Chapter 34 Ten minutes later, I'm in room 1427, the suite the coaches have taken over for team business during this trip. It's just Coach Branson and me, and to say he looks pissed is a definite understatement. "The fuck is going on with you?" he demands as he shuts the door behind me. "I'm sorry," I start, because I've got no problem admitting when I make a mistake. "I texted Coach Martinez and told him I was going to be late-" "But you weren't late." He drops down in the middle of the suite's couch, then gestures for me to do the same in the armchair immediately across from it. "You were absent. Those two things aren't the same. And also, late isn't fucking acceptable, either. You should know that by now." I have a lot I want to say to that, namely that this is my fifth season on the team and I've never been so much as a minute late to anything before. Not practice, not a press conference, not a team meeting, nothing. I take my responsibilities seriously. But I've also been on the team long enough to know that saying anything to rile Branson up when he's in the middle of ripping you a new one is...ill-advised. Marquis nearly got his ass traded the last time he shot his mouth off to Coach. So instead of defending myself, I wait for him to wind down, then do a full mea culpa. "You're right. I'm sorry. I thought I'd make it back for at least half the meeting, but-" "Oh, did you?" he asks, voice dripping in sarcasm. "So sorry the job you get paid fifty million a year for is so inconvenient." I shake my head. "That's not what I meant." "Yeah, well, that's how it came across. To be fair, that's how everything you've done for the last week has come across." He glares at me as he shoves an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, then keeps talking. "I excused you from the team plane because the owners and GM are 'thrilled'"-he uses finger quotes-"with all the attention Little Miss Muffet is bringing the team. Seats sold out for the season. High-profile people buying boxes. Merch flying off the shelf. Yada yada yada. "Good for them," he says. "Because I've gotta tell you, your association with that woman has caused me nothing but grief. Nothing. From that stunt Marquis pulled with the jumbotron to the shit you pulled today. Her fans filling up tours of the training facility and then going AWOL from said tours, trying to get close to you. And now this crap. Enough's enough." He pulls the cigar out of one side of his mouth, then shoves it right back into the other side. "You know I don't give two shits about whoever any of you guys date. Guy, girl, whatever. It doesn't matter to me. But when it bleeds onto my team, I've got to care." He pokes a finger at me like he wishes it was a knife. "Fifty K, Sly. That's what I'm fining you for this mess." "Fifty? Really?" It comes out before I can stop it. "What happened to the 'everyone gets a warning' rule?" "Everyone gets a warning except for you." I lean forward, and his eyes narrow dangerously. "Say one more word and I'll make it seventy-five thousand. Now get the fuck out of here. You can write me a check first thing Monday morning or you're not getting on my field, star fucking quarterback or not." And with that, he gets up and storms into the bedroom portion of the suite, slamming the door behind him. I sit there for a minute, trying to work up a good mad. But the truth is, I deserve the ass-chewing. Sure, the fine is excessive, considering I've never missed anything before, but I'm sure as shit not going to whine about it. Especially not when I've got bigger things to worry about right now. Like if Sloane is going to freak out when she sees those pictures of us near the food truck. And if she does, exactly how freaked out will she be? I know it's not the end of the world that there are some pics out there of a moment I thought was private. But it showing up on Instagram? TikTok? Everywhere? We gave them the kiss at the Willow, and we were okay with it because it wasn't ours. It was for the papers and the magazines and the social media gossip sites. We were in control of that one, even if it didn't completely feel like it. But that moment at the food truck? That sweet little cheek kiss she gave me before getting in the SUV? Those were supposed to be for us. The photos at the picnic table are the ones I'm most upset about. The ones where she wasn't wearing her shield. Where she was just Sloane, not the Black Widow. No artifice and no sky-high walls. They're the ones I'm afraid will have her slamming those walls back into place, even higher than before. I pull out my phone and check for messages as I leave the suite. There are several, most pertaining to my date with Sloane in one way or another, including a giant thumbs-up from my abuela, but none of them are from Sloane herself. A glance at the time tells me she's not onstage yet, so I send her a quick text. Me: Just checking to make sure you're all good Me: I had a great time today I've learned not to expect an immediate response from Sloane, so I'm absolutely shocked when my phone buzzes with a message from her less than thirty seconds later. Sloane: You sure you're not checking in about this? Seconds later, an actual video of us laughing pops up on my screen. I've seen the pics, and they were bad enough. But this is the first time I've seen the video, and I've got to say, I suddenly get what the guys were going on about. We look like we're completely wrapped up in each other. Me: Maybe I WAS talking about that Me: You okay? Sloane: I'm great That doesn't seem right. I stop walking and stare at the phone suspiciously. I want to ask if she's lying to me, but that seems a little harsh, so I settle for: Me: Really? Sloane: You don't actually think this came as a surprise to me, do you? Me: It came as a shock to me Sloane: Poor, innocent boy, thinking we could hide behind a couple of trees Sloane: I noticed the girls Me: And you didn't try to tamp things down? Sloane: They already had the pic at the Willow. So what if they get a conversation between us? Me: That moment was supposed to be ours. You don't look like the Black Widow in it either The second I hit send, I want to take the message back. Especially since Sloane doesn't answer right away. My mind races to come up with a reason why she let it happen. Either she doesn't care if we get photographed together because she doesn't plan on letting it happen again, or she doesn't care because she does plan on it happening again. I know which one of those two scenarios I'm rooting for, but in some ways, Sloane is still a mystery to me. I may have been able to coax her out for a little while today, but her guard is still up. However, there's nothing quite as pathetic as some lovesick jerk standing in the middle of a hotel hallway staring forlornly at his phone, so I start walking again. At least if I'm in my room, I'll feel slightly less pitiful. I'm just stepping off the elevator when a new text comes through. I open it embarrassingly quickly, only to be disappointed when I realize it's not from Sloane. It's from my agent. Vivian: I'm getting on a plane in ten minutes. I'll be at the hotel by 7 a.m. We can do breakfast before the fundraiser. Well, fuck. Considering she had absolutely no plans to come to this week's game, I can only imagine Vivian's sudden interest and urgency have something to do with Sloane. Whether it's the kiss pic or the fifty K fine I have no doubt she's been told about that got her on that plane, I don't know. Either way, she's not going to be happy when she gets here. Well, she can get in line. I had to take the ass-chewing from Branson. I sure as shit don't have to take it from her. Not about Sloane. My phone buzzes again, and I'm ready to text Vivian to cool her jets. Politely, of course. But this time, the message is from Sloane. I open it so fast I practically break a finger. Sloane: To be clear, I AM the Black Widow Sloane: And cheer up. There will be plenty more meals we don't have to share with fans All of a sudden, my bad mood evaporates. Fuck the fifty thousand and fuck whatever lecture Vivian thinks she needs to give me. Because for the first time, Sloane's made a point of saying she's in this with me. That there'll be more of us. I can't wait. In "A Relationship Kept in The Dark" by CrushReel, the storyline unfolds as renowned photographer Jane finds herself drawn to the charismatic rookie model, Hector. Little does she know that Hector harbors a secret—he is actually the heir to a powerful business empire. As their romance blossoms, Hector grapples with concealing his true identity to capture Jane's heart. 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