Now

“So you’re telling me that glorious hunk of man flesh…” My friend Lena points at the giant TV screen where said glorious hunk of man flesh currently appears, his face on extreme close-up. “That guy right there. He’s your ex-boyfriend?” Her voice turns into a squeak on the last word, like she can’t believe it.

I nod. Take a sip of my drink. Heave an exaggerated sigh. “Yep.”

Lena blinks, looks over at the TV and tilts her head. We’re at a bar on a Wednesday night, drowning our work exhaustion in cheap cocktails and salty appetizers. “You must be lying to me.”

“I am so not lying.” I almost wish I was lying sometimes.

It’s really difficult to forget your ex when he’s everywhere. Like right now. There he is on the seventy-five-inch TV screen, the camera zoomed in on his ridiculously handsome face that he can’t hide even when he’s wearing a stupid helmet.

The restaurant we’re at replays the football games from the weekend. I know this, yet I still choose to come here. And that says a lot.

Like I’m a glutton for punishment.

“And you claim he was your first.” Lena’s eyebrows go way up—like disappear-in-her-hairline up.

“He was totally my first.” Not my last, though. He promised me forever and that so didn’t happen.

“I am having a really hard time wrapping my head around this.” It’s Lena’s turn to take a drink, and she practically drains her glass before setting it on the round table between us with a loud thump. “You really went out with the Jordan Tuttle?”

“Oh yeah. For most of my senior year. And a little bit into college.” That’s where we fell apart. I was stuck at home. He was gone, the new big man on campus at USC. Instantly famous, with adoring groupies and people wanting to be his friend and the media wanting to talk to him about his stats, his future, his charisma—and this all happened during his freshman year in college.

It only got worse as time went on. Not that I knew much about it, since I was a giant idiot and broke up with him.

Yes. You heard me right. I broke up with him.

What the hell was wrong with me?

When you’re nineteen, broke and feeling alone with a brain full of insecurities and not much else, you make stupid, selfish choices. Now that I’m older and supposedly wiser, I can see there was a lot wrong with me.

“So what happened? Who broke up with who?” Lena asks.

When I admit my connection to Jordan, this is where it always gets sticky. “I, uh, broke up with him.”

Her mouth drops open. She’s quiet for a beat, two beats. Three. “Say what?”

“It’s true.” I take another sip of my drink, then shake the glass so the ice rattles. “It wasn’t working between us.”

Cheers erupt from the television and I glance up to see Tuttle throwing another touchdown pass to Niner wide receiver Tucker McCloud.

Of course he did. That’s what Jordan does.

And he’s very, very good at it.

“Was he a dick?” Lena makes a sympathetic face. “Did he cheat on you?”

“No, he didn’t. He just…didn’t have time for me.” Oh, that sounds pathetic, but it’s true. He was so busy all the damn time. It’s not like he meant to ignore me, but it felt that way. I was sad and all alone and massively insecure, which was a big problem throughout the entirety of our relationship. I never felt like enough in Tuttle’s presence, even though he reassured me countless times that I was more than enough. That I was his entire world.

And I still ended things with him.

I felt stuck in my going-nowhere life, while his had taken off. It was like his life changed every single day, with opportunities being thrown at him from every direction. I couldn’t compete. I didn’t feel good enough. I wasn’t strong enough to deal.

So I broke it off. Via text.

Groaning, I prop my elbows on the table and rest my head in my hands. “I think I broke his heart.”

“What? He doesn’t look like he’s missing you or anything.” I look up to glare at my friend and coworker. “Come on! It’s true! He’s gorgeous. And he always has a girl on his arm every time I see him in a magazine or on a gossip site. Wasn’t he going out with that one famous model? The one who’s always on the cover of Vogue?”

“Ugh, I don’t even want to talk about him right now.” I cover my face with my hands, tempted to scream. Tempted to straight up lose my crap and punch something.

But I don’t. No matter what I say, people won’t believe me. They take one look at gorgeous Jordan Tuttle and they’re star struck. They have a hard time believing little ol’ me could destroy him.

I did, though. I know I did. I broke my own heart and his too, and it sucks. Worse? I can’t take back what I did. I have to live with my stupid decision for the rest of my life. Instead of some stupid model who’s always on the cover of Vogue, it could’ve been me on his arm. Me staring into his beautiful blue eyes. Me living with him, touching him, kissing him…

“Forget him.” Lena waves a dismissive hand and smiles at me, leaning across the table like she’s about to share a big secret. “At least you have Cade.”

Hmm. Cade. Lena and I work for at a physical therapist office that specializes in sports medicine. I’ve always had a thing for football. My senior year I was a water girl for the football team, and that’s how I got so close to Jordan. Well, that and the fact that we went to school together forever and supposedly he’d had a crush on me since middle school. Oh, and then we messed around at that one party over the summer before our senior year, after I caught my then-boyfriend having sex with my supposed best friend and…

Yes. There’s a lot of history between Jordan and me. History that I can look back on with a sort of nostalgic fondness.

Whoops. I’m supposed to be focusing on Cade, not Jordan.

“Cade is sweet,” I confirm. He’s a new physical therapist who recently started working with us, and he’s super cute. He asked me on a date today and I said yes. We’re going to dinner and the movies on Saturday.

I think Lena is more excited about my date than I am.

“And he’s extremely good looking,” Lena adds, her eyes sparkling. “I think you two will make a great couple.”

“Maybe.” I shake my glass again, like that’s going to make a fresh drink appear.

“Oh, stop—you always do this with guys. You’re too cautious.”

“More like safe,” I correct. “And there’s no such thing as too cautious.”

Another roar of the crowd sounds from the TV and I glance up to watch as they replay a terrific throw by my ex-boyfriend. I tell myself to look away. Look away now.

But I can’t.

“I find it hard to believe you went out with that guy.”

I turn to face Lena with a frown. “You think I’m lying?”

“No, not at all.” Lena’s eyes go wide. “But why didn’t you ever tell me before? We’ve known each other for a long time. You’d think this type of information would’ve come up a while ago.”

Lena and I have known each other for over a year, but it never feels easy to tell people about my connection to Jordan Tuttle. Her reaction is the reason why.

No one ever believes me that Jordan and I were together. Oh, they say they believe me, but you know they probably tell their other friends, significant other, whoever, that I’m probably making this up. I mean, seriously.

Who in their right mind would ever turn away Jordan Tuttle?

“It just never came up in conversation.” I shrug.

“Please. I’d shout it from the rooftops.” Lena stares at the television. “He’s sooooo hot. And look! Oh my God, they’re going to have an interview with him Friday night!”

I check the TV to see Jordan sitting in a chair, his dark hair tame, his gaze intense, his smile restrained. That’s his fake smile. I can spot it from a mile away.

“Inside Football premieres its new season this Friday night with an intimate look into the world of superstar quarterback Jordan Tuttle,” the announcer’s voice says.

Please. Jordan is a very private person. He wouldn’t give anyone an intimate look into his world.

“We visit his home in the Sonoma wine country.”

There’s footage of him in jeans and a flannel shirt, walking through a vineyard while chatting with a beautiful female reporter, who stares up at him like a star struck fan.

I roll my eyes.

“And he offers Inside Football a rare glimpse into both his past—and his love life.”

“Do you ever think about the one who got away?” the reporter asks, sounding so very, very serious.

He’s sitting in a chair in a house. His house? Still wearing the dark blue and red flannel shirt, his hair a little wilder in this interview clip. There’s scruff on his cheeks and he’s…God. Extra sexy.

Looking directly at the camera, he says in that familiar low, melting voice, “I think about her all the time.”

His words make me sit up straight, my entire body buzzing with electricity. Is he…

Is he?

Talking about?

Me?

No. He can’t be.

“Find out more on the season premiere of Inside Football,” the announcer continues, just as Jordan fades to black.

“Holy shit, just listening to him turns me on.” Lena shakes her head, her gaze meeting mine. “There’s no way he’s talking about you, right?”

I say nothing. I’m trying to communicate everything with my eyes and one raised eyebrow.

Lena blinks once, twice, three times like rapid fire. “Wait a minute. You do think he’s talking about you?”

“Maybe.” I shrug, going for indifferent. I don’t want to look like a total snob, like I believe the entire world revolves around me, but come the hell on.

The one who got away? He thinks about her all the time?

He must be talking about me.

I nibble on my lower lip, wishing like crazy I had another margarita to drown my sudden doubts in. Maybe he’s talking about me.

But then again, maybe not.