenter.
It’s still weird as fuck to see my face in a tiny square in the upper right-hand corner of the television.
I’m used to seeing Jackson on TV. That guy was everywhere, for the wrong reasons, when I was in high school.
But once Francesca got his shit straightened out, and we won the State Championship, he was getting recognized for all the right reasons.
I couldn’t have been luckier to have him as my coach and his wife as my PR agent.
I hear my phone go off with an alert. Pulling it from my bedside table, I see the dating app notification.
I’ve been matched.
My heart races as I open the app and see the little message bell icon lit up.
‘Mr. Winters, we believe we have found you a love match! Penelope Presley is ready and waiting to be your 2023 Christmas Rent-A-Date!’
Dropping my phone, I groan inwardly. I can’t believe this is my life. Closing my eyes and taking a breath, I pick the phone back up and continue reading.
‘Penelope matched all your criteria for the weekend excursion package. Please make contact via email and introduce yourself. RAD has verified your employment status and run all the appropriate background checks on both parties. Please know you are in safe hands.’
Jesus. So, everyone at Rent-a-Date knows I can’t get a date.
“Fuck!” Tossing my phone to the side, I run my hands through my hair. “What the heck am I going to say in this email?” I contemplate calling Connor for advice, but then I remember he’s the one who got me into this.
Sitting up, I grab my phone once more and open the app. I click on Penelope’s name, which opens up her profile.
·Name: Penelope Presley
·Age: 27
Hmm, an older woman, I smirk.
·Occupation: I have a job and don’t need your money
·Likes: pasta, candy, and sunshine
·Dislikes: humidity (my hair is big enough), paying full price for anything, and sports
I narrow my eyes at her dislike of sports. Does this mean she doesn’t like football? Why on earth would RAD make us a match?
I continue to scroll to the bottom and see a photo with a blurb.
‘Wild hair, don’t care. Sweet face, full of grace. Party time? I’d rather settle down in life. And yes, I’m smarter than a fifth grader. Are you?’
I zoom in on her picture, and my breath catches.
She’s gorgeous with a girl-next-door vibe.
Her eyes shine bright right through the black-rimmed glasses she has on.
Her hair is a wild mess of chestnut curls.
And her lips? Perfect, pink, and full. My mind wanders about how they’d feel wrapped around …
Damn, Jameson. Get a hold of yourself. This is probably just an act. She’s on a dating site that rents her out for money, for Christ's sake.
But I take another look. This girl? If her bio is real, she’s exactly what I picture for myself.
What did I get myself into?