Chapter 6
brEAKING: BEACH GAME CUT SHORT AS TROUBLE FINDS TANNER LONG Teammates left confused but not surprised
Tanner
The sand shifts under my feet as I jog backward with my hands up. “Come on, Nolan. Try not to embarrass yourself.”
Nolan ignores me, scanning the beach like he’s trying to spot a receiver who keeps dodging coverage. Except in this case, the coverage is a certain female employee of the resort who scurries in the opposite direction every time she sees him.
“Earth to quarterback,” I holler. “You planning to throw the ball or write it a love letter first?”
He snaps out of it and fires the ball in my direction. It’s a little off, but I adjust, twist mid-stride, and catch it clean against my chest.
“Touchdown!” I shout, although we’re not keeping score.
“We’re not even playing with downs,” Corbin mutters, hands on his hips.
“It’s called vibes,” I say. “Look it up.”
“You can’t look up vibes,” he grumbles.
“Not with your attitude.”
Gage jogs past me. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here I am. Your favorite teammate.”
“Debatable.”
“Not really.”
Brock doesn’t speak. He’s standing ten yards away, staring out toward the water. Has he forgotten we’re in the middle of a game?
I follow his line of sight and grin. May is out there with a surfboard, showing his son Jace how to balance. I don’t think he’s worried about his son’s safety. He’s much more interested in his son’s instructor.
Good. Brock hasn’t dated since Jace’s mom left him and their son. He could use a bit of happiness in his life. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease him, though.
“Well, well,” I say, nudging Gage. “Mr. Grumpy’s in love.”
Gage snorts. “He’s been staring at her for ten minutes.”
“Brock!” I shout. “You planning to join the game or write her a poem?”
His head snaps toward me. “Shut up.”
“Ooh. Touchy.”
“She’s my son’s instructor.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “But you want more.”
“None of your business.”
I disagree. Everything my teammates do is my business. Someone has to show them what the word ‘fun’ means.
Corbin claps his hands. “Are we playing or not?”
“Yes, Coach,” I say, saluting him. “Try not to have an aneurysm.”
Nolan tosses the ball up and down in his hands, but his eyes drift again. This time scanning the beach behind us. Groups of tourists, families, a couple of women sunbathing—
He frowns.
“You lose something?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Too busy glaring at one of the women sunbathing in a barely there bikini. His nostrils flare. This is going to be fun. I’m glad I decided to come to the island early to hang out with my teammates.
“All right,” Gage says, clapping once. “Next play.”
“Finally,” I mutter. “Some professionalism around here.”
“Run a route,” Nolan says.
“Wow. Groundbreaking strategy.”
I take off anyway, sprinting down the stretch of packed sand near the waterline. The breeze hits my face, the sound of waves crashing in my ears. This is the good part. The part where everything else disappears.
I cut left, then right, kicking up sand behind me. Nolan launches the ball. Perfect spiral. I leap, snagging it out of the air a mere second before Corbin barrels into me.
“Too slow!” I shout as I land, stumbling a little before regaining my balance.
Corbin glares at me. “One of these days, I’m going to flatten you.”
He could have flattened me now if he wanted to. Corbin has two inches and at least fifty pounds on me.
“You have to catch me first.”
“That can be arranged.”
“Boys,” Gage says. “Focus.”
“You should talk,” I shoot back. “You’ve been staring at your phone every five seconds.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
He opens his mouth to argue but stops. “Shut up.”
“Ah.” I feign sympathy. “Is your singer still ignoring you?”
“Mind your own business.”
“Can’t. Your business is too entertaining.”
“Throw the ball,” Corbin snaps.
“Someone’s cranky.”
“Just go.”
I jog back into position, chuckling.
We line up again. Nolan calls the play, and this time Gage has the ball, weaving through us as if we don’t exist. He’s fast. Annoyingly fast.
“Show-off,” I holler.
“Scoreboard,” he shoots back.
“We don’t have a scoreboard!”
“Exactly.”
For a few minutes, it’s only this – running routes, talking trash, sand in places I’m going to regret later. No coaches. No expectations. No—
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it.
“Again,” Nolan says.
We reset. The ball snaps, I take off—
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I slow.
“Keep running!” Nolan shouts.
I do. Barely turning in time to see the ball sail past my hands and land in the sand.
“Seriously?” he snaps.
“Sorry,” I say, distracted. My phone vibrates again. And again. I pull it out and frown at the screen. Sam has messaged and called several times. My stomach tightens. This is not good.
“Everything okay?” Gage asks.
“Fine,” I say automatically.
The phone buzzes again. It’s a text this time. We need to talk. Now.
Panic rips through me and I freeze. I already talked to Sam. I promised him I’d toe the line. Why is my agent calling and messaging me? Did he change his mind? Is he done with me?
Is this the end of my career? The career I turned my back on my family for?
“What’s going on?” Nolan asks.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and force a grin. “Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
“It’s nothing,” I repeat.
Brock jogs over, glancing between us. “We playing or not?”
I hesitate. My phone buzzes again.
I can’t ignore it. Not if I want to keep my career. And I do. Football is everything.
I exhale slowly. “I’m out.”
“What?” Gage says. “Since when do you quit?”
I grit my teeth. I’m not a quitter. But I need to answer this phone call. My agent is obviously pissed. I can’t let him quit on me. I’m not ready to say goodbye to my career.
“Since now.”
Corbin folds his arms. “This about the situation you think we don’t know about?”
Of course, they know what happened. My teammates are up in my business as much as I’m up in theirs. It’s how a family works. Or, at least, I assume it’s how one works. I don’t have much experience since the members of my family ignore me. They ‘disapprove’ of my chosen career.
I shrug. “Goof around without me.”
“Goofing around is the whole point of you being here,” Nolan mutters.
I back away toward the path leading off the beach. “Try not to miss me too much.”
“Not likely,” Gage says.
I lift a hand in a half-wave and turn, breaking into a jog. My phone buzzes again. I want to ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t allow Sam to dump me as a client. Considering my checkered past, no other agent will touch me. Without an agent, my career is dead in the sand.
“Hey,” I greet as if all is well in the world.
“I contacted our PR agency to handle the shit storm blowing your way.”
“Shit storm? A bit of an exaggeration.”
He growls. “I’m connecting you now. You better listen to what they have to say or we’re done.”
I grit my teeth. “Fine.”
“Connecting you now.”
“This is Belinda. Is this Tanner Long?” a woman asks, all brisk and professional.
“Yep.”
“Mr. Long—”
“Tanner.”
“Mr. Long.” Did I say brisk and professional? I meant uptight. “We’ve been made aware of your situation. We’ve come up with a plan of action to handle it.”
“A plan of action?”
“Obviously, you need to clean up your act.” She continues speaking as if I hadn’t asked a question. “Since Sam doesn’t trust you to do this on your own, we have a plan. I’ve scheduled hospital visits and charity galas. Personally, I don’t think this is enough.”
“Not enough?” Training camp is starting soon. It’s not as if I have oodles of time.
“Exactly. My idea – which Sam agreed with – is for you to enter into a relationship with a woman with a squeaky clean background. I’ve put together a list of acceptable women and emailed it to you along with the dates of your other obligations. Do you have any questions?”
“Um…”
“Good. Follow the plan and all will be well, Mr. Long.” She hangs up before I have a chance to figure out if I have any questions.
She wants me to date an ‘acceptable’ woman? I cringe to think of the women she would deem acceptable.
I don’t want to date anyone. I don’t do relationships. If I don’t get involved, there’s no chance of betrayal.
But I’m willing to make an exception for Alaia. She claims to be boring. No one who writes a monthly gossip column called The Siren’s Spill could possibly be boring.
Hold on. What if I convince Alaia to date me for pretend? To help me clean up my reputation?
I grin. This idea has possibilities.