Of course not. You good?
The melody of Kenya’s laughter stomps on my last nerve.
Yup! Looking forward to it!
It’s not a lie, though staying up past my bedtime for forced socializing is not my idea of bonding. If it gets my mind off Antonio, I’ll take one for the team—the team being these feelings that won’t unhand me.
Kieran slides into his seat. “Sorry about that.” His gaze sweeps over me. “How about I show you the lab now? That is, if you’re up for a detour before I take you home.”
An opportunity to get lost in software that costs more than my carandnot think about my friend servicing a booty buddy?
“I’m coming for the programs,” I say.
Kieran laughs. “I’m under no other impression. You made it clear tonight is a singular date.”
Was I too mean?
“Relax, Miriam. I’m happy to have whatever time you allow.”
“Alright. Let’s get dessert to go.”
Chapter 35
Antonio
Irush into an opposing player with the speed of a freight train. The impact lifts him into the air before I drive us both into the grass, landing with a hard thud. The player under me groans, and I smile as the ball rolls out of his arms.
Cho grabs it and sprints off to our try zone in a race against time and the three Seattle players who are on his tail. He breaches the try line and taps the ball in the middle, earning us five points.
“Tee!” Kendrick shouts, catching one thrown from the sideline.
He lines up the seam of the ball with the posts and takes six steps back to the left. The opposing team charges, but Kendrick sends the ball over the crossbar between the posts. Weight transfer and the ability to control his speed is why he’s the best kicker in the league.
Flags raise to confirm the two-point conversion kick. The loud peal of the ref’s whistle slices through the air. Halftime.
“Nice one.” I slap hands with Kendrick.
“That was all you and this one.” He tips his chin at Cho, who’s jogging back to us.
Jiwon Cho, or “Cho,” is the resident pretty boy on the team. We’re still getting his head checked for delusions. He’s a fort when it comes to ball carry and one of the slipperiest motherfuckers you’ll meet charging through a gap.
“You on that juice, Cap?” Cho grins, scratching the jersey gripping his chest.
I flip him off. “Your headband is too tight.”
Cho grew out his loose waves to his ears last season and added “cinnamon” highlights for sex appeal. He has his own fan club, the “Cho-Hards,” who travel to different games for a glimpse of his muscles and the stupid-ass wink he does for attention.
“He’s working through some shit,” Kendrick offers. I graze the top of his braided ponytail with a slap.
“With Maid Miriam?” Cho’s eyes light up. He’s far too excited to talk about my business.
“The only thing being worked is my last fucking nerve.” I cut my eyes at them. Kendrick motions that his lips are zipped, and Cho backs away.
Anyone can get it today, nosy teammates included.
I’ve been on ten since the first whistle, and I haven’t let up. My stats in this game alone might break league records the way I’ve been bulldozing through the Seattle team. A few ran away to steer clear of my path of destruction. At one point, Bread shouted, “Get ’em, CT!” when I was carrying defenders on my back. I high-stepped my way to a try like it was an elimination battle onThe Challenge.
On the outside, I’m having the best game of my career. On the inside, I’m barely holding it together.
