The only thingbetter than watching football on a Sunday afternoon is kicking Parker’s ass at Madden. We’re chilling in the living room, sitting side-by-side on the couch while Reid lounges in an armchair, nose buried in a textbook. How he can study with the endless stream of trash talk is anyone’s guess.
“Fourteen-zero.”
Parker shrugs. “Still early, princess.”
“Exactly.” I flash him a smug grin. “Still plenty of time for me to run the score up on your ass.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Reid warns, not bothering to look up as my kicker sends the ball sailing downfield on-screen. Parker’s receiver runs it back for a twenty-yard gain before my gunner tackles him. “Remember what happened last time.”
How could I forget? Parker spanked me like a newborn and spent the next week rehashing his victory. “He got lucky.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Parker snickers and taps furiously at his controller as his offensive line takes the field.
My phone buzzes, vibrating on the coffee table before me. I glance down long enough to see that it’s a text from Padawan before turning my attention back to the screen.
Parker’s QB throws a bullet downfield, but I’m ready for him. My defensive back picks it off with ease and runs it back, diving into the end zone and executing a perfect somersault.
“What was that you were saying?” I press the taunting command and my DB spikes the ball.
“Your sportsmanship is unparalleled,” Parker deadpans.
“You know it.” I wink and blow him a kiss. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
“Game’s not over yet, asshole.”
Might as well be. Football is as much a mental game as it is physical, and I’m in his head now. It’s just a matter of time until I roll out my victory dance.
I grab my phone off the coffee table and read the message from Padawan.
The hell?
I must’ve read it wrong. There’s no way—
I reread the message.
Padawan: This is probably crazy, but would you be interested in meeting up? To hook up? One night. No strings. Just sex.
Dread slithers up my spine.
It’s not the first time I’ve been propositioned via text, but something about this feels wrong.
Probably because there’s only one girl you know who would text a random stranger for sex.
No fucking way.
Tension coils low in my gut as I tap out a reply. I’m probably overreacting, but I need to know.
Me: I’m flattered, but why me? I seem to recall you saying all douchey frat guys are the same.
I press send and stare at the screen, waiting for the reply bubbles to appear.
Nothing happens.
Shit. Was that too aggressive? What if I scared her off?
“Are we doing this or what?” Parker gives my phone a pointed stare.
I drop the phone on the table and pick up my controller. Staring at the unread message won’t make her reply any faster. I need to chill. Play it cool. Distract myself by kicking Parker’s ass at Madden. “Ready when you are.”
