I contemplated taking Anna someplace special for our three-month anniversary, but in the end I decided just to make her something so we could stay in. Since we’re in the public eye so much, it’s easier to be myself when it’s just the two of us. And I think Anna feels the same way.

I take Anna into the bedroom and fuck her until we’re both breathless. Then, I give her one of my T-shirts and a pair of my sweats to put on, and we spend the evening out on my back deck by the fire pit, where I’ve set up an outdoor picnic for us. There’s a chill in the air, and the fire feels good. It lights Anna’s face in a warm glow that I just want to stare at all night. She looks fucking beautiful, and fucking happy.

The whole night, I keep stopping myself while she’s talking, to look around me and realize how goddamn lucky I am right now. My career with the Rockets is going great. I have a beautiful woman by my side. For the first time in my life, I’m looking at the future as more than just beyond the end of the football season.

And I think, just maybe, I’m gonna talk to Anna one of these days soon about going to the team lawyers and ripping up the contract.

So I can propose to her for real.

After dinner, I have champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, which I feed to Anna until she starts laughing and tells me she can’t eat anymore. I’m not much for champagne, but I like watching Anna as she drinks it and wrinkles up her nose at the bubbles. Somewhere along the line, we end up finishing the bottle, and then I carry her back to bed and make long, slow love to her in the dark.

“Mason,” she whispers as I move inside her.

“What?” I whisper back.

“Nothing,” she says, looking deep into my eyes. “I just like saying your name.”

In the morning, she has to leave early to go to the station. Luckily, she’s been keeping a couple changes of work clothes at my place, so she doesn’t have to go home to get ready. I get up with her, and make her coffee in a travel cup while she’s in the shower. Then I lie on the bed and watch her ass as she wriggles it into her skirt, and admire the lines of her legs as she pulls on her high heels.

“Are you ogling me, Mr. Robichaud?” she asks, giving me a cute sideways smirk.

“I’m not made of stone, Ms. Wilder,” I shoot back. “No man alive could resist ogling the sight that’s in front of me.”

“What are you doing today?” she asks, and sits down on the bed to give her hair a final brush.

I reach my arms out in a stretch. “I’m gonna sleep for a little while longer. Then I’ve got a session with the weight trainer. Then massage. Then practice later today.”

“I’ll miss you,” she murmurs, and leans down to kiss me. Immediately, my arms go around her, pulling her down. She squeaks in mock protest. “You’re going to rumple me!”

“If past experience is any indication, you like being rumpled, doll,” I say, giving her an exaggerated leer.

“Pig,” she laughs, swatting at me.

“Yes, but I’m your pig.”

Anna pulls away slightly, her eyes meeting mine.

“Are you?” she asks softly.

All the air in the room seems to still. There’s nothing but her, and me. And the question hanging between us.

“If you’ll have me, Anna,” I tell her.

I reach for her hand. The one that has my ring on it.

I wasn’t expecting our joking around to turn serious. It’s clear from the look in her eyes that neither was she.

But it’s good serious.

She leans down to kiss me, her lips soft against mine.

“I’ll see you later,” she whispers.

I sleep for another hour or so, and dream of Anna. When I wake up, I’m hard. I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower as hot as I can stand it. Inside, I think about her riding my cock, and stroke myself to completion, coming so hard I probably put a dent in the tiles.

I don’t have a lot of time before I need to be down at the stadium. I grab a quick breakfast and take off about half an hour later. It turns out that the trainer who was supposed to meet me there is sick, so I decide to just work out by myself instead. Not wanting any interruptions while I’m lifting, I put my phone on airplane mode and blast some pumping beats through my earbuds. I’m hitting the weights hard, and within five minutes I’m already dripping sweat, but it feels good. I’m feeling really strong lately. Stronger than I’ve felt in a long time.

It’s a testament to how focused I am that I don’t even notice Jesse Fawkes until he’s standing right in front of me, gesturing and making motions with his mouth.

“… you been?” he’s asking when I pull my ear buds from my ears.

“What?” I frown.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he repeats angrily. “Bull’s been looking for you.”

Bull Molinari is the team’s manager. Jesse is his assistant.

“Uh, here?” I reply sarcastically, looking around.

“Bull’s been calling you. Hell, everyone’s been calling you.”

“I had my phone off,” I shrug. “What’s up?”

Jesse gapes. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Are you gonna keep asking me stupid-ass questions?” I ask, getting up from the bench to face him. “Because yes, I’m fucking serious right now. What the fuck is up with you?”

Jesse takes an unconscious step back. I’ve got almost a foot on him in height, and easily a hundred pounds on him in muscle.

“You honestly have no idea?” he asks in disbelief. “Dude, if I was you, I’d turn on my phone.”

Then he turns and walks away. On his way out the door, he glances back. “And call Bull.”

Puzzled and a little alarmed, I grab my phone out of my shorts pocket and turn off airplane mode. A few seconds later, messages start to appear. One, two, five, nine.

Fuck. What the hell is going on?

The first message is from Tom, my agent. I hit the play button on the voicemail and listen.

“Mason. Jesus. You need to give me a call. Right now. I don’t know if you’ve seen it yet, but you’re all over the goddamn news. This isn’t good. Call me back. We need to talk strategy.”

Just as that message is ending, the phone rings. It’s Bull. I ignore it and go to the web browser instead. I type in my name, and hit the “news” button.

The first hit makes me stop in my tracks.

The headline reads:

“Jesus fuck,” I breathe.

I manage to go out a back entrance and avoid being seen. I can’t deal with talking to anyone right now, until I find out exactly what the hell is happening. Outside, I sprint to my SUV in the parking lot and lock myself in, then pull my phone back out and keep reading.

The first article is from the website of the station Anna works for, WSPR. It’s front and center on the page, the first thing you see when you click on it.

As I read, the full extent of the damage is laid out for all to see. The article says that unknown “sources” claim my relationship and engagement to Anna Wilder are nothing but a PR stunt, and that instead of dating Anna for a year as is the official version of the story, I was actually dating Rockets cheerleader Kayla Barnes up until a few short months ago.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the picture that accompanies the article makes me shout and pound my fist on the steering wheel in fury.

It’s a shot of me, carrying a paper bag. The building in the background is immediately recognizable. It’s from yesterday, when I went to buy champagne for Anna and me.

The caption reads:

“Mason Robichaud exiting a liquor store on Tuesday afternoon.”

I sit in my car, ignoring the calls that keep coming in. I’m still too much in a daze to talk to anyone.

None of it makes any sense. None of it. I was stupid get caught by paparazzi coming out of a liquor store, yes. That was my fault. And Kayla’s full of shit. Those stories could have been managed, though. But how could they possibly have tied all of these thread together — all of these lies — and worst of all, wrapped them around the single grain of truth?

The only people who knew about the fake engagement were people who would do anything to keep it a secret. Only people connected to the team. And my parents. And Anna and me, of course.

And of all those people, the only one who had anything to gain from leaking this story…

… is Anna.

I’m AWOL at practice. I don’t fucking care. I’ve gone home, and shut the phone off again.

All I can do is stare at the TV. Just like Tom said, the story is all over the news on the local networks. By tomorrow, it’ll probably be national.

I know I have to call my agent, and Bull. We have to figure out how to manage the fallout from all this.

But right now, I’m paralyzed. By the goddamn betrayal.

Anna’s broken the terms of the non-disclosure agreement. There’s no other explanation.

But that’s nothing compared to the fact that in the bargain, she’s also broken my fucking heart.