“That bitch!” Ara yells over the phone. “I'm going to her apartment and burning all her books.”

“I'm not sure she has any,” I reply with a smile. I'm not happy with what I'm reading on my ex's Instagram account, but I am pleased that Ara sounds normal.

In the past couple of days, she's been weirdly distant. And her trying to hook me up with the shark makes no sense unless…unless Ara remembers that I mauled her on Bowl night and she's trying to gently place me back into my friend slot.

I take off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. Ara and everyone else thinks I stopped drinking because of my training, but I really laid off the booze because the last time I partied, I think I attacked my friend. I'm not really sure. I have flashes of memory from that night—of bare limbs, taut nipples, and scorching slickness.

I broached the topic the following morning, telling her that I was sorry I was so drunk and if I'd done anything to offend her, she should let me know.

I have no idea what you're talking about Ty, was her uncharacteristically cold response. And that was that. Subject closed. I could tell by the expression on her face that I shouldn't ever bring it up again.

And I haven't. I wish I could remember everything, but, then again, isn't it better that I don't? Remembering that I had my mouth on her body, her tit in my mouth, my fingers inside of her but never, ever being able to relive it again would probably give me bluer balls than a Smurf has.

“Where does she get off saying that you're unreliable and can't be trusted? She's the one who broke up with you. Three times!” Ara's ranting. I take comfort in that. We're the same. No matter what I did in the past, she still considers me her best friend.

“Taking her back might be the character flaw that kills my draft prospects,” I tease.

“Don't even joke about this,” Ara huffs. “I'm making a dummy account right now and am going to blast her for all I'm worth.”

“Sure. No one is going to believe an account that's a day old and anonymous isn't related to me.”

Ara stops talking, but her silent fuming is probably making the cell phone towers quake in fear.

My phone beeps and the screen says my agent is calling.

“I gotta go. My agent's on the phone.”

“I swear to God, that girl's gonna die. She better be ordering a big fat steak with cheesecake for dessert because it's going to be the last meal she eats.” With that, Ara hangs up.

I can just see her hurling the phone on the bed. It makes me smile for the first time since I got the twenty or so alerts that I was being smeared all over social media. The worst stuff is on the anonymous community board where I'm being accused of everything from forcing Rhyann to abort my baby to cheating on her with an underage townie.

I answer reluctantly and brace myself for a lecture.

“What's going on, Masters?” Dana demands.

“Hello to you, too.”

“I got a scout asking why your online profile is so messy these days. I had to assure him that you were not, in fact, under investigation for any statutory rape charges.”

I blanch. I hadn't realized those underground rumors were out there. Still, now's not the time to show any fear. “All that stuff is bullshit, Dana. You know that. My nose is cleaner than an operating room.”

“Then go buy that girl a piece of jewelry and a pair of expensive shoes and tell her to shut the fuck up.”

“Gifts aren't going to get her to delete this stuff. I'd be surprised if she even answered the door if I appeared in front of her.” Rhyann has her own money, anyway. Or, her family has money.

“If she's not bribable, then we threaten her. Give me her number and I'll tell her that if she doesn't take this post down and apologize, we're going to make her into the next college porn star.”

Alarm spikes. “No. We're not doing that. This’ll die down soon enough.”

“Uh-huh, because you've been drafted before so you know all.”

I drag my tongue along the inside of my lip and think of all the ways I can crush Dana between my two hands. After several seconds of strained violence, I say, “We're not going there.”

Dana launches into a lengthy rant about how I've hired him to protect my interests but I'm tying his hands. I place Dana on speaker and leave the phone on the bed. Walking over to the window, I pull down the slats of the shade. From here, if I really crane my neck, I can make out Ara's apartment complex.

If she made even the first sign that she wanted me, I'd be over there in a heartbeat. But she's turned me down cold. I can get the hint. Her friendship is too precious for me to fuck it up with sex. I can get that anywhere. I won't find someone as loyal, kind, funny as Ara. Or as hot, my dick reminds me.

I bang my head against the blinds.

“You there, Masters?”

“Yes,” I call out.

“If you don't like my plans, tell me how you're going to fix this.”

I spot a blonde ponytail bouncing down the sidewalk and an idea springs to mind. “Let me call you back.”

* * *

“You look great, Bryant.” I give my coach's daughter a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“Thanks, sweetie. You are looking amazing yourself.” She pats me on the arm and takes a seat. “What's up?”

I push a sweet tea in her direction. “This good?”

“Of course. You're so thoughtful.” Bryant's the type of girl who'd say that even if she hated sweet tea, but after five years of her hanging around the football team and having dinners with her family, I know what she likes. Sweet tea and sweet cakes.

Just on cue, the waitress stops by with the lemon meringue pie I'd ordered along with the protein shake I'm planning to have.

“This is for me, too?” Bryant taps her chest. “Why, Ty Masters, I feel like you're buttering me up for something and I'm here for it.” She gives me a wink and dives into her dessert.

“I'm here to butter you up,” I acknowledge and push the card across the table. “You know her?”

The coach’s daughter pats her mouth with a napkin before picking up the card. “Kathleen Leighton. Is she a professor?”

“No. College student. Senior.”

She taps the corner of the card against her cheek. “Sounds familiar. Let me look her up.”

I wait, drinking my spinach and carrot concoction, as Bryant taps diligently on her phone screen.

A little furrow appears in her forehead. “Hmm. Not in any house. What's her major?”

“I don't know.” I think of her blunt proposal. “Business, maybe?”

“Can you tell me a little more about how you came to get this card?”

“Sure. She saw Rhyann dump me last weekend and gave this to Ara afterward, saying that she wanted to fill the empty girlfriend position.”

Bryant coughs in apparent surprise. She sets her glass down and pats the corners of her mouth. “Give a girl a warning before you say outrageous things.”

“It's the truth.”

“You have an empty girlfriend position?” she asks, although she has to know by now about the scene at the café as well as Rhyann's ugly social media slurs. Bryant's all knowing—at least when it comes to the football team.

“And a rapidly diminishing reputation. I just got off the phone with my agent who wanted to go nuclear on Rhyann. Which I'm not going to do,” I quickly add when Bryant's expression grows concerned. “But maybe if I have a current girlfriend, people will chalk Rhyann's shit up to jealousy.”

“Maybe,” Bryant muses.

“Plus, being in a committed relationship will help elevate my draft stock.” Ara must believe this as well since she gave out my phone number like it was candy on Halloween. Easy and without a second thought.

“You're considering this girl instead of all the other ones you know?” Bryant asks as she delicately forks a tiny morsel of pie into her mouth.

“Well, you're taken.”

“I wasn't referring to me.”

I give her a confused look.

She doesn't roll her eyes, but close enough. “I see you aren't ready for that concept so I'll move along. I can certainly find out more information for you.”

“Honest opinion, Bryant. You've been around football as much as anyone. You think having a partner is going to help me in the draft?”

She sets her fork down. “My dad had several calls this morning as to whether there was any investigation going on about Rhyann's accusations, I'm sorry to say. He assured them that there wasn't a more upstanding student athlete than yourself, but…” She trails off.

“But rumors have a way of taking on a life of their own,” I finish grimly.

“Unfortunately. I don't know if you being single is going to hurt you, but having a partner wouldn’t hurt you, so long as she wasn't scandalous. Which”—she holds up the card—“I doubt this woman is.”

“Right.”

“But there are other options.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I think you'll figure out what those are when you're good and ready.”

“There you are. I thought you were coming over to the house.” Ace appears at our table, bending over to kiss his girlfriend’s cheek.

“I was, but Ty lured me here with cake.”

My former QB pulls a chair over and straddles it. “Where's my pie?”

“Is your name Bryant?” I ask.

“It can be for a piece of lemon meringue.”

“I'll get it for you, baby,” Bryant offers.

“Nah, you rest your pretty feet. Ty here will get it for us.”

I rise before I get buried in sugar. “On that note, I'm gonna leave.”

“Got an appointment?” Ace asks.

“I do now.”

I slap him on the back. Bryant places a hand on my arm before I can walk off.

I glance down at her. “Yeah?”

“I want to clarify what I said before. A partner could help your draft stock but hurt other areas of your life, so you want to be careful.”

“And are you going to tell me what I should be careful of or is that one of those cryptic areas where I'll know it when I'm ready?”

“The latter, sweetie.”

“Don't call him that,” Ace objects. “You know I don't like that.”

“It's just a southern thing, darling.”

“I'm a Yankee. Please respect my fragile ego.”

Bryant laughs and I take my leave before their light flirtation turns uncomfortable for me. Since the two of them got together, they can barely sit in the same room for five seconds without crawling all over each other.

As I walk home, I ponder Bryant's words. Other options that I'll figure out when I'm ready? Like my life's a game and I have to level up before I can access a better cache of weapons?

What the hell? None of that makes a damn lick of sense. I rub a hand over my forehead. I just want to play ball. Why's everyone making it so hard?

I pull out my phone.

Me: Where are you?

Ara replies immediately. Going to study.

Translation: she'll be at the Commons.

Me: Meet you there

Suddenly, I feel a shit ton better. She may not want me as a man, but she loves me as her friend. And that's enough for me.

Has to be or I'll lose her.

And I'm not into losing.