Okay, no, guy. But I’m working on a girl.
I’ll get there!
Who is it?
I squint past the spiderweb-like cracks across my screen as I read Mia’s flood of messages. My clumsy ass dropped it yesterday in the parking lot when showing Seb a video from the party. But it still works, so I pray it will hold until my scholarship kicks back in. I’m on a full ride, but the semester breaks aren’t covered, and Coach has strong opinions about what jobs I can take during the off-season.
Usually, I’d be home with Dad right now, but with my senior year and the draft looming in front of me, I need to put a good number of extra hours into training, even if it’s voluntary during the summer.
“Mahoney! You back in?!” Evander Young, our center, yells over from the field. We’re currently running a 7-on-7, with me standing in for one of the wide receivers. It was supposed to be an easy match, but with the sun hammering down on us, sweat’s already running down my forehead, burning in my eyes.
“Just a sec!” I call back when Mia’s next message pops up on my screen.
Don’t you trust me?
I groan, shaking my head. I didn’t think Mia would come back to this—I’ve known her since freshman year, and she’s hashed out a lot of wild ideas influenced by cheap tequila and neon lights that never made it past dawn. That’s why I didn’t even bother bringing it up to Seb during these past few days. Unfortunately, this time, she’s serious.
Mia. I’m not getting into bed with some random European guy you picked up on your hot girl summer.
Or someone who knows me!
I’m not planning on killing my career before it started
I’m offended right now.
Do you think I’d really do that?!
Sorry but this is a bad idea. just enjoy your vacation, sweetheart
NO! wait. I’ll tell you. He said he’s fine with it as long as it’ll stay between the three of us.
Yeah no shit, I’d’ve found out anyway, but it doesn’t matter
It’s Mike.
I raise a brow at my screen.
Mike.
I probably know a hundred Mikes and none at all at the same damn time. It’s such a common name, but I can’t come up with anyone in particular. On my screen, the little dots start dancing again.
Big M from BU? Whitaker?
My jaw drops at that. Big M is BU’s center, a massive guy with a dopey smile and soft brown hair that makes him look more like a teddy bear than a football player, if you haven’t seen what he can do to a D-line. Like Seb, he’s royalty: his dad won back-to-back Super Bowls in the nineties and cameveryclose on many more. The name Whitaker is the most feared coaching name in the league right now.
You’re shitting me, I type back just as Mia deletes her earlier message. So much for trust, I guess—although a screenshot like this hitting the internet could tank Mike’s career before it even started.
Not shitting you. we went on a couple of dates during spring break
His dad is a client of my dad
Anyway, he mentioned he’d like to try it
And he’d be super discreet
He also said you’re pretty
“MAHONEY! Move your ass back onto the field!” Evander yells again from somewhere to my right. My eyes are still glued to the screen, flying over the messages, until a shadow crashes through my peripheral field of vision. I drop the phone. My hands snap up and catch the ball an inch from my face. The guys hoot and holler as I push off the grass and toss the ball back to Seb. He grins at me, catching it easily. Just before my screen turns dark, I catch one final message from Mia.
