“Obviously,” Lucy says dryly.
I smile to myself. “So we hook up, and it’s lit. Well, kind of. She’s into it at first but then gets all fucking distracted on me. So I pull out and—”
“TMI!” Lucy objects.
I snicker. “Seriously? This is probably the least graphic I’ve ever been.”
“True. All right. So you stop,” she rephrases.
“I stop,” I dutifully repeat with exaggerated politeness, “and we end up watching TV instead. I fall asleep and—”
She interrupts me again. “You fell asleep before kicking her out?! Hold on, let me double-check my caller ID. Are we sure this is Ace Anderson?”
My huge grin nearly cracks my face in half. Bryant was right—I’ve missed having a friend. A real friend, who truly knows me and doesn’t let me get away with shit. “I know, right? It was a first for me. But this is where things get weird. I wake up the next morning, and she informs me that we’re dating.”
Lucy’s howl of laughter slides into my ear. “Oh my gosh. I love it.”
“It gets worse,” I grumble. “All my teammates saw me leaving the bar with her, and now they all think we’re dating, too. And so does her father!”
Lucy sounds confused. “How does her father even know? Did she tell him? Oh gosh! Did you meet him?”
I swallow hard. “I met him at the beginning of the summer.” Another gulp. “He’s my coach.”
Silence crashes over the line.
“Lucy?”
“Oh, Ace.” Her heavy sigh lasts about ten seconds. “You slept with your coach’s daughter?”
“I had no idea she was his daughter,” I admit darkly. “I didn’t find out until he pulled me into his office and patted me on the shoulder to congratulate me for dating his daughter.”
Silence.
And then more laughter. “Are you serious?” she exclaims.
“As a heart attack.” I sit up and rake a hand through my hair. “What the hell am I supposed to do about this? Bryant’s a cool chick, but I don’t want a relationship. I don’t date during the season.”
“You don’t date, period,” Lucy corrects with a snort.
“Exactly, but what do I do?” I press. “Coach said this thing with Bryant won’t affect my place on the team, but of course it will. And I don’t want a girlfriend. But this chick doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“She sounds nuts.”
“She’s not nuts.” I say immediately, but a part of me agrees with Lucy. Bryant has decided I’m some kind of project for her, and that’s totally insane. But she’s so lovable and sweet and sexy even while being insane that I can’t help but defend her.
“Are you sure she’s not a football groupie? A stalker?”
“She’s not,” I reply, and I’m confident in that answer. All my teammates talk about her like she’s a goddess to be worshipped, not a hot piece of ass that they’ve tapped. By their accounts, it’s been two years since she even looked at a football player. “She’s just…weird. I told you, this school is fucking weird.”
Lucy laughs again. “Well, then I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe just…go with the flow? Let this play out and see what happens?”
That’s her advice? Pander to a woman who may or may not be certifiable? “How do I always find myself in these situations?” I mumble.
“Because you’re a trouble magnet,” Lucy answers. “I swear, Ace, trouble follows you wherever you go.”
Damn. That’s a depressing thought. She might be right, though.
“Oh shoot, I have to go,” she says suddenly. “I’ve got the bank on the other line. I’m applying to Northwestern and looking into getting a loan for—you know what, I’ll tell you all about it later. Talk tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I say easily, and I’ve barely said goodbye before she disconnects with a hasty “Bye.”
I set the phone on the mattress and fall back on my elbows again. Okay. So that wasn’t too bad. It went well, actually. I didn’t hear any lingering resentment on Lucy’s end, and she didn’t sound angry or disgusted to hear from me. I guess Bryant was right? Maybe Lucy missed me as much as I’ve missed her.
“…go for a run and then grab some burgers?”
I stiffen at the sound of my roommate’s voice. I’m not dumb enough to think that Carter’s talking to me. Coach’s thinking was probably that if he put two of his best offensive weapons into one house, we’d develop some chemistry. We’re decent on field, but off of it, Carter wants nothing to do with me. In his defense, though, that’s sort of the mentality of the whole damn team.
“Yeah, sounds good,” my other roommate answers. Zane Bettman is one of our tight ends, and he and Carter are glued at the hip.
Their footsteps approach my door, and for one pathetic, hopeful second, I wonder if maybe this is the day they invite me to chill with them. They know I don’t have classes today. They know I haven’t had lunch yet. They—
They’re walking away.
I tamp down my disappointment. Yeah. Whatever. Who cares if my teammates don’t want to spend time with me? I don’t need to be their friend. I just need them to do what I fucking say on the field.
I hear the front door open and close. Silence falls over the apartment. I consider taking a nap. Maybe studying the playbook for a bit. The defensive schemes that the coaches believe our opponent will run on Saturday are almost too simplistic. I should go over them again to make sure I’m not missing anything.