So Much for That

Graham promises me that we’ll see each other a lot, and that we’ll continue to sneak around. The team won’t keep us apart, and neither will fate.

We talk as much as we can without being discovered, and ultimately decide to meet up at our secret spot in the woods during the following week, on Tuesday since I won’t have a shift that night and practice is in the morning for Graham.

Also, with an away game the next weekend, we make a plan to sneak one town over and catch a movie after he returns.

First, though, it’s Sunday and we have this week’s home game to get through.

Damn. I hate that I can’t go to the stadium.

But I can’t, I’m not welcome there anymore.

That means I have to be content with watching Graham play on my TV at the apartment. Despite the less-than-optimal circumstances, I find myself perched on the edge of the sofa, glued to the tiny screen before me.

Jeez, I really need to get my butt out to a store to buy a fancy flat-screen.

Nevertheless, little screen or not, it’s a good game. Graham completes over three hundred passing yards, setting a new team record.

Columbus, of course, goes crazy the next day.

The entire city loves Graham now. He’s praised online and in the papers and lauded by the fans.

That’s all great, until our sneaking-around plans begin to unravel.

First, Graham’s sister, Chloe, goes into labor early. His niece is born on Monday night, and Graham flies out to Las Vegas, right after practice on Tuesday, to meet her.

We’re obviously not going to be able to meet at our secret spot tonight.

Then things really begin to fall apart.

While Graham’s at the away game over the weekend, a big article is published on a huge football site, playing up Graham’s new “single and ready to mingle” status.

Great.

All my fears are then founded. The women who lust over my man go freaking nuts. They all want a piece of Graham Tettersaw, now more than ever.

Thanks, Comets.

Of course, the team is more than willing to give the female fans exactly what they want. And that, to my horror, comes in the form of a “date” with Mr. Star Quarterback.

The website runs a contest along with the article, and some chick named Bunny wins.

Can you believe it?

Graham calls me once he’s back in town, and we have a good laugh over that one.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this all so well,” he says softly.

We’re not FaceTiming, so he can’t see me shrug. “I’m just trying to be a good sport about it.”

Hesitantly, he says, “Uh, you may change your mind about that when you hear when this ‘date’ is happening.”

My heart sinks. “Oh no, when is it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Wait. That’s supposed to be our movie night.”

He sighs. “I know, babe, but there’s really nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I can tell the Comets you and I have plans.”

I feel like crying, but I don’t.

“I know. It’s okay. We’ll figure something out for another night.”

“For sure,” he says.

I make it through the next night without seeing Graham. But what I’m not prepared for are the tons of pictures that are plastered all over social media the next day.

“What the hell,” I grind out as I’m scrolling through my laptop in the morning, seated on my old crappy sofa, sipping a cup of suddenly bitter-tasting coffee.

I just about choke on said coffee when I come across one picture of Graham where he has his arm around this flaky Bunny chick.

Jealousy flares.

Bad enough she already looks how you’d expect a “Bunny” to look—big boobs, teased-up bleached-blonde hair, and a dumb smile on her stupid face.

“Bitch!”

Can you tell I hate her?

I slam the lid down. I can’t take any more.

Angrily, I snatch up my phone, all set to call Graham, but then it rings and it’s Paul.

Probably for the best, since the reprieve will give me time to cool down. I need to remember Graham is only play-acting. He’s simply doing what the team wants.

He’s protecting me, as well.

I reviewed the contract this past weekend and discovered the Comets aren’t bluffing. If I do defy the agreement, I’ll not only lose the money they’ve already paid to me, plus whatever’s still coming in, but the team could technically sue me, and sue Graham, for breach of contract.

One thing is clear—I absolutely cannot be caught with Graham.

“Eden? Eden? Are you there?”

Shit, I forgot I answered the call while my brain was going in a thousand different directions.

“Yes, Paul, I’m here. Sorry. I was just zoning.”

“No problem.” He laughs. “I do that all the time.”

I realize then it’s a weekday morning, so I ask him, “Hey, why aren’t you in class?”

Paul’s been doing incredibly well at school. Not only are his grades fantastic, but he never gets into any trouble like he did at his old school.

Chuckling at my wariness, he says, “Never fear. I’m in-between classes, sis. Next one is at noon.”

Switching us over to FaceTime, I smile meekly at him. “Sorry. I’m just not myself today.”

Paul knows all about what’s going on with Graham. I gave him the full rundown days ago.

So it’s no surprise when he asks, “Hey, how are you holding up?”

“Ah…” I start biting a nail. “I take it you saw the pictures of Graham and that chick?”

“I sure did.” He pauses for a beat, then chastises, “Hey, quit chewing your nails.”

I stop. “Okay, okay.”

“Eden, you know Graham’s not into that girl, right?”

My brother, he always has my back. Plus he likes Graham, and he wants us to work.

Shaking my head, I assure him, “Don’t worry, I know he’s not into”—I cough—“Bunny.”

“God, is that her name?”

“Yep.”

“Oh boy.”

We share a knowing smile and I mutter, “Right?”

Then we laugh and laugh, because hey, it’s better than crying.