Page 1 of The Last Person (Baker Girls #5)

CHAPTER ONE

HARDY

How do you know if you’re in love with your bestie?

Asking for a friend.

A.k.a. me.

Hey, nice to meet you. I’m the problem.

Just your average pro wide receiver who is maybe in love with his best friend. And teammate.

This seems like a question I should ask on Reddit.

Hm.

It’s not that hard to make a burner account. It always gives you ridiculous user names if you don’t pick one.

Fuck it. Why not?

Tapping away on my keyboard, I sign up for an account, find a subsection of topics about love and relationships that fits, and start typing.

Hi, pro football player (M24) here. I became besties with my teammate shortly after meeting him. We now live in neighboring apartments—

Nope. That’s too specific.

We live near each other and spend a lot of time together. Lately though, he’s the only person I want to spend time with. I used to go out, find a new jersey chaser after every game. Now I’d rather be on the couch with him watching Bridgerton—

Nope. That’s also too specific. My love for the show and all its drama and heart-stopping romance is well-known.

Now I’d rather be on the couch with him watching TV than out with anyone else.

When his hand brushes mine as we both reach for a snack, my skin lights on fire.

And I want more. The problem is, I don’t even know what that means.

Am I stuck in a rut? Or am I falling for him?

Also, I always considered myself straight, but if I’m not… whatever. Help a guy out?

Signed, clueless and confused.

I read it back several times, my thumb hovering over the post button.

How much would my agent kill me if I did that and someone traced it back to me?

Are there fans out there who are crazy enough to look through tabloids or troll through social media feeds to figure out that I stopped going out much?

Probably.

Do I need some kind of burner phone to do this from?

“Do you have to think so loud?”

I jump and almost drop my phone on my face as Brian’s voice dances through the dark hotel room. A second later the light flicks on, and there he is.

All two-hundred-sixty pounds and six-foot-five stature of my best friend and teammate… who I’m possibly in love with.

This is fine.

I’m fine.

By which I mean, sweating profusely.

“What’s wrong?” Brian asks.

He’s always so fucking perceptive. It’s a miracle I’ve been able to hide these maybe-feelings for so long. Especially when he talks about finding love. It’s hard not to throw my hand up and volunteer as tribute.

But screwing up my relationship with my first real best friend is terrifying. Not quite as terrifying as having me confess some sort of feelings only for him not to have any feelings back.

Or for me to say I have feelings for him and be totally wrong. See concern number one about screwing this up.

I drop my phone like it’s on fire, and Brian laughs.

“Watching porn? If you need to beat off, do it in the bathroom. And give me a five-minute warning so I can put noise-canceling earbuds in.”

I push myself upright and look at him, taking in the faded farmer’s tan on his fair skin, his short, dirty blond hair, his gentle ice-blue eyes, and the mischievous smile that most people don’t get to see.

Brian Ackley is the softest, gentlest linebacker you’ll ever meet.

He’s a tortured artist who happened to be damn good at football.

He’d rather sit in the silence with someone than be forced to make conversation.

The love he has for the people he’s close to knows no bounds—it’s part of what we first bonded over, even though I love very loudly and sarcastically, and Brian loves with a firm bolstering of support.

He’s a whisper of strength in the hardest moments.

Most people have no idea that he has a goofy, playful side.

He loves to laugh and especially loves to bring joy to the people around him.

His eyes light up when someone smiles because of him.

“Dude, seriously, are you stroking out? Do I need to call 911? What’s happening right now?”

I swallow down all the questions and nonsense plaguing my brain.

“I’m fine.”

“Wow. Believable.”

“Fuck off.”

“This about tonight?”

“What about tonight?”

I know exactly what he means, but I’m sure as shit not going to own up to it unless he calls me on it.

“We were sitting around with everyone being vulnerable for a second about our fears in life, and you said that bullshit about not being afraid of anything.”

Like that.

Though Brian and I both play for the New York Bandits—the number one team in the eastern division—we’re out in California for our friends’ wedding. We got lucky that it fell on our bye week so we could be here.

And as Brian pointed out, everyone was being vulnerable, trying to help our girl Hallie be comfortable opening up her heart to her baby daddy—who she’s definitely in love with.

The thing is, it wasn’t total bullshit. There’s not much in life I’m truly scared of—beyond the things most people are scared of like losing someone they love or something like that.

But this stuff with Brian is fucking me up, and it’s not like I was going to admit to that in front of all our friends.

“It wasn’t total bullshit. You know me. What do I run from?”

“Linebackers?”

I throw my head back and groan, but even as I do, I’m enjoying the beautiful warmth of his laugh.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a beat.

“I’m fine. Just can’t sleep. Started doom scrolling and now I’m stress-wired,” I lie.

“Come here.”

He stands up, the blanket slipping off him, and it takes everything in me not to stare at him in those way-too-short boxer brief thingies he has on. Especially the way they mold to his thick, muscular stomach.

No. Eyes away from there.

Schooling my features, I stand up and follow him as he heads for the balcony door.

We’re staying at a cute little inn our friend’s family owns—where the wedding will be held—and it’s out of the way with fields and trees surrounding it.

He opens the door and a burst of cold air hits me.

Still, I shuffle onto the balcony with him.

I’m six feet tall and 185, but he dwarfs me.

I think I like it.

“Okay, what are we doing out here? My nuts are going to freeze off.”

He gestures to the clear, starry sky. “Look. Breathe. Even if everything else is falling apart and the world’s about to end, we still have this. A beautiful view, a breath of fresh air, a serene moment.”

No sentence can sum Brian up more than that one. It’s not radiant positivity, but a wise, grounded calm.

This is where we are. Breathe it in.

I rest my hand on the railing and stare out at the night sky, shrouded on the edges by trees.

Brian’s hand falls to the railing, almost touching mine, and it makes my stomach clench. I subtly shift my hand closer until my pinky brushes his, the tiny touch causing relief and desperation to whirl within me.

There’s no Reddit post needed to know I’m fucked.