“No shit, they got Hi-Chews in here now?”

Ty’s eyes lit up once he got into the clubhouse lounge. Most of the guys stuck with real cooked food from the kitchen, but every day, Ty Damon nourished his elite athlete’s body with Fritos, Pop Tarts and candy from what Diaz dubbed the shit shelf.

“You ever wonder how he has any teeth left?” Diaz took a swig from his water bottle as we watched Ty dig into three different-flavored packs of Hi-Chews. I turned my backwards cap to the front.

“I try to think about Ty as little as possible.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“I can hear you assholes,” Ty said with a full mouth, tossing us each a few Hi-Chews before we headed for our lockers.

It was 5PM at the clubhouse, which was usually everyone’s downtime before the game. Most of the guys listened to music, played cards or squeezed in some more calories since dinner wasn’t till probably about 11PM.

Contrary to what most others assumed, I was among those who preferred quiet before the game, even if I wasn’t starting. It was for that reason that I was grateful to have a locker next to Diaz. He and I had a pretty rocky history, but things were solid now. Also, he meditated before every game, which gave me the silence I needed to balance out the singing and chanting Ty was generally prone to. Probably because of all the sugar.

“Hey. Turn that shit down, alright?” I called across the room at him while chucking back one of his Hi-Chews. “What did I buy you those headphones for last Christmas if you don’t use them?”

“Fuck you. You bought those for everyone.”

“And that makes me the asshole how?” I snorted as a text buzzed into my phone.

I skimmed it while dodging the dry-fit shorts Ty chucked at me.

“If those were dirty, I’m gonna fuckin’ whoop your ass,” I informed him seriously before sending Iain a reply.

I didn’t feel like talking to him.

Since Emmett’s party two nights ago, I’d been vaguely irritated with my agent, mostly because he hadn’t told me about my risk of being traded last year, but there was also the fact that I had a hunch I knew who his source was on the trade intel. I’d asked him repeatedly about where he’d gotten it, and since he wouldn’t say, I suspected it was Emmett. He was Iain’s business partner, my good friend and the younger brother of the guy who owned this team. He was a good dude but I was clearly third in line of where his loyalties lie.

That much had become abundantly clear to me that night of the surprise party.

I stared at the text then up at the closed entrance of the clubhouse.

Goddammit.

Muttering under my breath, I reluctantly got up and crossed the room to swing open the door. Standing in the hall plastered with portraits of past and present Empires – myself included – was Iain. He was in a suit, as usual, but he had the jacket draped over his arm, probably because it was ninety degrees outside.

I greeted him with an upward nod, raising my eyebrows when he didn’t immediately tell me what was going on.

“What’s up,” I finally said, annoyed to have to be the one to break the silence.

“Did you read the papers today?” he asked.

“You told me to stop reading the papers.”

I hadn’t gone near them since my first year in New York. The Post had a particular affinity for shitting on me and as a result, I developed a reputation for mouthing off to their reporters during post-game interviews.

Iain nodded.

“True. Then I’ll skip to my next question. Are you really willing to do anything to stay with this team?”

“Yes,” I replied straightaway, despite feeling instantly wary and suspicious.

“Good. Because I have a proposal for you and I have to be back at the office at six, so I’m going to make it quick. We’ll start with this.”

He handed me his phone, which was already open to Page Six. My eyebrows pulled together as I read the bold headline up top.

DREW MADDOX PUBLICLY GROVELS WITH GIRLFRIEND.

I stared.

“What the fuck is this?” I looked up as Drew took his phone back.

“Walk with me,” he said, nodding down the hall and away from the clubhouse. I was already anxious but thankfully, once we got far enough, he went straight into it. “That article assumes that you’re dating the girl from Emmett’s party the other night. Allegedly, you two had an obvious ‘lovers quarrel’ on the terrace, which resulted in your chasing her around and groveling till she forgave you. There’s also mention of how other women were trying to steal your attention, but you only had eyes for your girlfriend,” Iain summarized so fast my swirling thoughts could barely catch up. Looking at his phone again, he read from the article. “‘According to onlookers, Maddox referred to Miss Larsen as ‘wifey’ and even shared a deep and passionate kiss with her under the stars.’”

I blinked, completely floored.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“I’m not,” Iain deadpanned. “They think you did what you’ve never done before, which is show actual shame and remorse with another human being. Another important detail: they claimed this girl from the party was the ‘mystery brunette’ you were photographed ‘wining and dining’ at Mercer Street Kitchen five months ago.”

“That was your girlfriend, and you were literally sitting at the table.”

“I was in the bathroom when the picture was taken, but the point is the Post just threw you a bone, Maddox. They fabricated for you a relatively long-term relationship, which we both know you’re thoroughly incapable of, and they portrayed a soft side of you that we’ve never seen. Granted it’s a hundred percent bullshit, but still. If you play along with this and dedicate yourself to the story, you could change your image in the exact way you need to in order to keep your spot on this team.”

I squinted at Iain, starting about ten different sentences that I never finished because I was still catching up on what the hell he was talking about.

“What exactly are you suggesting here? You want me to date this girl?” I finally asked.

“Actually, I want you to put a ring on her finger and move her into that famous bachelor pad of yours,” Iain answered. “The media will jump all over it, and I can’t think of a quicker, more efficient way to convince the Empires that you’ve settled down.”

I took off my cap to get a better look at him. I had to stare in silence for a few seconds because I wasn’t sure if I was losing my mind or if Iain was really asking me this shit.

“I’m confused by how casual you are about asking me to get engaged to a stranger and live with her,” I finally said.

“It would be for show, Drew,” Iain snorted. I exhaled. “Keep up the act till the trade deadline passes. That’s a little less than three months. It’s extremely doable.”

I rubbed my chin as I stared at the floor. I was actually considering it.

“Well, I’m barely home anyway. And I definitely wouldn’t mind hanging out with her again.”

“Here’s the hard part. I know when you say ‘hang out’ you mean you’re interested in sleeping with her, but if you choose to do this, you agree not to sleep with her or anyone else.”

I looked up and laughed in Iain’s face.

“You want me to be celibate for three months? You’re fucking with me.”

“I couldn’t be more serious, actually. You sleep with this girl and you’ll undoubtedly hurt or upset her. Someway, somehow, you’ll do it and the last thing we need is for her to run off and give the media a chance to write about how Drew Maddox’s attempt at stability failed, and he’s a lost cause,” Iain said, looking so goddamned stoic and serious that I wanted to flick him in the face. “On the topic of the media, the reason you absolutely cannot pursue or sleep with other women is because that’s the exact story they will be looking out for – Drew Maddox cheating on his sweet, innocent fiancée. You don’t want to give the paparazzi even a chance to catch you with another woman.”

When I started shaking my head, he held his hands out.

“What? You said you’d do anything to stay a New York Empire.”

“And I meant it, but going three months without sex is crazy. I’m going to be wound up so tight I’ll be throwing wild pitches every inning.”

“Ever heard of jacking it?”

“It’s not my preferred method of release.”

“So it’s settled. We’re done trying to fix this trade situation, and I guess we’ve also found the one thing Drew Maddox can’t do.”

“There’s nothing I can’t do,” I scoffed, despite the fact that I knew he was trying to appeal to my competitive side. “I just don’t – ”

“Want to?” Iain gave me the most unimpressed look I’d ever seen on his face, which was saying a lot. “And here I thought you wanted a championship more than anything in the world. I mean what’s the point of all the shit that’s happened to you if you don’t give baseball everything you’ve got?”

I glared at him for daring to ask that question but at the same time, it sold me.

“Fine.” I regretted it as I said it. “I’ll do it.”

“Atta boy.” Iain socked my shoulder before checking the time on his phone. “Alright. I got a meeting, I gotta go.”

“Hold on,” I said, feeling the deepest frown creasing my brow. I was usually eager to get away from business mode Iain but I had about ten million questions right now, and the fact that he had to leave so abruptly was making me doubt this decision even more. “So I’m not supposed to party, I’m not supposed to go out. I can’t go after other girls. What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Drew. Read a book. Start the Harry Potter series. Get creative. You never hesitate to wrack that brain of yours for new ways to torture opposing teams, so why not put it to use for something legitimately productive for once?”

“My ability to get under the other team’s skin is legitimately productive. Even The New York Times backs me up on that one.”

Iain ignored me as he started off down the hall.

“Pick up a hobby, Maddox.” We started walking back toward the clubhouse. “If not, get to know that new girlfriend of yours – in ways that don’t involve the removal of clothing. I believe in you,” Iain said.

Then he took a call and headed off, disappearing into an elevator and leaving me alone in the hall, wondering what the fuck I’d just gotten myself into.