Just For the Cameras

Book 1: Bay Area Players

by Meghan Quinn

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

From New York Times bestselling author Meghan Quinn comes a sizzling sports romance full of flamingo feathers, slow-burn heat, and one grump-meets-sunshine love story that's anything but fake.

They're faking it for the cameras. But what if the sparks are real?

Graydon St. John doesn't do drama―or public appearances. The brooding defensive end for the San Francisco Foghorns prefers silence, solitude, and avoiding headlines. But when a league-wide PR scandal forces him into a media stunt at the city zoo, he's suddenly face-to-face with squawking birds, nosy fans, and the zookeeper who seems to hate his guts on sight.

Maple Baker loves her flamingos. Loud, pink, messy? Sure. But they're hers. And the last thing she needs is a grumpy football player stomping into her sanctuary with a bad attitude and a bigger ego. Unfortunately, they've been paired for the zoo's new public outreach program, and the cameras are already rolling.

The banter is sharp. The tension is electric. And the more they pretend to play nice for the press, the more their fake flirtation starts to feel like something dangerously real.

But when family secrets, viral fame, and a PR romance gone off-script threaten everything Maple's worked for, Graydon must decide if he's willing to fight for love―or let it slip away to protect her.

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Release date: February 3, 2026

Print pages: 626

Sample

PROLOGUE
GRAYDON

“There is a reason you’re all here today, and it’s because you’ve single-handedly made
every major sporting team in San Francisco unbearable to watch, unlikable, and frankly, a
mockery.”
“Um, I was actually just traded here,” the guy on the end says while raising his hand.
“Which says a lot about the trade, doesn’t it?”
Fuck, good burn.
Gretchen Michaels, San Francisco’s most sought-after crisis PR manager, picks up one of
the three files on the desk in front of her and pushes her chestnut-brown hair over her shoulder.
Wearing a bright-red pencil skirt and matching button-up shirt, she gives off the impression that
if you fuck with her, she has no problem ripping your testicles straight from your body. “Graydon
St. John. Defensive end for the San Francisco Foghorns. In nine years of starting, you’ve secured
a losing record for your team, appeared in zero playoff games, and disappointed the fans to the
point of having to promote half-price games throughout the year just to get fans to come and
support you.”
“Ouch,” the guy on the end says while rubbing the tops of his thighs.
I flash a death-inducing glare his way, and he winces, shrinking back into his chair.
Gretchen sets my file down and picks up the one next to it. Flipping it open with precision,
she says, “Bennett Brinkman. Third baseman for the San Francisco Bombers. Currently playing
your second full year with the team, and because you were not with them during their infamous
cheating scandal, you’re one of the few faces on the team who could save the franchise at this
point.” She glances up at him and purses her lips. “But given your lack of personality, I think the
chances of saving the team’s catastrophic twenty-seven percent drop in merchandise sales are
disappointingly low.”
Jesus.
She picks up the last file, and from the corner of my eye, I catch the guy on the end
fidgeting in his seat. Clearing her throat, she keeps her head down, but her eyes lift to look at
him. “Oden ‘OC’ O’Connor.”

“Present,” he says, raising his hand like a dweeb.
“Put your hand down.” He snatches his hand out of the air and rests it on his lap as she
continues. “Left wing for the new hockey expansion team, the San Francisco Rogue. Created by
a group of the most ruthless investors with the need to win, the team has brought together all the
bad blood of the hockey scene. With a take-no-prisoners model and a number one goal of
fighting with fists out on the ice, they haven’t really been welcomed into the Bay Area, which is
why you’re here. Apparently, your connection to the Vancouver Agitators is supposed to help
transition some good faith over to the team.”
“Aw, I love being used.”
Gretchen’s brow rises. “Are you always this mouthy?”
“Are you always this…schoolmarmy?”
“Excuse me?” She sets the file down, and he straightens in his seat, then gestures to the
room.
“Sorry, but don’t you think this is a little much? Intense? I thought we came here to get
assigned some after-work activities and be done, but I don’t know, you’re bringing down the
hammer on things that are not our fault.” He glances over at me. “Well, besides you. Given your
team record, it seems like your defense might not be up to snuff.”
I nearly growl as I hold back the tongue-lashing I want to give him.
The Foghorns suck, but not because of our defense. We can’t develop a franchise
quarterback because our offensive line is so goddamn terrible that the fucking guy spends most
games running around trying to save his own damn life from people like me rather than throwing
the ball.
“Actually, the reason Graydon is here is because he’s the one player on the team who
knows what he’s doing,” Gretchen says before I can tear this new guy a fresh asshole.
He winces. “Whoops, wrong call on the jab, then.” He offers me a thumbs-up. “Proud of
you, big guy.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Can we get to the point, please?”
She moves toward the front of the desk, leans against it, and crosses her arms. “For the
next few months, you’ll be spending every hour off the field and ice attempting to change the
public opinion about your team.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, irritation flooding me because this is the last fucking thing I
need right now.
“It means that your face will be plastered all over every form of social media available.
There will be news outlets and media picking up your stories. Your daily life will be put under a
microscope, just so your teams can make a few more bucks and salvage what shitty perception
they’re barely hanging on to.”
The room falls silent as her words slice through all three of us.
When I was drafted to play football professionally, I knew there’d be a side of the sport
that wouldn’t mesh with my lifestyle, and that’s being in the public eye. I grew up with a father
who was a professional football player, and I saw what the public’s opinion could do to someone.
I know the damage.
Lived the damage.
The nimrod on the end is the one to break the silence as he says, “Well, aren’t you a ray of
sunshine.”
Gretchen’s head snaps in his direction, causing him to shift in his seat. She pushes off the
desk and opens another folder, only to hand us each a piece of paper. “Your first assignment is
with the San Francisco Zoo.”
She has to be fucking kidding me.
“A zoo?” I deadpan. “How the fuck is volunteering at a zoo going to help with public
image?”
“People like animals, my man,” the hockey player says as he examines the leaflet.
“I’m not your man,” I snap back.
Gretchen slams the folder on the desk, bringing all of our attention back to her. “It’s best
that you three get along, because if there’s one thing I know for sure, none of you have a clause
in your contract that prevents you from mandatory public service, which means all three of you
will be spending a lot of time with each other over the next couple of months.” She smirks and
then moves around her desk. “Any questions?”
“What if we say no?” I ask, because this is the last thing I want.
Letting the public into my life brings questions.
Questions breach privacy.
And privacy is everything to me.

Gretchen smirks at me as she sits on the desk and crosses one leg over the other. “You
don’t have the option to say no.”
Fuck.

CHAPTER ONE

GRAYDON

Three…two…one…
I drop the battle ropes to the ground, my shoulders burning. “Fuck!” I yell as my hands fall
to my hips and I walk off the fatigue from the physical exertion I just put myself through.
“Jesus, man. I think the seagulls out on the bay just heard that.”
Hutton Marshall, wide receiver for the Foghorns, and the only glimmer of hope for the
offense, hands me my water bottle.
I squirt some water into my mouth and continue to pace, letting my shoulders take a break
after a grueling workout.
“Any reason you seem like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off?”
I pick up a white towel with the Foghorns logo printed on it and wipe away the sweat
dripping down my face, neck, and chest.
Turning to him, I ask, “Does your contract state that you can’t be forced into any
mandatory public appearances with the team?”
“Doesn’t everybody’s?” he asks, as if it’s a dumb question. “And if I’m required to show
up, I’m compensated. Why? Is that not in your contract?”
I shake my head, already dreaming up the email that fires my agent. “No, it’s not,” I growl
before squirting more water in my mouth. “Which is why I have to go to the fucking zoo today
for some new initiative to make the team look better.”
“Wait…what?” he asks.
“Apparently, the owners of the Foghorns, Bombers, and Rogue came up with a bullshit
plan to create a sense of community with the sports teams here, and I’m the lucky motherfucker
who was picked for the job.”
“Shit.” He chuckles, which makes me shoot a glare his way. At six foot five and two
hundred and eighty-eight pounds of rock-hard muscle, I’m not a fucker to be messed with. “I
mean, uh…dude, that sucks. Can’t your agent get you out of it?”
“No, he’s the dickhead who got me into this mess.”
And sure, I told him to lock me in with the Foghorns with a no-trade clause so I could
remain here for the longevity of my career, but Jesus Christ, I didn’t mean give away all my
goddamn rights.
“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to a fucking zoo today.”
He winces. “By yourself?”
I shake my head and move toward the mats, where I grab a band and start stretching my
sore muscles. “No. There are two dickheads from the Bombers and the Rogue coming too.”
“Is it Asher Peppers?” Hutton asks. “I went to school with him at Brentwood. When I
moved back here, I tried meeting up with him, but he’s been a recluse.”
“No, some new kid. He didn’t speak once the entire time. Bennett Brinkman.”
“Oh yeah, he’s the third baseman. Fucking killer of an arm. He has potential to be a
franchise player.”
“How do you know this?” I ask.
“I pay attention to what’s going on in our city. Doesn’t hurt to make friends with people
other than me, you know?”
“I’m barely friends with you.”
He clutches his chest. “You wound me, man.” He helps me stretch my hamstrings as I lie
back and he pushes at my ankle. “Who’s the other guy?”
I roll my eyes. “Some clown who’s going to test me.”
A smile creeps over his mouth. “Is it Oden O’Connor?”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
He chuckles. “He’s the only Rogue player I could think of who’d be even slightly
marketable to the public. The rest of the team are a bunch of assholes, castaways, and players
who are too much of a problem to deal with. The owners put them all on the same team. It’s
going to be a recipe for disaster, and I can’t fucking wait to watch it play out.”
“Well, he’s a moron.”
“I’ve seen his socials; he’s more…lighthearted. He came from the Vancouver Agitators. I
remember the uproar around the trade. I don’t think the dude has a fighting chance on that team.
They’re going to eat him up.”
“Why did they sign him if he’s not like the others?” I ask, hating my curiosity because the
less I know about the other guys, the better.
“Because they needed someone fast and someone who could score; he was the one.”
“Well, he seems like a tool.”

I switch legs and Hutton pushes at my heel, almost giving me more of a stretch than I can
handle, but I breathe it out.
“So what do you think you’re going to do at the zoo?” he asks.
“No fucking idea, but I can tell you one thing I won’t be doing.”
“Making friends?”
“That and picking up animal shit.”
“They’re not going to have you do that. If anything, they’ll probably take pictures of you
holding your arm out while a bird rests on you. People will think it’s cute and then you move on
with your life. Seriously, this public appearance shit is a breeze. Show up, smile, move on.”
“Yeah, I fucking hope so.”

* * *

Gretchen Michaels: Reminder: You’re expected to smile, take pictures, and sign anything
held your way. You are yes-men, you’re there to help, show interest, and attempt to look like
God’s gift to San Francisco. Any other behavior, and you’ll be fined by your respective teams.
I stare down at the text and hold back a growl. I don’t think I’ve ever hated a woman the
way I hate her.
Sign everything held my way?
That’s easy for her to say. She doesn’t have to protect the value of her autograph. I barely
sign anything now unless it’s for a kid because I learned from Daddy Dearest to limit autographs
as much as possible. Looks like that’s about to change.
Grumbling, I open the door to my truck and heft my sore body onto the paved concrete of
the back lot of the zoo. Luckily, they allowed us the option of private parking to avoid any run-
ins with fans.
As I lock up my truck, I glance down at the two text messages waiting to be opened.
One from Gretchen…and one from my dad.
Gretchen: Meet up at Gate B, your zookeeper and Phil will be waiting for you.
Next I pull up the text from my dad as my shoulders tense just from his name popping up
on my screen.
Troy St. John: Don’t let this zoo situation distract you from what the hell you’re really
supposed to be doing. You need to be focused, because I’ll be damned if you embarrass me.
What a fuckwit.

As if I fucking care what he thinks.
Pocketing my phone, I start to head toward the gate but spot Oden O’Connor standing
directly in front of me.
“Jesus,” I say, taking a step back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Thought we could walk in together.”
I adjust my black shirt before moving past him and saying, “I’m good.”
“You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he says as he matches my stride. “Trust
me, this is the last fucking thing I want to do as well.”
Ignoring him, I keep pushing forward toward the green gate marked with a B.
“And it might not hurt to, I don’t know, communicate since we’re in this together.”
“You can fuck off,” I say, reaching the gate just as it opens, with Gretchen and Bennett
standing on the other side.
“You’re late,” Gretchen says.
“The fuck I am,” I say. “I’m five minutes early.”
“Which means you’re late. I wanted you here at least ten minutes early.”
Who the fuck does she think she is?
“Then maybe you should say that,” I shoot back, really not in the mood for her sass, or
anyone’s for that matter.
I’m a moody dick as it is, but put me in a situation I don’t want to be in and you make me
almost unbearable.
She purses her lips and gives me a slow once-over as she juts her hip out, looking to put
me in my place. “Might I remind you about the attitude you’re supposed to have at these
outings?”
“We’re still backstage,” I say. “Out of the public eye.”
“But there are employees all around.” She clenches her teeth. “So plaster a smile on that
disgruntled face of yours and act the part.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch OC smirk, which of course makes me want to smack
him right into the fence, but I hold back the urge, creating another layer of tension that tightens
my shoulders.
“Follow me, boys.” In her pencil skirt, she leads the way through the back area of the zoo.
Dirty golf carts are lined up one right after the other, while dumpsters, shovels, wheelbarrows,

and bins flank the sides of the worn-down, paint-chipped buildings. Seems like they only put
their money into the publicly viewed spaces.
We zigzag through some alleyways and then pass through the door of a large building with
a thatched roof. Impractical, but also not my problem.
When we enter, a balding man in a navy blue suit with an annoyingly cheery disposition
greets us. His eyes light up with excitement as we approach—he’s clearly a fan despite our
terrible reputations.
Gretchen clears her throat and says, “I would like you to meet Phil Foreman. He’s the VP
of public relations at the zoo. We’ve spent a great deal of time on the phone and he can’t be more
excited to have you three here, helping and bringing more awareness to the zoo. Phil, please
meet Bennett, Oden, and Graydon.”
Phil steps forward and shakes our hands. I offer him a curt smile and try to erase the
permanent scowl from my forehead.
“What an absolute pleasure to meet you,” Phil says as he clasps his hands together in front
of him. “When Gretchen proposed the idea of having you come out and help around the zoo, I
must say, I squealed in excitement.”
Squealed?
Who says—
“I might have squealed myself,” OC says, rocking on his heels. “Love animals.”
Oh, that’s who.
What a fucking kiss-ass. Jesus, and he thought we were going to be friends and
commiserate? Not going to fucking happen.
“Then you’re in the right place,” Phil says. He turns to Gretchen and asks, “Have you
informed them of what they’ll be doing?”
Gretchen shakes her head and smiles. “I thought I’d give you that honor.”
“Oh, wonderful. Well then, follow me.”
Follow him?
Why does this feel like a setup?
He leads us out of the building and straight into the main area of the zoo. I half expected a
media session with cameras and a photo opportunity, but instead, he offers us a seat on a three-
row golf cart.

Huh, maybe the media opportunity is somewhere else.
Since I’m the biggest guy here, I hop on the back of the golf cart on the rear-facing seat,
only for OC to slide in right next to me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snarl at him, trying to move my shoulder away from his.
“Catching a ride. Not going to fucking walk next to the golf cart.”
“Sit next to that Phil guy,” I reply, wanting to spread my goddamn legs.
“There’s a cooler up there.”
“Are we fighting?” Gretchen asks, turning around from where she’s seated next to Bennett.
“Nope,” I say as I try to move my body as close to my side as possible, but I feel like a
sardine next to OC. The guy isn’t as big as me, but he’s still fucking huge, and I’m sure it’s a
comical sight watching us try to fit into this golf cart together.
“Hold on,” Phil says as he starts the golf cart and pushes forward. “Whoa, this baby has
probably never carried around this amount of muscle.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes as we move through the zoo, onlookers pointing as we drive
by.
Camera phones point at us.
Visitors gawk.
And I can feel my defenses rising.
I’m already uncomfortable.
And it’s been five minutes.
Phil pulls up shortly to another building and puts the golf cart in park. When he hops out,
he gestures to us to follow him behind a fence, out of the public eye.
Once again, there’s no media anywhere.
What the hell is going on?
We gather around, OC standing next to me, Bennett next to him, and Gretchen tapping
away on her phone as Phil clasps his hands together looking like a proud motherfucker about to
deliver us delightful news.
My guess is, I’m about to despise what comes out of his mouth.
Clearing his throat, he smiles at us. “This is an opportunity we never thought we’d secure,
so to have you three here means so much to the board of directors, our staff, and most
importantly, our animals.” Yeah, because animals can sense three celebrity athletes in the

confines of their captivity. “Since Gretchen didn’t break the news to you, I’ll bring you up to
speed.” Irritation creeps up my neck because I can feel it; I know it’s coming. This is not going
to be an easy media day. No, I think I’m about to be sentenced. “For the next two months, you
will be the official liaisons for the zoo, focusing with zookeepers on a specific animal to raise
awareness, generate funds, and create a habitat that enriches the visitors’ experience.”
The fuck did he just say?
Did he just say two months?
Two fucking months?
“Wait, two months?” I ask as Gretchen tears her eyes off her phone and stares me down, a
warning in the form of a devil’s gaze.
“Yes, I know, we wish it was longer too,” Phil replies.
Not what I was getting at.
“But you are welcome to help out longer once you become acquainted. It will probably be
hard to step away once you get into the swing of things and start interacting with the animals.”
Trust me, I’m willing to step away right fucking now.
Phil rubs his hands together. “I know what you must be thinking…”
I hope my agent burns in hell—that’s what I’m thinking.
“What animal are you going to be assigned to? Well, this is the best part.” He pauses for
effect, as if we’re waiting for the results with uncontained glee. Between the three of us
jackasses, my money is on OC to actually be excited.
“Bennett, you’ll be with the lions.”
I glance at Bennett, who nods with a soft smile. Such a newbie; life as a professional
athlete hasn’t scarred him yet.
“Oden, you’ll be with the giraffes.”
“I fucking love giraffes,” OC says with way too much pep.
“Language,” Gretchen warns.
“Right. Sorry.”
“And Graydon…” He pauses, and I swear, for a fucking second, I can see an evil glint in
his eye. Like what he’s about to say is a part of some master plan to piss me off. “We paired you
with the flamingos.”
Flamingos?

OC snorts next to me.
The corner of Bennett’s lip turns up.
And Gretchen doesn’t even bother hiding her delight.
He’s kidding, right?
I have to be paired with fucking flamingos?
For two months?
“Flamingos? Really?” I ask.
Phil nods. “Yes…flamingos.”
No.
Fucking.
Way. ...