Nothing Less Than Everything: A Sports Romance by Maggie Gates

Author:Maggie Gates [Gates, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-07-18T16:00:00+00:00

21

WREN

“Morning, handsome,” I said as I stabbed the speaker button on my phone. “You’re up early.”

It was the third week of preseason. The last week before seventeen regular season games began. The Reds were playing at home today, which meant Tatum and the team had spent the night at a hotel near the stadium. With kickoff at noon, we ladies had a five AM wakeup call. We had to be on the field by six to rehearse without spectators.

“I’m still in bed,” Tatum mumbled through the line. “Just wanted to talk to you before you went to work.”

Theo must have been in the room. We had decided that he wouldn’t lie to his boys and say that he wasn’t seeing anyone—especially since our relationship had taken a turn toward serious. But as far as they knew, I was Tatum’s nameless interior designer girlfriend, and we were keeping things private. Very private.

I unzipped the rolling suitcase that I used to tote my gameday gear to the stadium. “Sleep okay?” I asked.

“Like a baby.”

“You should get a little more rest.”

“I just wanted to hear your voice.” There was a rustle on his end, then the squeak of a shower turning on and the whir of a bathroom fan. “You gonna be at my end zone today, Little Bird?” he asked in a low timbre, probably trying to keep his voice from carrying out to Theo. Their second preseason game had been away. This was the first time that Tatum and I would be taking the field, fully aware of our proximity to each other. It would be the first time we took the field with all eyes on us for a reason other than football.

The rumors and speculation hadn’t died down. Paparazzi still hounded Tatum and loitered outside my apartment.

Maddox had switched from being Colette’s guard dog to mine. He told the journalists who called the firm looking for a scoop exactly where they could shove it.

I wouldn’t be judged on my technique or stamina when I strutted onto the field for our pregame performance. There was a new narrative. One that happened in a split second, then had been created, picked apart, clipped, and edited for mass consumption.

“I don’t know. We find out our field placements right before the game starts.” It was a little white lie. I knew exactly where I’d be positioned—close to him.

The four groups of cheerleaders typically rotated throughout the corners of the field during the season. But because of the media circus surrounding Tatum and I, the team wanted to continue the positive press and “speculative narrative.”

I didn’t want him thinking about me during the game. I didn’t want him worrying what I was doing or worrying about whether he was going to run into me again. If he thought I was on the opposite side of the field, I wouldn’t mess with his mojo.

“How’s your head feeling?” he asked.

Two days ago, I mentioned to him that I had a minor headache. He flipped out and wanted to call a team physician he was friends with or take me straight to the ER.

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