Halftime Husband (Sassy in the City 5)

Once I was out of the stadium though and in my car, I called my assistant. I had my phone connected to the car’s speaker so I was hands-free.

“Congratulations,” he said. “It’s great to start a season with a win.”

“It is. Listen, I have a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I fucked a cheerleader,” I said. What kind of a coincidence was that anyway? Insane. Though she was a dancer. Maybe not as insane as you would think.

“Excuse me?” Carson sounded bewildered.

“Remember when we went out on Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes, and you left with someone ten minutes after we got there.”

“I just saw her today. On the sideline. She’s a cheerleader.” I pulled out of the parking lot. “I fucked a cheerleader.”

“Can you please stop saying that? It’s freaking me out.”

“It’s freaking me out. I can’t let anyone catch wind of this. I need you to research her and figure out some reason to call her into my office so I can talk to her. I need to make sure she’s not going to trash me publicly.”

“Did you ghost her?”

“No! She ghosted me.”

“Then why would she trash you?”

“I have no idea. I just need to make sure everything is cool between us. This would look bad, right? I mean, the coach shouldn’t be having sex with a cheerleader.” And damn, that sex. That repeated, dirty, hotter-than-hell sex.

“Please tell me she’s not like nineteen or twenty. That would raise a few eyebrows.”

Carson was my liaison to the media. He knew protocol and was there to guide and give me advice.

“No, I would say she’s more like twenty-seven or twenty-eight. I didn’t ask, but she mentioned that she moved to New York ten years ago, plus she said something about having to compete with eighteen-year-olds auditioning for the same jobs she does.” I didn’t think for one minute we would have had anything to talk about if she had only been nineteen. Then again, we hadn’t done much talking. “Oh, and she dated Dante Marksman about a year ago. She left him at the altar.” In a manner of speaking. “I was the guy who helped her get out of there when she ran.”

“Oh, dear God,” Carson said.

“To be fair, I didn’t know who she was at the time. I had no idea she was Marksman’s girlfriend.”

“You mean when you had sex with her? That’s a whole new layer.”

“No, they broke up the night of the wedding. We didn’t do anything that night other than go ice-skating.” We had kissed, but that was none of Carson’s business. “I ran into her on Valentine’s Day like I said and, well, I went home with her.”

I got on the highway, heading toward Manhattan. I knew people thought I was insane living in Manhattan when the team played

in New Jersey, but I had wanted the whole New York City experience. Living in New Jersey wouldn’t have been much different than living in suburban Washington. But Willow’s social issues had me questioning my decision.

“Okay. Got it. I’m on it. What’s her name?”

“Dakota.”

“Last name?”

“I have no idea. She’s tall and blonde. She’s probably six foot. She has really, really long legs.” That had wrapped around me while I had been inside her. I cleared my throat.

“If there’s more than one Dakota I’ll make sure to focus on the one with really, really long legs.”

I couldn’t even get mad at his tone. I was being ridiculous. “Sarcasm looks good on you, buddy. Keep it up.”