Shirts, a frisbee, and a football appear from their bags.
“Please add, ‘I’d belionif I said I didn’t like you’ and spell lying, L-I-O-N.” Jocelyn winks.
“Ooh. Me too,” Carol adds.
I swallow thickly at the nickname I got a few seasons ago when I graduated from cub to the king of the jungle. I sign my name several times before escorting them to the exit. We snap a few more “goodbye” selfies and then, mercifully, they leave.
As the door closes, I let out a long sigh. One of them has brown hair and for a moment, I imaginePizza, ponytail swishing as she waves farewell.
“You’ve got to stop doing this,” a familiar voice says over my shoulder.
Still thinking aboutPizza, I startle.
“Is it a matter of you torturing yourself or a convoluted screening method for the future Mrs. Collins?” Grey asks.
“Community service.”
He chuckles because he knows I mean it. Mostly. I do this to keep up a good rapport with the fans, and so my mother stops hassling me. If she sees photos of me online with various women, she won’t concern herself with my dating life. Or lack thereof. To be clear, I occasionally date, hoping that someone might draw me out of my pitiful pining overPizza.
Alright, it’s not that bad. I’m being melodramatic. I have three older sisters, so blame them. But no one has ever made me feel the wayPizzadid. Like I could hand her my heart and she’d know what to do with it.
“What about you? Any Bruiser Babes on the roster?” I ask Grey.
This time his chuckle is deeper, darker, as if to say,Not a chance.
Speaking of sisters...my phone rings. It’s Rhiannon. Collins sibling number two and dating coach extraordinaire. When we were kids, our grandparents got us each a football jersey withour birth order on it. I’m Collins number four, the same number now on the team.
“Grey, if someone were to offer you a spot on a dating show, what would you say?” I ask before I take my sister’s call.
His eyes bulge like he’d rather face an incoming fullback flying through the line untouched.
I take that as a confirmation of my standing no. I won’t do it. Answering the call, I tell Rhiannon, “The answer is still no.”
“Oh, come on. It’s totally legit. It won’t be scripted or overly dramatic like some of the other shows you’ve probably seen.”
“I only watched theHen Housewith you because I thought it was about building chicken coops—something I want to do someday. And you coaxed me with an entire meat lover’s pie from Giardello’s.”
Still standing beside me, Grey frowns.
I explain, “Rhiannon is working on a dating show pilot for the BBC. Says it’s going to be a big hit. In the UK, they sometimes call single womenhensand she made me watch a similar show for research the last time I visited.” I shrug because it doesn’t make sense to me either.
Her voice comes through the phone. “It’s calledCrush or Cupid.”
“I’m more of a candidate for a show calledFinding Forever.”
Ignoring me, she continues, “It works like this, we set you up with twelve pre-screened dates. Viewers get to vote whether they’re justcrushmaterial, which eliminates them from the contending, or Cupid, which would be more like long-term love material. If that’s the case, they’ll be among the pool of wedding candidates you get to pick from.”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” Grey mutters, then scurries down the hall.
“If you ever want help building an actual hen house, I’m your guy. Until then, I’m out.” Because I’m not at all interested inwhat Rhiannon is concocting, even though marriage is on the horizon for me, and not only because I want to find Miss Right and settle down. My grandfather left a portion of his fortune to me with one stipulation—one I’m pretending doesn’t exist until I find the woman of my dreams.
For the third time in the last few weeks, she tries to sell me on the idea, citing the benefit to my career, satisfying Mom, and how it would boost the visibility of her dating coaching services.
“Rhiannon, I have to train for the upcoming season, have a few endorsements that need my time, and the big push for the farm charity that I help fund comes every spring.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think she’s given up. But the Collins crew is nothing if not relentless. Works well for me as the QB, that’s for sure. Not so much when it comes to my relationship with my father.
“What if I told you, I, um—” The line goes quiet before she finishes, reminding me that cell phone service down here can be spotty.
