“Those are the best kinds of fans—the ones who talk smack like they’re on the roster.”
“Well, if that’s something you like, then you’d love my little brother.” Iris pops a piece of fruit into her mouth. “Did you ever think about trying to get drafted? Did you go to that Combine thingy?”
My stomach tightens. It was one thing to lie about what I do for a living, but I’m not willing to construct an entirely false, detailed persona to get laid, even if I’ll never see this woman again after tonight.
“I know people who got drafted,” I say lamely, trying to find something truthful to say that feels semirelevant to the question. “A lot of them are still playing today.”
Obviously, I can’t tell her about my experience at the Combine. Not when I’ve already dug myself this hole. In actuality, yes, of course, I went to the Combine. But I didn’t do much there, since we all knew I’d get selected as the overall first pick of the draft a few weeks later. The team positioned to select first—the Crusaders, who ultimately drafted me first—desperately needed a quarterback, and there was no indication they’d trade their top spot away. And so, given the situation, I merely networked and marketed myself at the Combine, rather than participating in any of the evaluations.
I caught some flak from some people who don’t understand football for not taking part in the dog and pony show like everyone else. But Cameron, my parents, and Coach Hardy all agreed there was zero upside to me doing a damned thing at the Combine, other than being my charming self. We all felt, and rightly so, that my back-to-back national championships and Heisman Trophy had already proved my value far better than any throwing exhibition ever could.
“Do you train any of your old friends from college?” Iris asks.
“Hmm?”
She repeats the question, and I nod, not wanting to give voice to yet another falsehood.
“That’s wonderful, Roman. It must be so fun to train athletes who are longtime friends.”
“Mm-hmm.” I take a long sip of my drink, eager to change the subject. “So, tell me, Iris—”
“What position did you play in college?”
Fuck. Now that I’ve already lied and said I went to Chad Roman’s college rather than my own, I guess I should tell her Chad Roman’s position, too. “Tight end.”
“What’s that, exactly?” Iris asks with a laugh. “Sorry. I know what the quarterback does, but that’s about it.”
At her mention of my actual position, I have a near heart attack—but, somehow, I smile through it and then proceed to calmly explain the basics of the tight end position. As I talk, Iris listens intently, her blue eyes trained on my face like there’s going to be a pop quiz about the information later on. Jesus, she’s a cutie.
“I love hearing you talk about football,” Iris gushes. “You’re so passionate about it. Isn’t it wonderful to get to do something for work that’s related to something you’re so passionate about?”
“It sure is.” I raise my glass. “To passion.”
She blushes. “To passion.” She clinks my glass with hers. “I’m having such a nice time chatting with you, Roman. After thehorrible day I had yesterday ...” She pauses. “You know, with my friend unexpectedly backing out of our vacation at the last minute, I’m really grateful you’re letting me hang out and relax with you.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Iris. I’m having a great time with you.”
“You are?” She looks genuinely surprised.
I grin. “Very much so. You can’t tell?”
“Honestly, I find you kind of unreadable. A bit mysterious.” She waggles her eyebrows, making me chuckle.
“Well, I assure you: I’m having a blast.”
Her chest heaves. “I’m so glad. So am I. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such an easy, comfortable conversation with someone new like this. You’re very easy to talk to, Roman.”
“Back at you, Iris.”
She bites her lip adorably. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome, though, so let me know whenever you want me to leave or get out of your hair.”
I hold her gaze. “I’d honestly be deeply disappointed if you left before the morning.”
Her breathing halts. Her nostrils flare.
“I’d very much like you stay the whole night here with me,” I add, just in case my meaning is unclear. “I mean, I’d be happy to sleep on the couch, if you want. Like I said. Whatever you want to do, Iris.”
Iris shifts her position on the couch and swallows hard, her face bursting with excitement. “I’d never let you sleep on the couch. The bungalow is yours, fair and square.”
