Page 36 of Touchdown, Tennessee

I didn’t spit back Gray’s fire.

Instead I just looked up at the night sky. The moon, disappearing behind a puffy cloud then coming back out again, shining down on us.

The slightest chill in the air, signaling fall coming soon.

How this year was supposed to bemyyear.

Maybe it was my little story. Star football player. On my way to going pro. Everyone’s favorite.

“Fine,” I finally said to him. “I am obsessed with controlling the public opinion of me. But what else do I have, Gilman?”

“Family wealth. Privilege. Extremely good looks. Strength. The list goes on.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been doing so poorly in my classes I’ve been at risk of failing out for the last three semesters. I was probably only able to transfer into TNU because my parents made a donation and because for some reason, I’m good at tracking and catchingone thing, and that’s a football flying through the air. Every guy I’ve dated in the last few years ends up leaving me because I’m a mess. I forget birthdays. I forgetdates. I remember a football game, but not how a guy takes his coffee.”

“Remember when you told me I needed therapy?” Gray said.

But now, his voice wasn’t unkind.

I quit looking at the moon and glanced back down at him. “I know I need it, too. I don’t think I can really ignore the fact that I probably have ADHD, and I probably need to give a fuck about it, finally.”

He had still dropped his cocky attitude, just for a moment. “You absolutely can get help with that, Andrew.”

“But being good at football got me so far, for so long. And… yes. My parents love me. Probably too much.”

He hummed. “What’s that like?”

“It’s usually great. They support me in everything. They tie for being my number one fans. But to be honest, they never pushed me to do a goddamn thing. They didn’t ever say a word when I started to get Cs and Ds in middle school, as long as I still had a smile on my face. They neverhelpedme to improve my grades. Never even tried to pay for a tutor. And I definitely wasn’t ever expected to help with chores or cooking… as you saw inside, I’m a mess when it comes to real life things.”

“Christ. My mom was usually too drunk to give a damn about my report cards, but once, she saw that I got a B in geometry, and she rambled on for about three hours about how I needed tosharpen my mind.”

“That sucks,” I said. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that.”

I pulled in a slow breath, glancing back over at him.

For a brief time, he didn’t look as smug.

I noticed that he had faint dark circles below his eyes, making them look deep in a way that was attractive, but also made me pause.

Did he have trouble sleeping?

Why do I give a damn if he does?

He’d given me a tiny, brief insight into his life. It was the first time he’d willingly shared something about himself. But that didn’t mean I should get all sympathetic now.

I also noticed that there was one thing he hadn’t done, though.

He hadn’t called me spoiled.

The wordspoiledhad been tossed at me a few times growing up, usually in a lighthearted way.You two spoil him rotten,people used to say to my parents.

When they got me endless toys as a kid.

When they got me a Mercedes for my sixteenth birthday.

Then when they got me anew, more expensive Mercedes, when I accidentally scraped a fence with my first one. The only thing that was messed up was the paint, but they said I “deserved the best.”

When I was young, I didn’t really understand whatspoiledmeant. But now I did.