Harriet’s at band practice when I get home. I’ve never been more thankful to be alone in my life. I run into my bedroom, throw myself down on my bed, and cry my heart out like I haven’t done since I was a little girl.

I only stop when I’m so exhausted that I just end up running out of steam. I roll over and lie on my back, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. I can’t ever remember crying like this over a boy before. Not even when I was sixteen and my first boyfriend, Bernie Bensen, broke my heart. What have I gotten myself into that I can be so upset Mason and I had a fight? You’d think we were actually engaged, and he’d told me the wedding was off.

Time passes, but I don’t know how much. It starts to get dark. I keep staring at the ceiling. My stomach begins growling, and I remember I haven’t had any dinner. Dully, I sit up and look at the clock. It’s after nine.

I should really eat something, or hunger will wake me in the night.

I stand and trudge out to the kitchen to look for something that won’t take too much effort. While I’m rooting around in the fridge, the front door opens. Harriet’s home.

“Hey, roomie!” she calls out.

“In here,” I say, and then grimace, because I’m sure I must look like hell. There’s no way Harriet won’t notice I’ve been crying. When she comes into the kitchen, the look on her face tells me I look even worse than I thought.

“Holy shit, what’s wrong?” she exclaims. “Did someone die? Oh, my God, Anna, is it your dad?”

“What? No, no! Nothing like that.”

“Thank God,” she breathes. Harriet knows my dad, and she knows all about his ALS, and what his prognosis is. “What happened then? You look like you got run over by a truck.”

“I did,” I say miserably. “A truck named Mason Robichaud.”

* * *

“Is this the point where I get to say, ‘I told you so’?” Harriet asks.

We’re sitting on the couch, a bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of us. Each of us is holding a glass. I’m stuffing myself with potato chips, the dinner of champions.

“No,” I retort. “Besides, when did you ever predict this was going to happen?”

“At the beginning. Remember, I told you not to be alone with him.”

“That wasn’t practical,” I protest, even though that’s exactly what I told Mason I was going to do from now on, starting tonight.

“Wasn’t practical?” Harriet says knowingly. “Or you just didn’t want to do it?”

I heave a deep sigh. “I don’t even know anymore,” I admit.

“So, you haven’t exactly told me this in so many words,” she begins. “But you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

I don’t say anything, but I don’t have to.

“I mean, I get it,” she continues. “He’s hot. But Anna, he’s a slut. Like probably all pro football players are.”

“He’s not!” I protest. “He isn’t sleeping with anyone else. He told me so.”

“And you believe him?” Harriet’s looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.

Harriet’s met Mason a few times now, when he’s come to pick me up for one of our high-profile dates. Judging by the way she ignores him, I don’t think she’s changed her opinion of him much since the first time.

“Yes. I do believe him,” I say firmly. Maybe I am as crazy as Harriet seems to think I am, but I have no reason not to trust Mason on that front. “Besides, that’s not what we fought about anyway. We fought because he didn’t want me butting into his personal life.”

“And you’re upset because you forgot for a second that you’re not really his girlfriend,” Harriet finishes for me. “Don’t give me that look,” she says when I frown and start to shake my head. “You’ve been playing the part so well, you forgot to keep the boundaries clear.”

“That’s not what this is,” I say stubbornly.

“Well, then, why don’t you explain what it is?” she says, eyeing me. “Because that’s sure as hell what it looks like to me.”

I’m silent.

Because of course she’s right. Damn her.

“You know,” Harriet muses, “obviously, I don’t get the fascination with sports. But I can definitely understand being starstruck. Hell, every time I see some hot drummer, I get this shivery, yummy feeling and I fantasize about jumping his bones.” She takes a sip of wine. “So, you’re a sports junkie. Of course you’re gonna want to bone a hot linebacker.” She shrugs. “But you got too caught up in this little fantasy you signed on to. It sucks, but it is what it is.”

Thankfully, Harriet doesn’t make me admit out loud that she’s nailed it.

“So, what do I do now?” I finally ask, a note of desperation creeping into my voice. “I mean, I still have like ten months left on this contract. How am I ever going to last that long?”

“It’s simple,” Harriet says flatly. “You’re gonna have to keep it totally, one-hundred percent professional from here on out. No meeting Mason except in public. Where there are always other people around. Do the absolute bare minimum to fulfill the terms of the contract, nothing more.” She gives me hard look. “And focus on taking advantage of what this can do for your career. Not his. I mean, that was the whole idea behind this, right? He uses you. You use him. Just don’t let yourself forget that anymore. You’re both only in it for yourselves.”

I nod along with her words, because they make sense. Even though it makes my stomach hurt to hear it laid out like that.

It’s true. That’s all it is. We’re just using each other. That was the deal from the beginning.

I should have known Mason wouldn’t have any trouble keeping business and pleasure separate. I was a fool to think I could do the same. I just let my feelings get in the way. It’s my own fault.

But that stops now.

A little later, while I’m getting ready for bed, I get a text from Mason.

No. You already got hurt once. If you let it happen again, you’re even a bigger fool.

I stare down at the screen. Seconds pass. Then, a minute.

Finally, I type my response.