Blind Side: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Red Zone Rivals)

I stayed away from Giana all week.

It was like refusing myself the pleasure of jumping into a refreshing spring on a hot summer day, like restricting myself from drinking water as I heave from dehydration — but I had to do it.

I was in too deep.

Almost a week ago now, Giana had taken me to the observatory to get my mind off my mom, even though she didn’t know the full extent of what had happened. She’d somehow known enough to not push me when I said I couldn’t talk about it, and she’d somehow cared enough to not leave me alone — even when every sign I gave off was cold.

She knew, without me having to say a word, that I needed something.

She knew what I needed.

And she let me lose myself in her.

It had haunted me all week, how it felt to come apart for her, to have her come apart for me. It was all under the guise of a lesson, but I knew if I was being honest with myself, that wasn’t what it was for me.

I wanted her.

I wanted her so badly my chest had a gaping hole in it whenever I wasn’t with her.

I wasn’t even thinking about Maliyah anymore, and maybe I hadn’t been for a while now. I couldn’t put my finger on when it changed, when my focus shifted, but I knew the shift was fundamental. I knew every time I wanted to reach for Giana now, it wasn’t because I gave a rat’s ass about someone watching us and reporting back to my ex.

It was because I wanted to touch her, to hold her, to taste her.

But that wasn’t what she wanted.

I’d starved myself of her attention all week long to remind myself, to hammer into my thick skull that she wanted another man — and I was just the foolish punk who agreed to help her get him.

No, whose idea this whole thing had been.

Frustration battled with gratitude inside my soul all week long, no matter how I tried to work through it in the weight room or on the field. I was consumed by overanalyzing each moment we’d spent together, wondering how it’d taken me so long to really see it, to really understand what I was feeling.

And I didn’t know which emotion I felt more.

I was angry with myself, with her, with Shawn and Maliyah both. I was gutted by the situation, by even the thought of Shawn touching her the way I had been.

And yet, if this was it, if this was the only way I could ever have her… I was thankful.

I’d take every stolen moment, every fake kiss, every lesson she’d let me teach her. I’d grind myself down to sand and let her leave me behind in the end if it meant I got to soak up everything that she was right now.

A fool, that’s what I was.

A fool who wouldn’t stop playing the game he knew he’d lose.

The contrast between Giana and Maliyah ran through my head like a PowerPoint presentation all week, too. I couldn’t help but compare them, where one was soft and the other a sharp razor. Maliyah got off on manipulating me, on knocking me down a peg or two, on reminding me just how lucky I was to have her, and how easily I could lose her — just like I had lost her. I used to get off on that, how confident she was, the games she loved to play. It was a thrill, a chase.

But Giana was the opposite.

She knew before I even realized it was an issue that I put others before myself more than I should, that I let Maliyah and even my own family walk all over me because that’s what I’ve always been expected to do. She reminded me every chance she could that I was worthy, that I was good, that I was going somewhere.

My stomach rolled as I adjusted my tie in the dirty mirror of my dorm room, knowing I wouldn’t be able to avoid her tonight. It had been hard enough through the week to ignore texts or tell her I was busy, to not look her way every time she was on the field or in the cafeteria, to adjust my schedule so I wasn’t in the same place with her for too long.

But tonight was the team auction.

It was her event.

And I knew it’d gut me to see her, to be around her, to even be in the same room.

It would kill me.

And yet I craved it.

It was sick and toxic, and I couldn’t discern good from bad anymore, not as I turned to each side and watched my reflection in the mirror, smoothing my hands over the all-black tux I’d rented for the night. I was as much of a mess as I had been when I’d left her at the observatory last week as I turned out the light and made my way out of the dorm, telling my roommate and teammate that I’d meet him at the stadium.

I needed to walk alone.

Fall greeted me as I strolled through campus, ignoring the looks I got from various groups of girls as I passed them. I kept my hands in my pockets, listening to the breeze through the trees and watching as more and more of the colorful leaves fell to the ground.

I would have been lying if I tried to tell myself, or anyone else, that my mom’s situation wasn’t adding to my stress. I’d talked to her every night, and it had been the same every time. She was wasting her days away drinking or doing God knew what else, her words always slurred and garbled through tears when we spoke.

And for the first time in my life, I not only recognized that I needed help.

I was prepared to ask for it.

Still, my chest was on fire as I pulled my phone from my pocket, thumbing through to Dad’s name. I tapped it before I could talk myself out of it, pausing at a bench by the campus fountain as the line rang.

“Son,” he greeted, his deep voice familiar in the aching kind of way. “Good to hear from you. Ready for the big game tomorrow?”

I paused, thrown off by his joy, by how unbothered and peaceful he was. He’d been that way ever since he left Mom.

Since he left us.

A whole new life greeted him on the other side of that divorce, one where I wasn’t sure I fit anywhere anymore. He had his window office in Atlanta, his giant house in the suburbs, his perfect lawn and perfect kids and perfect wife. Outside of football, we had nothing in common.

He didn’t know a single thing about me, not anymore.

“Providence is tough,” he continued when I didn’t answer, mistaking my silence for nerves about the game. “That offense is quick and crafty. But you’re a beast. You’ll give them hell. Be aggressive and don’t get lazy in the second half — that’s where they typically do the most damage.”

“I’m not worried about the game,” I finally said.

“Good. You shouldn’t be. You—”

“Mom needs help.”

I was surprised by the depth of my own voice, by how steady the words came from my throat. I knew it surprised my father, too, because he grew silent, clearing his throat after a long pause.

“Your mother is no concern of mine anymore.”

“Yeah, I know. You left her and your first son behind years ago.”

“Clay,” he warned, like I was out of line. That deep rumble of his voice made me pause, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up the way it always did before I tried something risky — like a new play on the field.

“It’s true and you know it. And you know what? It’s fine. Honestly, it is. I’ve gone on without you. We both have.”

“Without me?” he interjected. “Just who do you think helped pay for you to get out there to college in Boston? Who got your laptop and your moving truck and—”

“And who only calls me after a game? Who has nothing to talk to me about other than football? Who knows everything about my half-brothers and absolutely nothing about me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I—”

“Name one thing you know about me other than my position on the field. One. I’ll wait.”

My nose flared as I bit back the urge to keep going, as I fought to be silent enough to let my point sink in. And it did. I knew it did, because my father didn’t say another word.

“I don’t begrudge you,” I finally said, calmer. “I love you. I understand. I know how Mom can be… a lot,” I confessed. “And I know she wasn’t the right woman for you. But she needs help, Dad, and I can’t do it on my own.”

He blew out a sigh. “Let me guess — her fling of the week left her and now she’s a mess.”

“They were dating for months,” I clarified. “But yes. And he was taking care of her, and now she has no job and is surviving off what little money I can afford to send home.”

“Well, whose fault is that? She did this to herself.”

I shook my head. “She never knew this would be her life, Dad. It was supposed to be you taking care of her. You knew when you met her that she didn’t even graduate from high school. She never wanted a career. She wanted a family.” I paused. “She wanted you.”

“What she wanted was to gaslight me and control me and belittle me until I lost myself,” he barked at me. “Something you should know a little bit about after dating Maliyah, I’d imagine.”

My jaw tightened. “Don’t talk about her like you know her.”

“I might not have been there through everything, but I know that girl. I know her father. And I know enough to tell you that you’re a momma’s boy through and through, because you were even looking for her in the girl you wanted to marry.” He scoffed. “Thank God you dodged that bullet.”

Something about his words stung, not because they were an insult, but because there was truth in them — truth I didn’t want to see or admit to.

“At least Maliyah has a father who actively participates in her life,” I spat back. “In my life. You know, he flew across the country to watch me play. He was here for the last home game. And guess who can’t say the same?”

My nose flared, and I ignored the part of my brain that reminded me that he hadn’t technically come for me. He’d come for Maliyah, and I was just there.

But Dad didn’t need to know that.

“I wish you were more like Cory,” I said, voice low.

Dad almost laughed. “I don’t want to be anything like that man.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

There was a frustrated breath on the other end, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head.

“Mom is broke,” I ground through my teeth, getting back to the reason I called. “I have sent all that I can. Dad, please. I’m begging you. Please help her. Just until she can get back on her feet.”

“She never will if she gets a handout from me or you or anyone else, Clay.”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Unbelievable.”

“Look, you can call me an asshole and think I’m evil if that’s the picture you want to paint. But let me tell you the truth, son — she is an addict. She has been for years. She finds a man who can take care of her and give her all the drugs she wants and she’s happy. The second he’s gone, she’s destructive. She doesn’t have it in her to work for herself.”

“Like hell she doesn’t!” I screamed. “She raised me! She raised me — not you. She was there, every night, cooking dinner for me using whatever we had in the pantry even when it wasn’t much, all after working all day — sometimes double shifts.”

“And how do you think she had the energy to do that, hmm? Why do you think there was barely any food in the house, yet she always had money for what she needed to get by?”

I ignored the insinuation, even though my throat stung with the possibility that he was right. “You’re a monster,” I breathed. “You’re selfish and you can’t think of anyone but yourself. You never have.”

“I used to be just like you,” he shouted over me. “I used to bend over backward for her and everyone else in my life. But one day, it was too much. I didn’t want to be the fucking rug everyone stepped on anymore. And trust me, you’ll get there, too. Or, at least, I hope you do. Because living a life where what you put in isn’t reciprocated is no life at all.”

I shook my head, tuning out most of his lecture. “So, you won’t help.” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact, one I knew before I made the call.

“It wouldn’t be help. It would be enabling. And no, I won’t do that.”

I swallowed the knives in my throat, nose flaring. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“You are supposed to play football,” he said, his voice calmer now. “And get your degree. Date pretty girls and get into trouble with your friends. Be a kid, for Christ’s sake. Your mom is a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

“Clearly.”

He paused, a long sigh meeting me on the other end. “Life is hard, Clay. I know you already understand that, but you’re only beginning to peel back the layers of just how hard it can be. Your mom will figure it out. She will. And if she doesn’t? She only has herself to blame.”

It baffled me, how he could find relief in that, how he could say those words and believe them wholeheartedly.

“I don’t know how you came to be so self-centered, but I hope I can never stomach turning my back on my family the way you have.”

I hung up as soon as the words were off my lips, fisting my phone so hard the screen cracked in my hands before I shoved it into my pocket.

The rest of my walk across campus was fast-paced, a sheen of sweat on my forehead when I blew through the stadium doors. I was still seeing red, still fuming from the conversation, and I debated ducking into the weight room to hammer out a quick set just to burn off the steam.

But as soon as I rounded the corner and slipped into the hallway, I saw her.

The entryway to what was usually a club for our most influential benefactors had been transformed, lights and music thumping from inside while a giant banner hung over the double glass doors. Giana stood in front of them, a photo booth background with the team’s logo behind her and a dozen cameras in her face as she spoke into the microphone at the podium.

She was a vision, draped in a floor-length dress that glittered like starlight against her pale skin. The dress was sleeveless on one arm but wrapped all the way down to her wrist on the other, the neckline elegant and refined where it slanted her chest. I knew even without her turning around that it was a low back, the slivers of her ribcage visible from my viewpoint giving it away.

Her curls were tamed, brushed back into a high, sleek bun that transformed her from a young woman into a timeless movie star. She smiled with her rose-painted lips, gray-blue eyes sparkling under the lights of the cameras as she spoke with confidence, her chin lifted, shoulders squared.

I was speechless.

I was mesmerized.

And I was rooted to the spot until the moment her eyes flashed behind the cameraman in front of her and landed on me.

She dismissed herself from the media frenzy, pulling Kyle Robbins up to the podium to take her place. He launched into his interview easily, and Giana watched only for a moment before slipping away, the hem of her black dress gliding along the tile as she floated to me.

“Wow,” she breathed, letting out a low whistle as her eyes ran the length of me. “I knew you could clean up, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a black tux look this good.”

She smiled with the compliment, all light and easy and playful like we’d always been. It set my heart on fire, but I masked it as best I could by the time she found my gaze again, knowing those were feelings I would need to bury alive if necessary.

“And I didn’t know slits could go this high,” I mused, arching a brow at her exposed thigh. “No glasses?”

“Contacts,” she answered easy, but then, she frowned. “Does it… do I look okay?”

“You look…” I bit my lip against everything I wanted to say, landing on a quiet, “breathtaking.”

She blushed, stepping next to me and slipping her arm around mine. “Come on, let’s get you mingling so you can steal some poor rich woman’s money and make me look good on that auction stage.”

“Is that my job tonight?” I asked. “Make you look good?”

“And raise a lot of money for charity,” she added.

Her smile slipped a bit when we passed through the entryway, not even needing to do more than nod to the volunteers taking tickets. They knew who I was.

I marveled at how the club had been transformed, the uplighting and dance floor, the champagne fountain and various waiters walking around with appetizers and hors d’oeuvres. Every member of the team had cleaned up for the occasion, and even Holden looked relaxed where he drank water as a group of older women fawned over him.

“Maliyah is already here,” Giana said quietly when we made our way into the space. “She looks beautiful. And I… I overheard something.”

I just swallowed, looking down at where she still clung to my arm.

“I think she really misses you, Clay. I think… I think our plan is working.” Her eyes searched mine. “She told a group of the cheerleaders in the bathroom that she wants you back.”

I blinked at her reveal of information, waiting for it to hit me, to strike me in the chest, to fill me up with hope or the sense of pride I felt after winning a game.

But I felt nothing.

Two months ago — hell, even one month ago, I would have leapt for joy, or perhaps even cried. I would have run to Maliyah. I would have held her in my arms and begged her to take me back, to believe in us, to see the future I had always seen.

But now, that future was nothing but a foggy, distant dream — one I couldn’t see clearly anymore.

One I had no desire to ever chase again.

I didn’t know what to say, but I tried to pretend to be happy, to fake like that was the news I’d been waiting for.

“Well,” I said, grinning as best I could. “She can eat her heart out when she sees you on my arm tonight.”

Giana tried to return my smile, but there was a bend to her brows that tainted it, and before either of us could say anything else, Charlotte Banks strolled up to us.

“Giana, it’s time,” she said, offering me a small smile before she pulled Giana off my arm. “We’ve got the first five teammates lined up next to the stage and ready to go.”

Giana looked over her shoulder at me as her boss pulled her away.

Her eyes were as mysterious as the ocean depths.

Giana

From the moment I was pulled away from Clay and shoved onto the auction stage quite unwillingly, the night flew.

I blacked out for most of it, nerves rattling my bones as I somehow managed to stand at the podium, to speak loud and clear, to introduce each teammate and their date before accepting bids from the audience.

I wasn’t a natural. I didn’t crack well-timed jokes or charm the room with my dazzling personality the way I’d watched my mother and sisters do all my life. But I did speak clearly, with my chin held high, and with enough confidence to fool the room into thinking this wasn’t so entirely out of my comfort zone that I was certain I’d vomit the moment I stepped off stage.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” I spoke into the microphone, a warm smile touching my lips when I saw who was next on the list. “Refill your champagne and get those paddles ready, because this next date is one you won’t want to lose. Please help me welcome to the stage, Clay Johnson!”

Polite cheers rang out just like they had all through the auction, but there were also some whistles and little screams of excitement that pierced through the air. Bidders really couldn’t go wrong with any of the date auctions tonight, but where some of the players were won by affluent older women in the community who would donate the money for the cause without taking the actual date, others were fought over by NBU students. They weren’t here just for charity — they were here for a husband.

And they were out for blood when it came to the top players.

Clay approached the stage from the stairs behind me, his hand brushing the small of my back as he passed. I flushed, though I didn’t look back at him, not even when chills raced from where he’d touched me all the way up to my ears.

“Safety Clay Johnson is six foot four and two-hundred-and-fifteen pounds of pure muscle,” I read from the script, chuckling when the room echoed with cat calls. “He’s a Cali boy with a love for the beach and reggae music. When we asked his teammates what word best describes Clay, they answered easily and in unison with…” I paused, smiling at the word before I said it. “Loyal.”

I glanced back at Clay then, loving the humble smirk that found his lips as I did.

“His date has been graciously donated by Picnics & Posies,” I said, turning back to the microphone. “Join Clay for a romantic picnic in Boston Common, complete with a bottle of sparkling grape juice, or champagne for those old enough to legally drink, as well as a charcuterie board and local pastries from the North End.”

The room was buzzing with whispered conversations, everyone preparing to make their bids.

“We’ll start the bidding at one-hundred dollars.”

Paddles shot up into the air all over the room, which made everyone laugh and start screaming out random dollar amounts they were willing to pay to win.

“Five hundred,” I jumped, surprised at how many numbers still stayed in the air. “A thousand!”

We lost quite a few with that one, but there were still a dozen holding strong.

“Fifteen hundred,” I tried, and I laughed in true disbelief as I ran straight to, “Two thousand.”

That dropped all but three.

I beamed at the remaining contenders, one I recognized from the board of a local advertising agency, one who was sporting a Zeta Tau Alpha jersey and conversing with her sisters like they were all throwing in money for the bid, and…

Maliyah.

My eyes caught on her, and hers narrowed into slits before she held her paddle even higher, as if I didn’t already see it.

“Twenty-five hundred,” I said, though my voice wasn’t quite as loud this time.

The Zeta pouted, looking to her sisters who shook their heads before she let the paddle drop.

“Three,” I said, not needing to say the thousand, and Maliyah glanced over at the lovely older woman whom I wished would win, only to immediately hate myself for wishing it.

Clay would want Maliyah to take the highest bid.

This is what we’d been working for, what we’d been parading our fake relationship around campus for months to achieve.

Maliyah wanted him back — and she proved it with a victorious smile as the other woman nodded her congratulations and lowered her paddle.

My sandpaper tongue wouldn’t work, wouldn’t swallow or let me speak as I banged my gavel against the wooden podium. “Sold, to number two-eighty-one,” I finally croaked.

Maliyah arched a brow at me, and I wished I could have schooled my expression, that I could have refused her the satisfaction of thinking she’d gotten to me. But I was a pale, frozen ghost as I watched her in return.

And I didn’t even have to fake it.

Clay was ushered off stage by one of the volunteers, and I tore my eyes off Maliyah where she darted through the crowd to meet him at the other end of it as the next player was brought up to take Clay’s place.

The show had to go on, and I was the conductor.

Three more players were auctioned before we took an intermission, one I needed so desperately that I all but sprinted from the podium once the band began playing again. I stumbled down the steps of the stage, swiping a bottle of water offered to me out of someone’s hands before I even recognized who it was.

“Breathe,” Riley said when I’d guzzled half of it.

I came back to the room with a dozen blinks, only to have her gently take me by the arm and guide me over to a less crowded part of the room. She was a total knockout in the red number she’d worn for the occasion, and she offered smiles to everyone we passed along the way until she had me tucked behind a table in the corner.

“You okay?”

“I’m great,” I said, trying to seal that lie with a smile.

Riley arched a brow. “That was a low blow from Maliyah.”

I shrugged. “It was generous. It’s a great donation for a wonderful cause.”

“Cut the shit, Giana. She bid on her ex-boyfriend. On your current boyfriend. And she did it to be a bitch.” Riley shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at where Maliyah was gathered with the rest of the cheerleading squad on the dance floor. They moved their hips in time with the beat, laughing and tossing their hands up in the air without a care in the world. “I’ve watched enough Breaking Bad that I think I could help you get rid of the body.”

The laugh that escaped me brought my first real breath in what felt like hours, and Riley offered me a genuine, sympathetic smile as she turned back to me.

“It’s okay, really,” I assured her. “It was hard to watch, but I’m not threatened by her.” I swallowed down the lie, eyes flicking to where Maliyah was on the dance floor. “After all, it’s me he’s with. Not her.”

Acid bubbled at the base of my throat, and as if I cued her, Maliyah’s eyes slid to mine.

A snake-like smile curled on her red lips before she flipped her hair over one shoulder and turned back to her friends, and her body language was much more convincing than my words.

It didn’t matter if she believed we’d been dating, or if she thought Clay might actually have feelings for me.

She knew, regardless, that he was hers.

“Damn straight,” Riley said, tossing her arm around my shoulder as best she could for being three inches smaller than me. “Now, you should go find your man and remind her of that fact. Oh! Never mind,” she added with a coy smile. “Looks like he beat you to it.”

I followed her gaze to where Clay easily split the crowd, everyone parting for him as he moved purposefully across the floor and toward me. He walked with the swagger of a professional athlete, the tux he wore perfectly fitted, eyes heating more and more as he closed the gap between us.

“Make that twat cry into her pillow tonight,” Riley whispered, kissing my cheek and releasing me just as Clay made it to the table. She gave him a knowing look before dipping behind him, and Zeke pulled her onto the dance floor before she could make it more than a few steps.

When she was gone, my eyes slowly trailed up to meet Clay’s.

Those green wells were darker than I’d ever seen them, shadowed by something that seemed to be weighing down on every inch of him as he stood there in front of me. He swallowed, and without a word, extended his hand for mine.

I tried to aim for nonchalant and casual as I slipped my hand in his, letting him lead me through the curious crowd out to the dance floor. We made it just in time for the band to slow things down, soft melodies and a harmony of voices singing a rendition of “Without You” by The Kid LAROI.

Clay pulled me to the very center of the floor, then tugged me into him, his hands finding my waist easily. My own slipped up his chest, and he looked down the bridge of his nose at me, his jaw tight with words unspoken as we began to sway.

Just like any time Clay had his arms around me, we garnered attention from every set of eyes in the room. I felt the heat of them burning into the bare skin of my back exposed by my low-cut dress, and as if he could sense it, Clay smoothed his thumb over the very spot I ached.

“You look—” he started to say at the same time I blurted out, “Well, looks like it’s working.”

Clay frowned, tilting his head a bit.

“With you know who,” I said, making a very subtle tilt of my chin in the direction of where Maliyah was now gathered with her squad on the side of the dance floor. I didn’t want to say her name just in case she was watching us.

And I knew she was.

“We won’t have to put up the charade much longer,” I added, forcing a smile, hoping the words came out as light and happy as I wanted them to. And I did. I wanted so, so badly to be happy for Clay, to feel nothing but unbridled joy in my heart that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

Maliyah wanted him back.

And I’d helped him get her back.

It should have filled me with pride, the kind you get only after being a great friend to someone you love. Instead, it soured my gut, and I dropped my head to Clay’s chest to avoid looking at him any longer for fear I’d crack and reveal the truth.

Which was… what, exactly?

I felt Clay’s hands tighten where they held me, felt his heart pick up speed in his chest where my ear was pressed against it. He stopped swaying, pulling back until his hands were framing my arms and his eyes were pinned on mine.

“Giana, I—”

But before he could speak another word, the band stopped playing, applause rang out so loud it drowned out the rest of what he was going to say, and within seconds, Charlotte was speaking into the mic that it was time for bidding to begin again.

“Meet me at my place after,” I breathed.

And then I reluctantly slipped out of his grasp.