Page 1 of The Last Person

CHAPTER ONE

HARDY

Regular Season Week 10

How doyou 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 watchingBridgerton?—

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 wantmore. 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.