“You think you’d survive him snoring all night?” a lineman named Smith shoots back. “I’ve heard he sounds like a chain saw.”
“Never mind, you’re right.” Elijah frowns. “My fucking house has six bedrooms.”
“Better than him seeing my place,” I say. “Can you imagine? Christ, he’d criticize everything about it. ‘Bennett, why do you have a pool table in your living room? Is this what you call discipline? What’s up with all your laundry?’ No, sir, that’s what I call my housekeeper having the day off.”
Everyone laughs except Coach, who grunts out his displeasure at being roasted. He has no sense of humor.
Then Miles, bless his twisted mind, offers up: “Would you rather accidentally text your ex ‘I miss you’ or post a shirtless selfie on social media with the caption ‘Who wants some of this?’”
They fall silent before Elijah mutters, “I think I’d move to another country if either of those things happened. Monica would post the screenshot on social media, and I’d never hear the end of it.”
Preach.
Being in the public eye isn’t for the faint of heart. We have to be careful who we’re sleeping with—and who we date. Fame is a double-edged sword.
By the time it’s my turn, the room is in full chaos. I go with something tame: “Would you rather have Coach read your private texts out loud to the team or have him write your dating profile?”
“Dude, that’s evil,” Smith says, shaking his head.
“Text messages,” Quinton says immediately. “I can live with public humiliation in group settings. What I can’t live with is Coach trying to convince women I’m a ‘hard worker’ who’s ‘dedicated to my craft.’” He uses air quotes.
“Right? He’d probably listearly riseras one of my top qualities,” Elijah adds, rolling his eyes.
That brings on a whole new wave of arguments, but I can’t stop laughing. For the first time all day, I’m not stressing about Lucy or obsessing over what could go wrong tonight.
But now the game’s over, the cabin’s ready, and my nerves are creeping back in.
Me.Nervous?
What the fuck.
So unlike me.
I glance at my phone and see her latest text.
Lucy:
Be there in less than 10.
Less than ten minutes? Holy shit.
I bolt to the bathroom to check my reflection, and lean forward, baring my teeth. I ate some popcorn already—yeah, yeah, I cheated—and sure enough, there’s a sliver of kernel stuck between two of my teeth.
“Damn it,” I gripe, grabbing a toothpick, and chisel away at it.
Once my teeth are kernel-free, I step back to examine the rest of me. Santa pajama pants? Check. Terry Crews hoodie? Check. Hair? Not terrible. I swipe a hand through it anyway, just in case.
I glance around the bathroom, making sure there’s nothing embarrassing in plain sight. Toothpaste cap? On. Razor? Put away. The last thing I need is for her to walk in and see my stuff looking like a crime scene.
My phone buzzes again.
Lucy:
Pulling up now.
Double shit. That was fast.
I practically sprint to the living room, double-checking the popcorn, the hot chocolate setup, and the vintage movies stacked neatly on the coffee table.Home Alone,The Great Outdoors,Coming to America, andJerry Maguire—it’s a solid lineup.
