Dating the Defensive Back (The Nash Brothers Book 1)

A Fake What Now?

On Sunday morning, I wake up with the kind of hangover that reminds me I’m not as young as I used to be.

Beckett and his family decided to tour the Strip today, and I’m thankful they don’t expect me to be their tour guide since I’m not exactly up for shooting the shit.

A shower and some ibuprofen help a little, and coffee helps a little more, but I’m still dragging. Part of me thinks it has more to do with Ava not being here than it has to do with how much I drank last night.

What the fuck is that shit? These feelings are unfamiliar as they pulse through me, and now I’m regretting that we didn’t just tell Beckett the truth.

Especially when my phone starts to ring.

When I see who’s calling, I have this gut instinct that I am going to need more coffee.

I answer on speaker as I make my way to the Keurig. “Good morning, Ellie.”

“Hey, Grayson. I’m calling so we can put a plan together to mitigate damage.” She sounds as tired and worn down as I feel. And…wait.

What?

Mitigate damage?

Maybe I drank more than I thought last night.

“Okay, first, let’s back the truck up for just a second. What do you mean, mitigate damage?” I ask as the Keurig makes a loud whirring sound and starts to drip the coffee into my cup.

“Oh, you haven’t seen the headlines,” she murmurs. “There’s a viral video of you at the ball last night telling an unidentified man that you’re just hanging with Ava to keep the media off your ass.”

“A viral video?” I repeat.

Austin Graham. That motherfucker.

“The comments are ripping you to shreds,” she adds. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, but you hired me to be the one who fixes this.”

“How the fuck are we going to fix this?” My voice is a little frantic as the reality plows into me.

Why would he do this?

Because he fucking hates my family, and I’m the latest target since I’m the newest. Take out my brothers by taking me out.

Maybe I’m the most vulnerable since my reputation was already on shaky ground with the local media given the nepotism claims that have followed me here.

I feel like I’ve always heard the same thing from publicists. Don’t listen to the noise. Ignore the rumors. Tune it out. Focus on the game.

That’s all great advice, but this is different. This isn’t just rumors about me and my latest hookup.

This is a personal attack from a teammate.

And it doesn’t just hurt me this time. It also has the potential to hurt her.

Fuck, I can’t let Ava see this, but it’s not like I have any way of controlling it. And maybe she’s already seen it anyway.

With Beckett here, it’s not like I can overreact to it. Thankfully he’ll be out for a few more hours at least, but when he gets home…then what?

Maybe it’s time I just fucking fess up to him.

“A fake engagement,” Ellie blurts.

A fake what now?

“What did you just say?” I ask, certain I didn’t hear correctly even though I know what the fuck she just said.

“A fake engagement,” she repeats a little more quietly. As if I didn’t hear her the first time. As if her words don’t tap into every fucking fear I have. “Listen, I know it’s crazy, but you’re already under fire for being here at all. We can’t play it off like this conversation happened months ago since it’s clear it’s from the ball last night. Snubbing the media like this isn’t going to do you any local favors, and an engagement is one way to show that you’re serious about the girl. It’s one way you won’t even need to address this issue, and instead you show how much you’re in love with her.”

“That’s crazy, Ellie,” I mutter.

“Is it? Or is it just crazy enough to work?”

Her question is rhetorical, obviously, and I don’t address it.

“Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? In the meantime, I’ll work on other avenues of mitigation. What makes you a good guy? What can I capitalize on?” she asks.

What makes me a good guy?

Fuck. I don’t know. Am I a good guy?

Maybe that’s a better question for Ava…but if she’s seen this video, she might be coming up empty right about now, too.

“I’m a good football player.”

“Right. We’re aware of that. But beyond that…what makes you you?”

What makes me me?

It’s a great question.

I’m the life of the party, but lately I feel pretty damn lonely in a room filled with people unless Ava’s there.

I can hold a conversation with anybody about anything.

I’m good at a lot of things, but I’m only great at one thing.

I’m tall. I have a big dick. I’m athletic. I’m in good shape. Some of my muscles have muscles.

Somehow, I don’t think any of that is what she’s looking for.

I’m thirty-two, and I’m terrified of commitment. My brothers are all at various stages in their lives where I feel like the odd one out. Lincoln is married with two kids, and he scored the head coaching position of his dreams. Spencer is engaged and loving life in Minnesota. Even Asher seems to be doing just fine coming off a yearlong suspension. He’s thriving in Vegas, turning himself around to prove he belongs on the Aces despite his stupid wardrobe.

And then there’s me. The guy who’s new to town, who’s trying to fit into a new team, who’s spending more time with the girl than with the guys he’s supposed to be building a brotherhood with.

And Ellie wants me to propose to her?

Fake or not, the entire idea gives me an ache in the pit of my stomach. It gives me anxiety like I’ve never known before.

I’m not ready for that step. Ava’s not ready for that step. I’m not even sure I ever want to get married. I should know this shit. I’m thirty-fucking-two, and there’s so much that’s unknown.

Is this my last season?

What will I do next?

Do I want to get married someday? Have kids someday? Have a future with Ava—or someone else?

No.

If it’s not Ava, it won’t be anyone. I’m in love with her. Only her.

But that’s not the point here.

The point is that Ellie’s suggestion is making me think about things I’ve never thought about before. And it’s not giving me the warm fuzzies.

Instead, it’s scaring the fuck out of me.

I saw what marriage did to my parents. Sure, they had a lot of good years together. But ultimately, it ended—just like everything in life does. My dad has a penchant for fucking up everything good in his life. Guess who inherited that unfortunate gene?

“You still there, Grayson?” Ellie asks.

I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I, um…I like to give back to the community. I’m passionate about football and fostering the next class of players. I’m more the kind of guy who prefers to give motivational locker room speeches than who runs kids camps, but I’m happy to donate and help with others’ causes, too.”

“Okay. I can work with all of that. Thanks, Gray. Think about my idea, and I’ll be in touch.”

We hang up, and I stare into space as our conversation punches me in the gut.

And then I get the sudden, ominous feeling like this is the beginning of the end.