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CHAPTER TWELVE

Cameron

“You are getting pretty good at this cooking stuff.” I stare at my girl from the other side of the kitchen bar, fork pointed at her.

Ari smiles down at her bowl of only slightly sticky risotto.

“Seriously, these weeknight FaceTime cooking sessions you guys keep doing are paying off big-time. I’ve actually managed to keep some weight on this semester.”

“I did notice the Ensures haven’t been disappearing from the fridge as often as normal.” She looks up at me. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Fine. Meds are down the hatch most days, and I didn’t turn the shade of a lobster when we had vodka after the game, so that was nice.

Just keep feeding me all this starchy shit, and we’ll be good.

” I don’t mention I haven’t had a period in four months or that my headaches are back.

There’s nothing to be done about either, and both are nonconcerns that come and go.

Just part of life at this point. I change the subject back to her.

“You’re literally on your way to becoming the ultimate wife. ”

“I’ll never be the cook of the family, but it will be nice to feed him something other than pizza and sandwiches when we do finally get to live together.”

I stare at my friend. “Ari, you know you can live with him now, right? You’re an adult. He’s a fucking NFL player, not the guy stuck living in the football house anymore.”

She sighs. “I know, but I made a commitment to you guys.” Her eyes meet mine.

“Me, my brother, you, Chase, and Brady made this plan years ago, and we actually achieved it. We got into the same school, and they chose this one because I was able to get in when they could have gone somewhere with an even better team than the one they’ve helped build here.

I’m not going to leave now. We’ve got less than two years.

I see him a few times a month and more than that in his offseason and literally every day on-screen.

We’ve talked about all this, Cam, and he gets it.

Honestly, he’s happy I’m not alone in a big house somewhere while he’s on the road for ‘work.’” She makes air quotes with a smile.

My own forms, and I give her hand a little squeeze as I get up to rinse my bowl out.

Ari’s phone buzzes, and she looks down at it, chuckling as she follows me from the kitchen into the small living room.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

I scowl, snapping my head her way. She answered that way on purpose, so I turn her wrist toward me, looking at the screen.

It’s a message in our group thread from Mason, a picture attached of Alister with his earbuds in, wiping his eye.

Clearly, they just took it at the right time, but the caption makes me snort.

Mase: I take it she’s still ignoring him?

I groan, dropping down on the sofa. “Why couldn’t I have just gone out onto the back patio with you when Noah called?”

“Because you were determined.” Ari plops down on the cushion beside me, smiling over at baby Deaton, asleep on the pile of blankets on the floor.

I wait for her to look back this way before responding, that way my frown isn’t wasted. “And by that you mean?” I narrow my eyes.

“I could have told you exactly where you were going to end up that night if you’d asked. ”

I gape at my best friend, and she beams brighter, squealing when I hit her with a pillow.

“Stop.” She tries to rein in her laughter. “You’ll wake him, and he only just fell asleep.”

“Yes, well, if you had told me I was on a self-destructive warpath Saturday, I wouldn’t have skipped my round at the child development center just in case Alister was waiting outside it as he’s been known to do, and Deaton would be napping on his little cot over there and not here.”

“One, I like him here better because I don’t get to see him when you’re both there, and two, it was not self-destructive, so don’t be dramatic.”

“I had sex with the guy I’m trying to hate.”

“Is it still considered sex if you don’t make it to the grand finale?”

“Can you not even say the word come ?” I snap back.

Ari chuckles, pressing her shoulder into mine. “Okay fine, but it still counts.”

I scoff, shifting on the couch and putting my head on the pillow pressed to her side.

Ari looks down at me, lips pinched, and I scowl up at her.

“What?”

“You said trying to hate.”

Huffing, I face the TV, watching without listening. “I don’t hate the man. I…dammit, I like him.”

“But?”

“But I’m not so sure I want to.”

“Because of what he did?”

“It’s more than the scheming,” I admit. “Obviously he fucked up, but it wasn’t just some little white lie.

He was intentional in finding my soft spot.

Kissed me the first time to get closer, not because he wanted to.

” I pause, remembering the day we met last year and hating the bitter notes that roll across my tongue.

“Our whole…nonrelationship relationship was built on fake interest. It’s ta inted and I don’t know if, one, I can let that go and, two, if I even want to try. ”

Ari is quiet for a moment, considering my words before asking, “Do you think he’s a bad person?” Her tone is one of genuine curiosity.

I sigh, closing my eyes. “Nope, and that right there just makes it all worse. I mean, we all do stupid shit when we’re hurt, right?”

“Not all of us,” she says, and I look up at her. “Not you.”

“Please.” I sigh. “I’m not a saint.”

“No, but you don’t hurt people when you’re hurt. You don’t act out. You accept it and you move on.”

I groan, kicking the blankets from my legs. “Then why the hell can’t I move on this time? I did just fine when Trey left for bigger and better things.”

Ari fights a smile, and I fly up, settling on my knees beside her.

“Knock it off. I did and you know it.”

“Okay, fine, you did, but maybe that’s because Trey left town and Alister is still here fighting for you.”

“It sounds like you think I should forgive him.”

“No, it sounds like you are waiting for someone else to tell you that you can, but you must already know that, Cam. If you want to forgive him, none of us are going to judge you.”

“Brady literally wanted to know if he should start befriending him.”

She smiles. “See?”

I stare at my friend a moment, then throw my hands up and move toward the kitchen. “In case you were wondering, this isn’t helping.”

“So what are you going to do, hide out here forever?”

“Seems like a solid plan.”

“Until Thursday arrives, and you have to be his partner in class. ”

My face falls and the traitor laughs.

“Forgot about that, did you?” She smirks. “At least it’s a hybrid class so you don’t have to see him in person twice a week unless you have project work to do.”

I pout some more. “I just want to pretend he doesn’t exist for a few months and see if I care at the end of it.”

“Uh-huh, and did you decide this before or after Saturday?”

“Fuck off,” I mumble, ignoring her amusement and heading to my room.

Plopping down on my bed, I stare up at my ceiling, wondering what to do from here.

It’s not that I regret being the aggressor and taking a ride on Alister’s disco stick, as Lady Gaga so expertly put it. I don’t. I wanted what he had to offer in that moment, so I went for it, and he obliged.

Does that complicate things even more now?

Probably, but it doesn’t change anything.

I’m still fucked in the head, and he’s still an ass for making me feel that way.

To be fair, I’m an ass for taking things to the end zone at the party, but if I know Alister the way I think I do, he’s not upset with me over it, and therein lies the problem.

I guarantee I didn’t deter him by running out and ignoring him after.

No, if his string of unanswered calls and messages tells me anything, it’s quite the opposite, which only makes shit harder.

I wanted time, and then I erased it at the first feel of his erection. Now I have to start over in order to figure out what the fuck it is I’m after here.

I pick up my phone for the first time today and open my and Alister’s message thread, but I don’t read over them. I back out and, with one long inhale, swipe my finger to the left.

I delete the entire thing.

And then I ditch class on Thursday, fully aware that Friday morning, the entire Avix U football team will be loading up on a bus for an away game, and he’ll be on it .

Alister

She’s avoiding me. I’ve called her a dozen times, texted her twice as many, and the girl either turned off her read receipts or she isn’t even opening my messages.

I don’t blame her, but I think it’s fair to want to have a conversation after Saturday night when she blew my damn mind.

Man, having her in my arms again felt right.

For the first time in months, I was able to forget about all the other bullshit that is my life, and it had nothing to do with alcohol.

That might be what settled her nerves when I first approached her on the dance floor, the same way it was what made me decide to go to her at the risk of getting smacked upside the head—if not by her-damn-self, then by her helicopter friends.

Not saying it’s bad to have a gang of people looking out for you, it’s just not something I’m used to.

The door to her dorm building opens for the hundredth time this morning, and my lungs swell in anticipation, only to deflate when, yet again, the person who steps out isn’t the right shade of blond.

I look down at my phone to check the time.

Shit. If I don’t take off now, I’ll be late to the bus, and if Coach has to delay our departure time because of me, that will be a whole different kind of a disaster.

Sighing, I shove to my feet, stuffing my phone in my pocket and hauling my overnight duffel off the grass. With one last glance up at the window that I know is hers, I head in the opposite direction.

The only thing that keeps me from turning back around and sweet-talking my way into the building is the fact that she can’t hide from me forever. I’ve got her entire schedule memorized, know all her favorite places on campus, and I’m not afraid of a little coercion if it comes down to it .

One way or another, we’re going to talk about what Saturday night means.

And I refuse to believe that the answer to that is a resounding nothing.