Page 18

CALEB

It’s been a few weeks now since Amelia and I started this fake dating thing, and I can honestly say it’s been the best and worst few weeks of my life.

Every time I hold her hand, I feel the need to pull her closer. Every time I kiss her cheek, my eyes flick down to her lips…aching to kiss them. And every time she goddamn laughs when I do something romantic, I feel myself sinking further into the friend zone than I’ve ever been.

And that says a fucking lot.

Coach changed our schedules this week to 6 a.m., which is the epitome of evil. Whoever decided that we as human beings should be up and functional at this hour deserves jail time.

My phone rings on the way to practice, and I glance at the dash, wondering who’s calling at this hour.

Then I see the name. Thomas Hayes.

I reluctantly press the accept button on my steering wheel. His voice is the last thing I want to hear.

“Heard you and Amelia are together?”

Hello to you too.

I lower the window as cold air smacks me in the face, I already know this conversation is going to piss me off.

“Yeah, and?”

“You’re doing it again,” he snaps. “Keep bullshiting around.”

Right on cue. Like clockwork. Because in his world, football has always been the only thing that matters. Not love. Not rest. Not even happiness.

“You think Driftwear will stick around if you start spiraling again? What if you two break up and then what? More rumors? They could replace you in a snap of a finger.”

“You really called me at six in the morning to tell me that?” I grit my teeth, flexing my fingers around the wheel. “You keep talking like I’m seconds away from ruining everything.”

“You weren’t exactly focused after Vanessa, were you?” His voice is cold. “You skipped interviews, practices, and workouts during those first few weeks acting like a coward. You couldn’t handle it, and now you’re letting some girl from your childhood ruin your focus yet again.”

The old guilt flares in my chest. It’s true. Those first few weeks were hell, trying to deal with the comments and media was something I never experienced before but I pushed through at the end. And yet, no matter how many games I win, he still sees the worst version of me. I’m never enough.

The wind rushes louder through the cracked window, howling through the car. “She’s not some girl. Don’t reduce her to that.”

Because she’s not. She’s my only fucking breath of fresh air.

Before I even realize it, I’m pulling into my designated parking spot outside the facility.

He doesn’t say goodbye. Just lets the silence stretch between us until the line goes dead. I groan, letting my phone drop into the cup holder with a dull thud.

The engine ticks and I rest my head against the back of the seat, exhaling a slow breath.

What a great way to start my fucking morning.

My jaw’s tight as I storm down the hallway. The fluorescent lights are way too damn bright, the air smells like sweat and ass, and I’m squeezing my thumb so tight it might break.

Everything about today is irking my nerves. I shove open the double doors, and of course, the first voice I hear is Marcus.

Him being an early bird never sat right with me, especially not when he’s blasting “Baby” by Justin Bieber, which happens to be one of his pre-workout anthems. He even moans the last part of the chorus to be obnoxious.

I toss a jersey at him. “Shut the hell up.”

He catches it and grins.

Carter joins in, hyping him up, doing this weird ass dance to Ludacris’s part.

“Leave that to the talented people. I’m begging.” Nico groans, shuffling over like a zombie, reaching into his locker for his helmet.

I agree.

The door slams open.

Coach Banks storms in, heated. “If I hear another note from Marcus and Carter Bieber over there, I’m making everyone do an extra twenty pull-ups.”

We ended up doing an extra twenty pull-ups.

By 9 a.m., we’ve already been at it for hours. Drill after drill. Play after play. Our first game’s creeping up fast, and we cannot lose against the Titans next month.

Coach calls me into the office after practice, and when I walk in, he looks happy. It’s kinda weird.

“Hayes, have a seat.”

I plop down into his old chair, and I feel like I’ve been in this office more in the last month than I care to be.

A few knocks at the door, and our GM, Daryl, strolls in holding a folder and a half-drunk cup of coffee.

“Sup,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my shoulders are already tensing up.

“Relax,” Darryl chuckles, dropping the folder on Coach’s desk as he leans against it. “You’re not in more trouble. Actually it’s the opposite.”

I sit up straighter.

“Driftwear’s thrilled about how things are going,” he continues. “I’m glad you and your girlfriend are having fun because this is helping the fans love you again.”

Coach nods, folding his arms with a half-amused grin. “I don’t know how you managed to get a girl to fall for you, but perfect timing.”

My shoulders sag in relief.

“Mhm.” Daryl glances at Coach, then back at me. “They want more of you two. It’s the best scenario that could’ve happened. Contracts are approaching, so as long as your relationship’s going well, we’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re off the hook.”

After our talk, I walk out of Coach’s office, my thoughts are spinning with positivity for once. Driftwear’s happy. The rumors about me are fading and everything is going according to plan. We just have to keep it up.

Marcus jogs up behind me.

“Hey lover boy,” he says, voice dipped in sarcasm with a side of jackass. “Who knew you could be such a romantic.”

He waves his phone in my face, showing me tabloid shots of me and Amelia as she holds the massive blue bear that’s still circulating online.

I roll my eyes.

She looks so cute though.

We step into the locker room and whistles erupt out of every player’s mouth.

“Golden boy is in love!” one of the linebackers shouts, grinning like an idiot.

Little do they know it’s all fake. But I still find myself smiling, as I swing open my locker door.

“I am.”

Because at least that part isn’t a lie.