He Promised Me a Ring, Then Proposed to a Supermodel On‑Air

"Hold still." I pulled the white athletic tape tight across his ankle.

Jude Rossi smirked down at me from the locker room bench. "You're too rough on me, Lila."

"You want the joint supported or not?" I refused to look up.

He reached down. His fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up.

"I want you to admit you're crazy about me."

"Someone will hear you." My eyes darted toward the closed door.

"Let them." He dropped his hand. "I'm tired of hiding."

My stomach executed a nervous flip. "What are you saying?"

"Just watch the pre-game press conference." Jude stood up, testing his weight on the taped foot. "I've got a surprise for you."

"Jude, don't do anything stupid. It's Game Seven."

"Winning is guaranteed." He grabbed his jersey from the hook. "And after that, everything changes for us."

I stood in the cramped backstage broadcast room half an hour later. The wall-mounted television flickered with the live feed.

"He's looking cocky today." Marcus, the team's PR director, crossed his arms.

"He always looks cocky."

On the screen, a reporter shoved a microphone toward Jude.

"Rossi! Any final words before the biggest game of your career?"

Jude leaned forward. His dark eyes locked onto the camera lens.

"If we win the championship today, I will announce my marriage."

The press room on the television erupted into absolute chaos.

Marcus spat out his coffee. "What did he just say?"

I gripped the edge of the metal table.

"Did you know about this?" Marcus spun to face me. "You're his assistant!