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

Charlotte Banks was the canvas landscape picture of cool as she sat behind her desk the next afternoon, eyes on her computer screen while the tape of Clay’s interview played back. That screen was angled toward me, too, so I could watch from where I sat opposite her — like I hadn’t replayed it a hundred times already.

If I expected a blow out, I didn’t know my boss. Mrs. Banks appeared almost bored as she watched the screen, occasionally looking down at her manicured nails and picking at the skin around them before she’d fold her arms over her chest once more. Her short copper hair was straightened and styled to perfection, the strands framing her sharp chin, not a strand out of place. Her lips were painted a muted red, and her wide, golden eyes were like that of a cat lazily watching a mouse struggle where she has it by the tail.

I swallowed when the video stopped, an image of Clay’s uncharacteristic frown frozen in place. I chanced a look at my boss, who simply blinked and waited for me to speak.

“I’m sorry,” I started, but she held up a hand, her voice warm and smooth like dripping hot fudge as she spoke.

“Not what I want to hear. Try again.”

I closed my mouth, considering before I opened it once more. “Clay and his girlfriend broke up, which I was unaware of until after the interview. He’s clearly in no headspace to be on camera, and I take full responsibility for not realizing that until it was too late.”

Charlotte etched a brow, unfolding her arms and turning her computer screen back around before she was scribbling on a notepad on her desk.

“Good information to know,” she said, not looking at me. “But still not what I wanted to hear.”

I fought the urge to deflate, using every muscle lining my spine to keep it straight, my chin raised, eyes on her.

She glanced up at me before sighing. “Can you handle it or not?”

I bristled at the accusation, at the fact that she even had to ask. But then again, I couldn’t blame her — not after what she’d had to work with since I first walked through her door. It had taken all my effort, every single day, just to look these guys in the eye and speak loud enough to direct them where they needed to be.

I’d come a long way, yes… but I certainly had a ways to go.

“Of course,” I answered, hoping my confidence was convincing.

“Good, then we don’t need to discuss it further.” She took a sip of her room-temperature water — I knew it was room temp because it had been part of my job as intern last year to make sure it was. “I’m depending on you to handle this kind of work so I don’t have to waste my time or energy. Use the intern if you need to.”

The intern.

Charlotte couldn’t even be bothered to call her by her name.

It was the same way for me, until I proved myself worthy last fall. Although I was in hot water before this season had even started, so I imagined last year didn’t matter much. Still, Charlotte had to see something in me — potential, grit, tenacity — otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.

I held onto that as she continued.

“Coach Sanders has informed me that he’d like the team to be more involved in giving back to the community,” she said without waiting for a response from me, and I knew the quick change in subject meant that she expected me to take care of the Clay situation — whatever that looked like. “He gave some touching sob story for his reasoning, but I know without needing clarification that it will make the team look good — and him by proxy. So,” she said, clicking her mouse a few times until my phone vibrated with a calendar alert. “Save the date for a team auction.”

“What will we be auctioning off?” I asked, adding the event with a tap of my thumb.

“The players.”

I coughed on a laugh, but covered it as clearing my throat when I saw Charlotte was serious.

“It will be a date auction, with the date activities donated by various people in the community who want to take part, and all the funds raised being given to charity.”

“Which charity?”

She waved her hand. “I don’t know, you pick one.”

I smiled, adding the task to my to-do list.

“You can go,” Charlotte said next, and then she balanced her dainty elbow on her desk, finger directed at me. “Get Johnson under control. I’m inviting Sarah Blackwell back for an exclusive on Chart Day and I want him happy as a clam to speak with her.”

I nodded, excusing myself without any verbal confirmation because I knew none was needed. And as soon as I ducked out of her office and closed the door behind me, I took a long, sweet breath that didn’t burn from the smoke my dragon of a boss loved to fill the room with.

In the next breath, determination sank in, and I set my stride toward the weight room.

All my life, I’d felt the desire to think differently, to act differently, to challenge myself and the world around me.

Growing up, I was left in the shadows, the unremarkable middle child in a stack of five annoyingly talented kids. I had two older sisters and two younger brothers, and as such, I slipped into the background of our family without much consequence.

I was the third girl, unremarkable in its own right, sentenced to wear hand-me-down clothes and never have the chance to form an identity of my own. Couple that with the fact that I had two brothers born not too long after me, the boys my parents had prayed for, and you could say I was as invisible as the dust collecting on the top of a ceiling fan. I only seemed to be noticed when I got in the way, when my presence became a nuisance or flared up someone’s allergies.

Still, I didn’t feel bitter growing up. The comparison game never really got to me. I thought it was spectacular that my oldest sister, Meghan, excelled at softball and went on to play in college, receiving a full-ride scholarship. I was in awe of my second oldest sister, Laura, getting into MIT. I knew without a doubt that she’d change the world with her passion for science engineering. And I had nothing but love for my younger brothers, Travis and Patrick, who were little inventors set to appear on Shark Tank once they got the right million-dollar idea hammered out.

If anything, I kind of loved existing in the forgotten space in-between. No one bothered me when I locked myself in my room for the weekend, reading and watching documentaries. With all my parents’ attention on my siblings, I was free to use my time exploring the world and what makes it tick, which was my favorite thing to do — aside from getting lost in a smutty, taboo romance novel.

It drove my mom insane that I didn’t have direction when I left for college. She also didn’t particularly like that I’d pulled away from the church when I was in high school, thanks to my self-education in religion and newfound questions that neither she nor our pastor could answer. Add in the fact that she found a gritty motorcycle club romance stuffed under my pillow and read a scene that made her clutch her pearls before declaring I was banned from reading anything like this ever again! And I guess you could say we weren’t exactly close.

But, to her credit, she didn’t spend much effort on trying to steer me toward a career path or toward the church, not before she’d sigh and give up and turn her focus back to one of her God-fearing children who had a good head on their shoulders.

What she couldn’t see, what no one could see, was that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life yet because I didn’t know enough about life itself.

I’d never traveled outside of New England, never had a boyfriend, and never even gotten close to second base, let alone to going all the way.

There was still so much of life I wanted to soak up and study before I committed to my role in it, which was a big reason why I pushed myself out of my comfort zone when I came to college and picked the major that was least suited for me.

Public Relations.

Putting me — the quiet, nerdy virgin — in charge of public perception just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. But that’s why I loved it. That’s why it was important to me.

It was unexpected, and different, and challenging.

And I wouldn’t stop until I’d mastered every aspect of it.