Rumor Has It I'm Dating the Football Captain

Chapter 79: Chapter 79: Her Rules, His Signature

The air conditioning in the Florida hotel room hummed loudly, but it did nothing to cool the boiling anger in Mason’s chest.

He stood by the window, staring out at the dark, humid Miami skyline. He held a brand-new phone in his hand. The screen lit up with a new text message.

Elena: My father is hosting the London scouts for dinner tomorrow at eight. Wear the black suit. Smile for the cameras.

Mason stared at the message. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. He did not reply. He tossed the phone onto the unmade bed and ran a hand through his dark hair.

He was completely trapped in a cage, but he was not going to sit there and wait for Elena to lock the door.

Mason walked over to the small desk in the corner of the room. He pulled out a piece of hotel stationery and a black pen. He sat down and started writing.

Director Hayes controlled the National Development Academy. He controlled the tier-one draft rankings. He controlled which players the European scouts were allowed to formally interview during camp hours. That was Elena’s entire leverage. If Mason dumped her, her father would simply erase Mason’s name from the official academy recommendation list.

But Director Hayes did not control the actual European clubs.

Mason wrote down three names on the paper. They were the lead scouts for the top London and Madrid clubs.

This was the International Football Association (IFA). The European leagues operated on global transfer windows and direct contracts. If Mason could bypass Director Hayes entirely and sign a pre-contract directly with a European scout, the academy’s draft ranking would become completely useless. Hayes would lose all his power, and Elena would lose her leverage.

Mason picked up his phone. He did not call Audrey. He could not drag her into this mess until he was completely free.

He opened his contacts and dialed a number he had saved months ago. It rang four times.

Hello? a sharp, fast-paced voice answered.

Marcus, Mason said, keeping his voice low. It is Mason Calloway.

Marcus was an independent sports agent based out of New York. He had tried to sign Mason last year, but Mason had decided to enter the academy unrepresented to save on agency fees.

Calloway, Marcus sounded highly surprised. I saw the pictures online tonight. Congratulations on the boss’s daughter. You are making big moves.

The pictures are fake, Mason stated bluntly. I am being blackmailed by the Director. If I drop his daughter, he blacklists me from the official academy scout interviews.

The line went dead silent for three seconds. Marcus was a shark. He smelled blood in the water immediately.

That is highly illegal, Marcus said. His voice dropped into a serious, business-focused tone. What do you need?

I need you to fly down to Miami tomorrow, Mason instructed. I need you to set up a private, off-the-books meeting with the lead scout from the London club. Do not go through the academy. Do it quietly.

You want to sign a direct pre-contract, Marcus realized. If you sign directly with the club, Hayes cannot touch you. He cannot block an international signature.

Exactly, Mason confirmed. I will pay your full commission fee. Just get me in a room with that scout before the end of the week.

I am booking my flight right now, Marcus promised. Keep playing the part, Calloway. Smile for the cameras. I will handle the rest.

Mason hung up the phone.

He looked at the dark window. A fierce, relentless determination settled into his chest. He was going to secure his professional contract, he was going to destroy Elena’s leverage, and then he was going to fly straight back to campus.

The campus study room was completely empty. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead.

Zoya sat at the long wooden table. Her posture was perfectly straight. She wore a crisp white button-down shirt and her dark-rimmed glasses. She had a manila folder resting on the table in front of her.

The heavy door pushed open.

Jackson walked in. He was wearing a faded gray t-shirt and his dark team sweatpants. He dropped his heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. He ran a hand through his messy brown hair and looked at her.

He did not look arrogant. He just looked highly amused.

You texted me an exact room number and a strict time requirement, Jackson noted. He pulled out the chair directly across from her and sat down. Are we studying, encyclopedia?

Zoya did not smile. She slid the manila folder across the smooth table.

Open it, Zoya commanded cleanly.

Jackson raised a dark eyebrow. He reached out and flipped the folder open. Inside was a three-page document, neatly typed, with bullet points and bold headings.

He stared at the first page. He let out a loud, rough laugh.

Are you serious right now? Jackson asked. He looked up at her. You wrote a legal contract for a casual arrangement?

It is a mutual agreement of terms, Zoya corrected flatly. If we are going to engage in a friends with benefits arrangement, we need parameters. Chaos leads to emotional complications. I do not do chaos.

Jackson leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest. Okay. Walk me through it.

Zoya folded her hands on the table. She treated him exactly like a hostile witness.

Section one details the schedule, Zoya explained. We are both busy. You have football training, and I have law seminars. We will meet twice a week. Tuesdays and Fridays after nine o’clock. My apartment or your dorm, depending on roommate vacancy.

Jackson looked at the paper. You put my physical satisfaction on a spreadsheet.

Zoya’s face flushed a very faint shade of pink, but she completely ignored his comment.

Section two details public behavior, Zoya continued, speaking a little faster. We do not acknowledge this arrangement in public. We do not sit together in the cafeteria. We do not text unless it is regarding logistics.

So I am still your dirty secret, Jackson summarized. His voice lacked its usual humor.

We are keeping it professional, Zoya countered stubbornly. Turn to page two. Section four.

Jackson flipped the page. He scanned the text. His dark eyes suddenly widened.

Health and Safety, Jackson read out loud. He looked back up at her, an incredibly wicked, teasing smirk spreading across his face. You want to talk about health and safety?

Yes, Zoya said. She forced her voice to remain entirely clinical, even though her heart was pounding a little faster than she liked. During our first two encounters, we were highly irresponsible.

Jackson leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the table. We were distracted.

We lacked discipline, Zoya corrected sharply. Luckily, we did not cross the absolute final boundary either time. We stopped before full physical conclusion. But moving forward, that will likely change.

Jackson’s smirk deepened. Likely?

Statistically probable, Zoya muttered, glaring at her own hands. Therefore, I require strict adherence to barrier methods. Protection is non-negotiable. I cannot afford an unplanned medical situation during my midterms.

Jackson stared at her. He watched the way she kept her chin tilted high. He saw the strict, unyielding wall of logic she was using to completely distance herself from the intimacy.

He did not argue with her. He did not make a joke about the protection.

He just picked up a black pen from the center of the table.

He flipped to the very last page of the document. He signed his name on the bottom line with a quick, messy scrawl.

Zoya blinked in surprise. She watched him slide the folder back across the table.

You are agreeing to all the terms? Zoya asked suspiciously. Just like that?

I told you in the alley, Jackson said quietly. His dark eyes locked directly onto hers. I accept your deal.

Zoya carefully pulled the folder back toward her. She felt a massive rush of relief. She had total control of the situation again. She had successfully boxed him into a logical, emotionless corner.

Good, Zoya said. She closed the folder. Then I will see you on Tuesday at nine.

She stood up from her chair. She grabbed her leather tote bag. She turned around to walk out of the study room.

Zoya.

She stopped. She looked back over her shoulder.

Jackson was still sitting at the table. He was watching her. The intense, burning heat in his eyes was entirely confident.

You can write as many contracts as you want, Jackson told her. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble in the quiet room. You can schedule the days. You can set all the rules.

Zoya simply adjusted her glasses. I did.

It is not going to save you, Jackson promised softly.

Zoya let out a dry, dismissive scoff. Her logical brain did not short-circuit. She just looked at him with mild, clinical pity.

I don’t need saving, Zoya stated smoothly. I just need you to be on time.

She turned around and walked out of the study room. Her heavy boots clicked rapidly down the academic hallway. She clutched the manila folder tightly to her chest. She had the signature. She had the agreement.

As she stepped out into the freezing campus air, Zoya felt completely in control. Jackson was just a cocky athlete playing a game he didn’t understand. Her logic was bulletproof. Her heart was perfectly secure.