CHAPTER 31 JOLENE

I pay no attention to the couple who just walked in the room, instead forcing myself to focus on the conversation I'm having with Mike Sharp, the offensive coordinator.

But everyone else's attention seems to have turned that way. They're Vegas's newest power couple or something like that. At least that's what I hear some woman close by murmur under her breath.

My stomach turns over as I think about it.

We're doing this for a reason. This is right for us.

Even if it feels so, so wrong.

"We have slightly different visions of what we're expecting on the field this year, but players have already proven at OTAs that they're ready for whatever we throw at them," he says, and it takes everything in my power to focus on what he's saying rather than allowing my eyes to edge over toward the coach himself.

"What are the two visions?" I ask, doing my best to dig into what our viewers will want to know as I feel his eyes on me from across the room.

"I think it'll become clear as you watch our practices." He winks at me, and I hate the gross feeling that leaves with me.

I hate how it makes me feel like he's kind of hitting on me. I know he isn't. I know it's just my own mind playing tricks on me. Maybe I'm less confident in this position than I should be, but dammit, I deserve to be here.

But would he wink at a male reporter?

Likely not.

And I'm nervous ahead of our plan for tonight.

Is throwing in a fake bestie break-up over the top? Is it out of style for me? Am I causing more drama than is necessary?

Absolutely—on all fronts.

We theoretically could have this out at our own home, and yet…I have to do this here. Tonight.

This was Lincoln's idea, and I'm only doing it to give us more time to figure out how we're going to make this work. To figure out if we even can make this work.

I glance over toward the bar. One drink wouldn't hurt to help me get through this event, but if I ever want to be taken seriously in my career, even one drink is sending the wrong message.

Still, I spot Ryan Rivera over by the bar.

He gets to drink at this event because he has a dick.

I blow out a breath, but I force myself to focus. Rivera glances at me as if he feels me looking at him, and I don't miss the look of suspicion on his face as he looks back toward the door.

I know who's over there, and I don't have to turn my gaze to see.

I know he has spotted Sam and Lincoln, and I'm pretty sure he probably knows I'm living with Sam now.

I guess that means it's time for our public fight to break off our friendship. I spot Sam and Lincoln headed toward the bar, so I excuse myself from the conversation with Mike and stride confidently in that direction so as to make sure as hell Rivera overhears this.

"We need to talk," I spit out at Sam.

"Excuse me?" she asks, either playing the part well or genuinely confused as to why I'm confronting her.

"What did I say to you about him at home?" I ask, jerking my thumb toward the coach. I keep talking before she gets the chance to answer. "You know how I feel about you dating him, and to parade around with him at an event I'm covering…It's just wrong, Sam. I can't believe you'd be willing to risk our friendship over someone like him."

"Someone like him?" she repeats. "He's a wonderful man, and if you'd give him the chance—"

"Stop," I say, cutting her off.

"Ladies, let's take this somewhere private," Lincoln suggests as Rivera moves in a little closer to catch every last detail.

"I'm not going anywhere private with you," I hiss. "We all know what went down between our fathers years ago, and I will remain civil with you because it's my job." I turn to Sam. "But you…you're supposed to be my friend, and now you're doing God knows what with him."

"I can date whoever I want," she says smugly, and for a split second, I almost forget that this is fake. It feels real. Painfully real. So painfully real that tears spring to my eyes, and my cheeks burn as heat fires up my spine. My body is preparing for battle, and my hands start to tremble.

"But you know how I feel about him. Are you trying to go out of your way to sabotage my career?"

"I would never!" she says, her hand flying to her chest.

"I just…I can't live with you anymore. I know our boys are best friends, but you and I…" I let that trail off because I can't physically bring myself to say it.

This hurts more than I thought it would.

"Fine. When the boys aren't home, I'll stay with Linc," she says, pursing her lips. "You can start finding somewhere else to live." She leans in toward Lincoln, who tightens his arm around her. "Don't make me choose between friendship and love, Jolene. You won't win."

I purse my lips and spin on my heel. I run toward the ladies' room to take a minute to collect myself as her words echo around my brain.

Don't make me choose between friendship and love.

She was leaning into him.

I believed the act, so I'm sure everyone around us did, too. I hate it, and I get this strange sense that Sam likes it. I'm not exactly sure how to deal with that.

And I have a feeling it's not going to get any easier.

I draw in a few deep breaths. We didn't have the big fake fight in front of a large audience, but it was definitely the right audience. Rivera saw it all, and he's waiting for me outside the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Stop pretending like you give a fuck," I hiss.

"Okay. I don't. But I know what I saw where you and Nash are concerned. So how did the friend get involved?"

"I'd rather not discuss that at all, least of all with you. What you saw was nothing. Sam and Lincoln are together now, and it appears there's nothing I can do about that."

"So you kissing him was…what? Using your body to get a story the way you used it to get this job?" he presses.

"Fuck you," I spit, and I raise a hand to slap him clean across the face.

He looks surprised by my outburst, and he grabs my wrist in his fist. He spins us around so he has me pinned up against the wall, and I freeze as fear grips onto me.

"Oh, that's something I've always wanted, Jolene," he says, his voice low and slimy as hell in this hallway that's way too small for the two of us. "Come on. You gave it to Marcus. You gave it to Lincoln. Isn't it my turn now?"

I will not let him hurt me. I will not let him take something from me I'm not willing to give. There's enough people around here tonight that I know he can't do anything to me in this hallway. But that doesn't mean he's harmless, and it certainly doesn't mean I'd want to run into him in a deserted alley.

Some force beyond my control kicks in, as if my gut is acting on instinct.

"That's never going to happen." I lift my knee and connect solidly with his groin, and then I run the hell out of the hallway to the sound of his oof as he doubles over in pain.

Good. The fucker deserves it.

I've never been prouder of my gut.

What an awful night, and it's just getting underway. I still have to cover this event as I try to shake off everything that has happened in the first ten minutes since I arrived at this shit show.

I'm not sure what's worse tonight: fighting with my best friend publicly so people will believe she's fucking the man I love or getting hit on by a slimy asshole who's trying to take my job away from me.