I’m sitting in a café, across from Anne. It took me a couple of weeks, but I mustered the courage to tell her that I’m spending Christmas with Brett, not her family. She purses her lips in disapproval, “You can’t be serious, Lexi. You’re going to spend Christmas with him? Don’t you think things are moving a little fast?”

“I don’t think so. We’ve been seeing each other since mid-October. What’s wrong? He wants me to meet his family. I’d think that’s a good thing.”

Anne sets down her tea cup in her saucer. I can see her trying to focus on finding the right words without hurting me. She looks up from her tea and calmly replies, “First off, Brett didn’t like you. At one point, he didn’t want you to be around after games. Then you became fuck buddies, and now he wants you to meet his mother. It’s too fast, and all the circumstances seem kind of suspicious to me.”

I scrunch up my face, “What do you mean ‘suspicious?’”

“Well, you did tell me that you and he have had some naughty phone play. Doesn’t it worry you that he’s carrying that around with him? He has evidence that could ruin you, Lexi.”

I fold my arms across my chest, “Brett wouldn’t do that. Besides, he’s had that video for a while. If he wanted to ruin me, he would have done it by now.” I continue to defend him, “Anyway, why would Brett have me meet his family? What would be the purpose of that?”

Anne begins cautiously again, “Well, think about how it was with Tristan. He introduced you to his father, too. You said you later thought Tristan did it to make you hurt more when it ended. Maybe it is a set up. If Brett wants to humiliate you that badly, making you fall head over heels and trusting him is a surefire way to punish you for that interview earlier this year.”

Anne’s words make me angry. Christmas is only two weeks away and the Blazers won’t be playing a game that weekend. I’ve been overwhelmed with the excitement of going and spending a week with him. She’s putting a huge damper on my holiday. Though, I know she’s saying it because she cares. She’s not jealous. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this then. I know I was a disaster after Tristan, but once I realized there was something wrong with him—”

Anne nods her head up and down furiously, “You mean the fact that he’s a total narcissist?”

“Yeah. When I figured there was something wrong with him, it was easy to get over it. I know what to look out for now. I don’t think Brett’s a narcissist.”

Anne gives me an uncertain look. “How do you know, Lexi? How do you know you’re not dealing with a fucktard?”

“First off, Brett’s not love-bombing me.”

Anne gawks at me in disbelief, “I think he is. You’ve only been together a couple of months. And most of that was casual sex. Now, he has invited you to meet his family.”

I take a sip of my mocha. “No. Tristan pretended to have things in common with me; Brett doesn’t do that. Tristan had a whole other side of him I never had seen until Katie came to New York. Once she got here, he acted as if he were the most devout Christian to walk the planet. He never talked about his so-called Christian beliefs when we were together. The most of his Christian side I ever saw was a bible on his nightstand. His values must have slipped his mind along with the fact that he had a girlfriend. Tsk. Douchebag.”

Anne giggles, “Yeah, he’s been preachy in his interviews since Katie arrived. The other night, I heard they got married over the summer.”

“Pfft. I don’t care,” I say, waving my hand. “If she’s willing to pretend that he isn’t the cheat everyone knows he is, they deserve each other.”

“So, you don’t think Brett is anything like him? Are you sure of it?” she asks, concerned. “I mean you know how some athletes are. Dion—”

“I get that you’re worried, Anne. I do. But Brett isn’t like most of the guys on these teams. He seems to have interests outside of football. He doesn’t seem to crave attention. He’s not a braggart.”

“Yeah,” Anne says. “I like that he doesn’t make a big show of every touchdown he gets.”

“No kidding. Some of the guys can look like such idiots with the showboating they do.”

“Well,” Anne says sheepishly. “I am waiting for Brett to start doing it. A lot of athletes that want to prove themselves don’t start showboating at first. But if he makes the Super Bowl and takes Dion’s place next season, expect some sort of stupid dance.”

“I think they are going to make Super Bowl. These past few games with him have all drawn a good audience, too. I’m starting to see a strong fan base for Brett in the crowds. Everyone’s wearing merchandise with his name on it. There are all sorts of signs for him, too.” I giggle, “Seems the nickname ‘rock’ has stuck. It’s like the more people that are there cheering him on, the better he does. The last few games he’s done some pretty impressive plays.”

“Not to mention everyone loves his new Branded Athletics commercial.” Anne titters. “Have you seen it?”

“Actually, I haven’t. Brett mentioned it would be aired days after he shot it. That’s the fastest I’ve ever heard of an endorsement being produced to air.”

“Did he mention it’s an ad campaign for their new line of underwear?” she asks her lips twisting. “It’s called Thin Skin.”

My brow rises. He didn’t say anything about that. I had assumed he was doing an ad for their clothes or shoes. “Thin Skin?” I repeat, my eyes glazing over at the thought of Brett in a pair of boxer briefs for the world to see. But then I remind myself that Brett’s already been exposed.

Anne gives me a playful smile. “I’ve saved it to my phone. Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah.” Do you need to ask?

Anne pulls out her phone and sets it on the video and hands it to me. I press the play button.

It’s a black-and-white commercial. There’s some sexy music playing in the background along with heavy panting. Brett’s solid chest and arms flash by the screen. Then you see a pack of thin, cute models run by him in their skimpy underwear, giggling as they throw white pillows at each other, feathers fly everywhere. More panting as they show Brett’s ass in the boxer briefs. Wow. His bottom is fantastic.

“Thin,” a raspy voice whispers. There’s a close-up of Brett’s chest with some women’s hands slipping across his muscles. The only color in the commercial can now be seen. Red nail polish.

“Skin,” the raspy voice continues. Now there’s a close-up of Brett’s front side. His cock. The briefs leave little to the imagination. Several pairs of hands with red nail polish graze up and down his sides and thighs.

“Barely there,” the voice whispers again.

Next shot is Brett’s face with his impish smile, then the commercial fades to black. It makes me quiver in delight. Calm the hell down, Lexi. But I can’t hold back, I begin to giggle like a school girl. I bite my lower lip, trying to contain my excitement, “Sex sells.” I remind Anne. “You of all people should know that.”

“Which is why you should do that Sports Fanatic Magazine spot. I’ve been telling you this for years now. You shouldn’t go on refusing that offer.”

I roll my eyes, “You’re not going to go on about that? We’ve been through this. Several times for several years. No swimsuit issue. Ever.”

“Fine. We’ll talk about it another time. But you know Lexi, Brett getting all this attention leaves his options wide open. There probably isn’t a single or married woman in New York that wouldn’t sleep with him. When they renew his contract, it’s going to be for millions more than what he is already making.”

I give Anne an exasperated look, “Brett is not Tristan, Anne. He doesn’t sleep around with any woman that spreads her legs. He’s not that type of guy. Hell, he deletes nude photos random women send him.”

“Just don’t forget to look about his apartment for extra phones,” Anne says, ignoring my defensive attitude. “You know some of them do that, right? Have extra phones for other girlfriends?”

“Yes, I know. Let’s change the subject.”

Anne looks at me sympathetically. “All right.”

She continues to blab on about the Super Bowl and the press coverage surrounding it the week before. But I’m not paying attention. I can’t stop the fear eating at my core. After Chicago, Brett got a new phone and gave me another number. He said it was an upgrade. Stop it, Lexi. He’s not that kind of guy.