Most Likely to Score

Harlan chuckles. “Oh, right. You thought I wouldn’t notice that you’re suddenly eating pomelos. I am well aware that Jillian has these on her desk. I do pay attention to what goes on around us.”

Rick slaps the seat in front of him. “That’s fantastic. Jillian is giving you special gifts now. What other presents are you giving each other?” Rick wiggles his eyebrows.

I slice a hand through the air, cutting off this direction of conversation since I don’t want them thinking Jillian is doing favors of any sort for me. One, she’s not, and two, there’s her professional rep among the guys to think of. I need to scramble to protect her privacy. Just like I’d do on the field if a cornerback sneaked up on me, I hunt for a way to escape the secondary. “It was a thank you gift for doing the calendar, guys. That’s all. Even if I wanted something more, there’s nothing happening, and I respect her choices.”

Cooper claps me on the back. “Good man, and there are plenty of other fish in the sea. But what I want to know is this.” He stops to scratch his chin as I wait for him to say more. “How the hell is your big ego handling the rejection?”

Harlan smiles faintly in faux sympathy. “It must be a brand-new feeling. Do we need to take you to therapy to process all this?”

I shake my head, amused and impressed at their bottomless appetite for giving me shit. “Yes, please schedule me an appointment right after yours.”

Harlan laughs, chewing on a slice of fruit. “I do have a long-standing appointment with a shrink, since it takes time each week to process how awesome I am.” He finishes the slice. “I’m as awesome as this fruit. Holy shit. This is good.”

And we’re back to safer ground. Grabbing another pomelo from the bag, I hold it over my head. “Not only do pomelos bring good fortune, but they’re full of antioxidants that are so very healthy for you,” I say, adopting a TV-commercial-style tone.

“You can say that again.” My agent’s voice booms.

I snap my gaze to see Ford striding over to us as I peel one. “How’d you get in?”

“Magic,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Or maybe the equipment manager told me all my favorite clients were here, and look at all of you. But especially you,” he says, pointing at me. “You’re already sounding like a spokesman.”

Cooper claps my back and speaks to Ford. “See? I told you we could clean up our wild child.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Ford says, grabbing his shades and removing them with the kind of panache you only see from the coolest dudes on film. Still, I won’t let his slickness sway me. I’ve been burned, and I want to see what the man has to offer. He points two fingers at me. “Can you say Paleo Pet?”

“Uh. Yeah. Paleo Pet.”

He thrusts a fist in the air. “I love it. And I have a delivery of Paleo Pet Food for Small Breeds coming to your house this afternoon to see if your man Cletus likes it.”

I knit my brow. “Someone is sending me dog food? I know my last agent was a thief, but I do have enough dough to buy food for a ten-pound Chihuahua mix.”

Cooper slaps his thigh, laughing at me. “Dude, I think someone’s trying to tell you Paleo Pet is courting you and Cletus.”

And the switch goes on. The light flashes bright. “A dog food company?” I scratch my head. “I guess I didn’t make the connection because you said you were chasing down an organic quick-serve restaurant.”

“And that’s still in play,” Ford says, rubbing his palms together. “Don’t you worry—I have lots of irons in the fire for you. But this one got hot real quick, and Paleo Pet is one of the fastest-growing pet food companies. Big budget, big plans, and now Paleo Pet has big eyes on you, and if your little guy likes his chow, and if you feel good about it—well then, we might have ourselves a sweet new deal.”

I blink, processing the unexpected news as I pull off a section of fruit. “What do you mean they’ve had their eyes on me?”

“They came running to me like a dog with a tennis ball, wanting to play fetch as soon as they saw your pics the last few days. You’re like a politician kissing babies and then endorsing diapers. Apparently, when your feed is full of you kissing dogs and trying to find homes for rescue pups, the dog food makers of the world all want to romance you.” Ford parks his hands on his hips. “Plus, why didn’t you tell me you won an all-county dog agility competition this summer? I had to track that shit down on my own.”

Harlan’s eyes bug out. “No way. That is rich. You didn’t tell us that, either. Do you and Cletus do synchronized handstands in a ring or something?”

I roll my eyes. “No, asshole. He jumps and weaves through poles and climbs ladders like the badass dog he is. I taught him all that this summer, like the badass trainer I am.”

“You have a secret skill, and you kept it from us.” Harlan runs a hand through his long hair. “I cannot wait to have a field day with this.”

I hold up a finger. “If you have a field day with this, then I will steal all your clothes from your locker and leave you with nothing but a little pie-baking apron to wear after a game.”

Harlan seems to consider that. “I would gladly wear an apron and nothing else. I’m not ashamed of my body or my baking skills.”

“And we are now legally required to prank Harlan with an apron,” Rick declares, drumming his hands on the stand in front of us.

“And yes, Cletus won the blue ribbon because he is smart and I am awesome. Case closed. I don’t brag about it because I just do it for fun. For a break from the game and all that stuff. I’m not trying to make a name as a dog agility dude or whatever.”

Cooper holds up his fist for knocking. “And I thought the time you leapt ten feet in the air and nabbed a ball that was en route for interception was quite possibly one of your finest moments. But this might top it.”

Ford clears his throat. “Gentlemen, I know I’ve interrupted a critical moment as the four of you debate important issues while warding off scurvy, but I need to speak to this man.”

“Take him away,” Cooper shouts.

Ford waves for me to join him. “We have business to discuss. And go get your T-shirt. It’s not the equipment manager’s job to pick it up.”

I nod, oddly enjoying Ford’s directive. I like that the guy cares about little things, like not leaving clothes on the field.

I trot to the shirt, grab it, and tug it on, then say goodbye to the guys as I leave the field with Ford. He gives me the down-low on the potential deal. I nod, taking it all in.

“Call me later and let me know if you’re in. I have an idea I need to work on in the meantime to make this deal go swimmingly.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s the idea?”

“Don’t you worry about it. Let me take care of the details.”

Cletus parks his little butt on the tiled floor, waiting as patiently as a dog possibly can. It’s one of those sits where he’s on edge but doing his best to be a good boy.

I scoop some of the Paleo Pet food that’s supposedly made from ingredients Cletus would have captured in the wild ten thousand years ago if, you know, a ten-pound lap dog was capable of stalking deer or elk.

“All right, buddy. Give me your best Top Chef verdict.” I rattle the silver bowl and set it on his blue place mat with a cartoon bone illustration on it.