Page 2

Chapter 2

Zack

It turns out I did invite Selena to this thing, which is unfortunate because I also invited Grace. Both women, possibly both models — I can’t quite remember —stand in front of me, and I’m afraid to speak.

“You’re joking, right?” Selena is the first to break the silence. “Who forgets they already had a date to something like this? Something with a dress code?” She gestures down to her dress.

Fuck me. There’s no way to come back from this.

“To be fair, I’d had quite a few drinks and—”

“You forgot,” Grace finishes my sentence, tilting her head and looking at me through squinted eyes. People walking into the event snicker and glare as they walk by, judging my personal life from the two seconds they overhear.

I wipe my hands on the front of my Tom Ford pants, black enough to not show the sweat marks. I try to swallow but my mouth feels like it’s full of sand.

“Listen, we can choose to dwell on this idiotic thing I did, or we can make the best of it.” I clap my hands together, looking back and forth from Grace to Selena.

“Fuck off, Zack,” Grace says just as Selena chimes in with a “Lose my number.”

Both women turn and walk away—I put my head in my hands, the clamminess still there. The embarrassment reddens my cheeks, my skin hot to the touch .

“Good thing I’ve never needed your advice about women because that was truly pathetic,” a voice interrupts the smallest pity party ever thrown.

Tripp Owens, in all of his Chanel glory, shakes his head and rests his hands on his hips.

“I love that suit. I’m bummed you got to it before I did.” I walk up and dust an imaginary piece of fuzz off his shoulder.

“Less about the suit and more about whatever that was.” Tripp points to the exit. “Did you accidentally invite two different women to be your date?” His voice comes out almost like a disappointed dad, but it’s much too tame to be mine. If my dad knew about this, he’d use the tone that would make me crawl inside myself—the one that was still supportive and loving but dripped with the dreaded “you’re better than that.”

He might be right, but lately it’s been hard to convince myself of that. It sounds stupid, but I’ve sort of leaned all the way into the careless jock mentality after seeing a little success, and it’s hard finding your way back. Especially when people look at my behavior and comment on it like it’s acceptable, for someone like me.

“It was an honest mistake.” I mean it. I may like to dabble from week to week, but I didn’t intentionally set myself up for that disaster. “I paid for the plus one, so consider my mishap a donation.”

I look around the room, surprised at the number of full tables and beautiful people. The event is a hit; not that I’d expect anything less from Tripp, or Emilie for that matter.

“Your better half around?” I ask about Willow. As much as I love Tripp, I see him at practice all the time. Willow is too busy changing the music world—whether it’s a record-breaking tour, starting her own label, or being the surprise Super Bowl halftime performer.

Tripp points over to a table, a smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. “She’s with Emilie.” Smitten bastard. How Tripp went from never dating to falling in love with Willow blows my mind. But it feels perfectly right at the same time.

“Do you need help with anything?” I ask Tripp, even though the event seems to be just fine.

“Nope.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “Emilie took care of pretty much everything and left detailed notes for anything else. She’s so good at this.”

I figured he’d say that. That’s the version of Emilie I've seen—meticulous and prepared. It's not that we spend time together alone, but we usually find ourselves hanging out in a group. When it comes to hang outs and events, the four of us tend to end up together.

I glance over at the table and see the two of them sipping champagne. Emilie’s hair is sleek and pulled back, showing the curve of her neck. Her dress, with tiny black satin straps on her shoulders, plummets to an open back—her creamy skin on display.

My legs ache as I walk toward the table, evidence of the football season that’s about to start. Training camp has been kicking my ass since it began a week ago. Typically, it’s not such a jolt to the system but I was a bit more relaxed this off-season.

Did I throw the winning touchdown pass in last season’s Super Bowl? Yes. Was it one of the best trick plays ever executed? Yes. Did I let it go to my head? Also yes. It’s not a contract year for me and most of the Upstate Cosmos have remained intact—there’s no harm in letting loose and having some fun.

I didn’t know what it meant to be drafted to an expansion team—literally a new one created from a pool of current NFL players. Teams like this don’t usually see success in their early seasons but we fucking set the bar. The Upstate Cosmos: one year in the league and one Super Bowl earned .

Being a long snapper has its perks, like not getting violently tackled during most of the game, but it also means I’m on the sideline for most of the moments. The ones you watch back and remember every millisecond of the play. My bones will never forget the trick play—it’s ingrained in me at a cellular level. And my dick.

The amount of women I’ve spent time with this off-season is staggering, even for me. I don’t typically have relationships but do enjoy a month-long situationship. Now, take month and swap it for three days and you’ll have my off-season in a nutshell.

As I walk toward the table, Emilie stands and my breath catches in my throat. My eyes dance from the nape of her neck, all the way down her spine, to her lower back.

Fuck . She’s gorgeous. Nothing new.

She sees me and her face lights up, like the twinkly lights she loves to see on a rooftop bar.

“Zack!” Her voice is packed with what feels like enthusiasm. “Why are you walking like that?” She stops and looks me up and down, her brows furrowed. I pull her in for a hug, lightly pressing my lips on her cheek.

“There’s no way you’re this sore from training camp?!” She grabs my elbow and looks back, her hazel eyes greener than normal tonight as they catch mine. Emilie always has a knack for answering her own questions.

“You did good,” I praise, looking around the room at the packed event. Pink creeps into her cheeks, scrunched with a smile.

“You think?” She rubs her hands on the front of her dress, looking around the room.

I lightly shake her elbows bringing her attention back to me. “I know.” She smirks at me, and her look could bring light to the grayest day.

She looks for the date she’ll never find. “Who did you bring?”

“Well, about that…”