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A swirl of air around me, and Natalia rushes up to my side. “Where are you going?”

“Away.” I do my best to keep my voice low, trying not to be overheard, but the entire room is craning their necks to look at us. “Have a nice life, Natalia.”

“But what about our arrangement?” She looks around at our growing audience.

“We never had an arrangement, and your new dick is waiting for you.”

The noise of cameras clicks all around us, and I have to get out of this spotlight.

The host meets me, and I follow him to the door, hurrying out to a waiting black Escalade. As soon as I’m inside, my phone is in my hand, and my thumbs fly over the screen.

Where are you? I’m hungry and I want to drink.

Garrett

Lightning! Get your ass to Blondie’s and get some wings. We’ve got a pool game going.

Garrett and I have been tight since he transferred to the team two years ago. He’s a giant of a man, six-foot-four and two hundred and sixty pounds of pure strength, and he’s the one person I can be completely myself around.

His family owns a pool bar and restaurant in his coastal hometown in Alabama, and that small-town, southern background is probably why we bonded right away.

He’s also the best offensive lineman on the team. Without Garrett, I wouldn’t be as close to the MVP trophy as I am.

Stop hustling the college kids.

Garrett

Don’t blow my cover, narc.

Exhaling a chuckle, I wrap it up with

On my way.

I tell the driver where to go, thinking how only Garrett could make me laugh after this evening.

It only took a few weeks of therapy to trace it all back to my dad, Kellan Murphy, billionaire CEO of MurKo Communications.

I don’t come from a family of jocks, but I knew the first time I caught a football, the first time I led a team to victory, this was the life for me.

I’d found a group of guys who cared about me, who noticed when I wasn’t okay and checked up on me. I had a real family.

My mother died before I was old enough to remember her, so growing up, it was just me and Kellan—and a string of housekeepers to cover the basics, a driver to take me to school until I was old enough to drive myself.

The only time I spent with my dad was at the formal dinners we shared every night in his sterile mansion in north Houston sitting at opposite ends of a long, polished oak table.

I would push the medium-rare steak around my plate wishing I could escape, and he’d try to think of questions to ask me.

How was your day?

Fine.

Did anything interesting happen?

No.

Silence.

Eventually, he’d give up, take his scotch, and leave, and I’d dash from the table, running down to the park where guys were always playing football. They didn’t care who I was or how much money I had. It was all about the game.

I’d strip off my jacket and get in the middle, calling plays and throwing passes. I wanted to be a quarterback, but when Kellan got involved, he changed my direction.

When I first told my dad I wanted to play football professionally, he’d frowned like I told him I wanted to be a professional wrestler.

Then I started making headlines when I was in college, and he started doing the math. He realized he could use my football career to benefit his broadcasting business—provided I continued to be the best.

That’s when his tune changed, and the pressure began. He said I should be a wide receiver because I almost never missed a catch and I was fast. If I could run, I scored.

No wide receiver has ever won the MVP, the Most Valuable Player award, in the league, and he said I could be the first.

Don’t mistake that for him being supportive and encouraging. He was simply stating his wishes before he disappeared into his ivory tower again. I was still young and naive enough to think he cared. He had a point, and maybe it meant he would take an interest in me.

So I changed directions and became a wide receiver, not considering outside of the quarterback, the wide receivers take the most hits.

Garrett has taken a lot of hits to keep me safe on the field, and I’ve managed to avoid serious injury and run the ball all the way to the top of the game.

The black SUV stops at the Upper West Side bar, and I thank the guy before hopping out. Outside of openings and other big events, I’m mostly left alone by the media—unless I’m dating someone interesting, like a fashion-model, author-influencer.

The bar is packed with a different game on every television, from baseball to soccer. It’s a sausage party with gym bros shoulder to shoulder holding bottles of beer and talking about the upcoming season.

Garrett is impossible to miss in the back corner holding a pool cue. He spots me when I walk in and motions for me to join them. I stop off and order a whiskey neat at the bar and a classic Angus burger before heading to where he’s clearing the table.

He makes a big show of not taking the guy’s money before slapping my back and walking with me to a standing table in the middle of the loud space.

“LL!” He clinks the neck of his beer against my glass. “You look like you just got an extra week of vacation. What happened?”

“I ended it with Natalia.” Now that I say it out loud, I actually do feel lighter.

“Thank fuck,” he shouts. “Of all the boney-assed bitches you've dated, she was the worst. Always posting shit on her damn phone and always criticizing everything you did.”

A petite waitress with red hair and curves hustles up with my burger and fries. She’s working hard, focused, and she looks good—or maybe she’s just bringing me food, and I’m starving.

“Yeah, I’m done with supermodels.”

“Don’t get it twisted. Some of those gals are a lot of fun. But not that one.” He grabs a handful of my fries while I take a big bite of burger. “If she made one more crack about you being a country mouse, I swear to the almighty football gods… She’s from freakin Hoboken!”

I laugh around my bite. Garrett is so damn loud, and I love it. I don’t even want to know how he knows where Natalia is from and I don’t.

I exhale a groan as savory meat and cheese fill my mouth. “We started at that Galileo restaurant tonight.”

“What did you think?”

“I can’t tell if it’s a prank or what. You’re supposed to pour hot water over everything to rehydrate it before eating.”

His brows tighten. “So it’s like DIY?”

Shaking my head, I take another bite. “Hell, I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

My burger is gone in five bites, and he waves for another beer. “What now?”

Good question. Now that I have food in me, I can think, and I don’t like my prospects.

We’ve got a month before training camp begins, the last thing I want is to hang around the city alone. It’s as unappealing as going to Houston to work with my dad, as he keeps asking.

“Know anybody with a timeshare on the moon?”

Garrett grips my shoulder. “Come home to Newhope with me.” My hand is already up, and I’m ready to argue when he cuts me off. “My parents’ old house is huge, and it’s right on the bay. There’s plenty of room, and it’ll be perfect for clearing your head.”

“Last thing your family needs is another football player taking up all the space and eating all the food.” I know what we’re like.

“Dude, it’s my brother Zane and my little sister Dylan, and she loves when we’re home.” He waves to the waitress, and she walks over.

“Another round?” She blinks up at him, and I’m pretty sure she’s flirting.

“Just the check, Wendy.” Of course he knows her name. “Logan Lightning, meet Wendy the waitress. She’s a single mom, working to put herself through nursing school, and she will not make you wait for more beer.”

“Nice to meet you.” My voice is quieter. “Good luck with… everything.”

She shakes her red head. “Don’t tell my life story.”

“It’s a good story! You should be proud.”

Garrett is a giant, cocky, friendly bear with curly brown hair and a thick beard. He’s casual in a T-shirt and jeans, and his dimpled grin and merry blue eyes put everyone at ease.

By contrast, I’m lean muscle, dressed in a suit jacket with my dark hair styled and a light scruff on my cheeks. I study the world with my brow lowered, and there’s not many people I trust. Life has taught me to maintain a buffer.

All that to say, we’re pretty much night and day.

“Grab what you need and be at my place in an hour. I want to be on the road by ten.” He’s not giving me time to come up with an excuse, and I don’t really want to.

Escaping to a small town on the coast sounds pretty good right now.

“You know my dad has a private jet service. We don’t have to drive.”

“Nah, I gotta have my truck.”

Garrett and his truck. “I don’t know anyone who drives a pickup in the city.”

“They should. Most useful vehicle on the road.”

“Well, if it isn’t Low-gas Murphy.” The annoying voice comes from behind me, and I turn to see Ricky Berke, wide receiver for the Challengers swaggering to where we’re standing.

“Bro, that is the stupidest dunk. It’s not even close to his nickname.” Garrett leans on an elbow and still towers over Ricky.

My nemesis is undeterred. “I noticed you weren’t at the White Party this year, Murph. Losing your cool, old man?”

In the race for MVP, it’s down to me and this guy, three years in and completely full of himself. Just like I was, I guess, only I’d like to think I wasn’t a total asshole.

“Actually, I was in Houston with my dad for the Fourth.” And it was hot as the face of the sun and humid as a fucking rainforest.

“I heard you weren’t invited.” Ricky lifts his chin. “No surprise. Mr. Rubin only invites the best to his parties. Not sad ole has-beens like you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dick.”

I don’t bother defending myself. My father and I have been on the guest list for that annual summer party in the Hamptons since before I was in high school.

“I’m surprised you made the cut this year, Dicky ,” Garrett steps up beside me, crossing his arms. “I heard Mike likes ass-kissing copycats even less.”