I’ve been running them through my mind for the last ten minutes, waiting for this moment.
“Good.” He gives a curt nod. “You’re all set, Mr. DeLaurentis. Be sure to let Coach Collins know you took a knock on the head.” The doc levels me with a firm stare that suggests this isn’t his first time dealing with a D1 athlete. “You need to take it easy for a couple of days.”
Like hell.
“Yes, sir.”
“No contact at practice. If you have any difficulty with memory loss, nausea, or headaches that don’t cease with a couple of aspirin, see the team doctor.” He hands me a business card. “I’m just a phone call away if you or Coach Collins have any follow-up questions.”
“Thanks, doc.”
I pocket the card, doing my best to ignore the skepticism rolling off Dr. Mackey in waves.
“I’m serious. Your entire future isn’t worth one game.”
Easy for him to say.
He’s not one injury away from losing it all. From failing his mother and himself.
“I understand.” I slide off the table and offer my hand. The doc shakes it, his grip firm and reassuring. “We’ve got a bye week, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
The lie comes easily, proving I just might have the makings of a career politician after all.
Like father, like son.
28
QUINN
“Girl.”Haley grins at me over the top of The Collegian. “Today’s article is fire. And also, like, the most relatable content ever.”
“Right.” I sigh and slump back in my chair, unable to match her enthusiasm. “Because what virgin hasn’t sent their would-be partner to the freaking ER?”
Haley rolls her eyes, but she can’t suppress the grin that splits her face.
“I was talking about the part where you both tried to make it perfect—luxury hotel, wine, the whole bit—and it still sucked. That’s literally the definition of first times. They’re always clumsy and awkward.” She snort laughs. “And they sometimes end in stitches.”
I shoot her a look that’s darker than my French roast. It’s Tuesday morning and we’re holed up in a corner booth at Daily Grind. I’m procaffeinating with my second cup of coffee, but it’s doing little to improve my mood.
Haley drops the newspaper on the table. “Quit sulking.”
If only it were that easy. “I reserve the right to sulk indefinitely.”
After all, I deserve it. The hottest guy on campus gave me a toe-curling orgasm and thenboom!We’re in the ER getting his face stitched back together.
Worst. Luck. Ever.
“I still can’t believe Coop is the guy you’ve been texting.” She sips her tea, holding the mug with both hands. “That’s some freaky shit.”
“Tell me about it.” I’m still shook.
Because even when I wondered if it could be true, I never seriously considered it. The very idea was just too far-fetched and convenient. Like a feel-good movie that overlooks the glaring plot holes.
And the plot hole?
Only the fact that my phone number is one digit off from Noah’s.
I should’ve figured it out when Fray Boy Yoda told me he was trying to text his buddy.
