The Sweet Life #2: Lies and Omissions by Francine Pascal (ebook reader 7 inch .txt) 📕

pretty sure she couldn’t sit down without giving away the show. Her sparkling, platform Jimmy Choo stilettos were sky-high, and everything about her outfit screamed sex.

She looked good enough to eat, and she knew it.

Getting past security at the stadium had been a breeze. Her name was still on the players’ private guest list. She took it as a good sign that Ken hadn’t yet thought to strike her name. It wasn’t exactly an offer of reconciliation, but Lila chose to see it that way.

She waited outside the men’s locker room in her dangerously high heels, feeling a bit overdressed in the concrete-encased hallway leading to the showers. She was also starting to feel a tad bit nervous. The longer she stood outside the locker room, the more she started to doubt her plan. What if Ken left by a different door? Was there another door to the locker room? Honestly, she couldn’t remember. Lila had only ever gone to two other games before. She’d barely taken an interest in his career before now, much less the layout of the stadium.

Now she began to worry that maybe there was another exit on the other side, closer to the parking lot. Every so often, a coach or player would pass by and give her the eye. Even the married ones couldn’t quite keep their eyes off her.

“Can I get you something, Mrs. Matthews?” asked a red-faced intern who was probably in college but looked like he was a freshman in high school. His face burned bright red and he couldn’t look Lila in the face. His eyes landed in a fixed position about six inches lower.

“No, I’m fine…. Actually, it is drafty out here. Do you think I could go in and look for my husband?”

“Actually, women who don’t have press credentials aren’t allowed…”

Lila batted her eyelashes and arched her back a little. That was all it took. The intern swung the door open and Lila walked into the locker room that smelled vaguely of soap, dirty uniforms, and man sweat. Men in various states of undress, more than a few completely naked, walked past her.

Nearly all of them were in prime physical condition. Washboard abs jumped out at her from every direction, at least among the non-linemen. Lila tried to focus and look for Ken, but it was a little like trying to find a zebra in a herd. Everywhere she looked, she saw a chest that looked like his—broad and packed with muscle.

The men in the locker room took note of her appearance, too, and followed her with their eyes. Lila caught a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby mirror, along with those of the men who were staring at her as she walked, and she got a new boost of confidence. She could have any man in this locker room, and she wanted Ken. Ergo, he would be hers.

Then she saw him. He was fully dressed in flat-front khakis and a crisp Oxford shirt, looking his adorable, puppy-dog self, his hair still damp from the shower. He had a ring of reporters around him, the bright lights of the cameras in his face, and yet he handled them with ease.

Lila watched, realizing she’d forgotten how good Ken was on camera, how he shared credit with his teammates naturally and how he always came across as the affable, approachable Mr. All-American. He ended the impromptu press conference with a self-deprecating joke, and the reporters laughed. He smiled good-naturedly, then met Lila’s gaze from across the room. His smile disappeared and his eyes turned hard.

“Okay, well, that’s enough for today,” he said to the reporters, who seemed satisfied with what they had. Ken shut his locker and turned his back on her.

“Ken!” Lila called. “Ken, wait!” But Ken was already on the move. Lila knew Ken heard her, and yet he didn’t even bother to turn around. He slung his black duffel bag over one shoulder and kept walking. She began moving in his direction, but one of the reporters stepped in front of her, halting her progress.

“Lila Matthews?” he asked. He was hardly taller than she was, but he had a bright white smile and friendly eyes. She’d seen him on one of the networks, but she couldn’t remember which one. “It is you! Guys, we have a real celebrity here. This is the beautiful Lila Fowler Matthews from True Housewives. Hey—would you say a few quick words for your fans?”

A cameraman appeared by the reporter’s side and the lens fixed on her. For a second, Lila forgot all about Ken. She couldn’t help it. The camera—and what it promised—was too hypnotic.

It was one thing to flirt with any of the half-naked guys in the locker room. She could resist them. But the camera? That was a whole other story.

Two other cameras appeared before her. She had to say something.

“Well, it’s been such a treat to be on the show,” she began. She arched her back a little and flipped her newly dark, flat-ironed hair off one shoulder.

“We hear there might be trouble between you and Ken. Any truth to that?”

“No, we’re working things out,” Lila said as she stood up a little bit straighter. No sooner had the words popped out of her mouth than she realized she’d been sidetracked from her mission. She glanced around the locker room but saw Ken had already made it to the exit. She saw him walk straight through the door.

For a second, she couldn’t decide: Stay and flirt with the cameras or go after her husband. Eventually, Ken won out. But it was a close call.

“Sorry, guys. Gotta go,” she said as she shimmied from them and tottered away on her sky-high heels. She pushed open the heavy metal door and found herself in the parking lot bathed in the pink and orange glow of the recent sunset. She found Ken standing by his car, a brand-new black Porsche 911 convertible.

But he wasn’t alone. Ashley Morgan, unabashed husband-stealer and her