Page 3 of Beautifully Devoted

To the unknowing, it might seem harsh or even like Jagger is being an ass, but being treated differently reminds him too much of his dad, Jeremy, who relied on his looks to live like a king. Unfortunately, his dad also was all too happy to show his appreciation in the bedroom, despite the fact he was married to Jagger’s mom.

The man left broken hearts all over the place by pretending to be interested long enough to get what he wanted, something we didn’t learn about until we overheard his mom talking to mine. That day changed everything, and the moment Jagger realized her biggest fear was that he’d follow his father's example, he's made it his mission to be anything but who Jeremy was. My best friend may like the ladies as much as his dad, but he’ll run the other way before mimicking his dad’s behavior and using his looks to manipulate people.

I respect that about him. It’d be easy to let that shit go to your head–to expect or seek out special treatment and slip into the trap of using people. Only Jagger saw what his mom went through with his dad and witnessed the repercussions of his father's actions firsthand. He’s not about to do the same thing to someone else.

“Put that shit away,” Jagger says when he sees me reaching for my wallet. “I’m not splitting this with you when it was my idea to eat out. Plus, she brought extra food I need to pay for.”

“She’ll take it as a tip since it’s not on the bill,” I point out.

“Whatever. I’m still paying what it should’ve been.” He tosses several bills on the table, conveniently covering the slip of paper with her number on it so only she’ll know he didn’t take it. Jagger’s respectful like that.

“Good thing your name, image and likeness lets you pull in some NIL money so you can afford all the extra food that keeps making its way to our table.” I tease him as we slip out of the booth and into the warm summer air.

We've been playing football for roughly a decade, and were lucky enough to score a full-ride to play at Front Range University. However, during our freshman year, Jagger started posting training tips on his social media, and since he's good-looking–like the fucker could be a painting kind of hot–they took off. Next thing we knew, a few clothing companies started paying him to wear their gear and product lines began begging him to endorse them.

It's not unheard of. A lot of college football players get contracts like that. But the dude has been rolling in the dough all summer.

“You could get deals, too,” he says over his shoulder as we head to my truck. “That way, instead of giving you a cut to film me, we could trade filming duties.”

It’s not unreasonable to think I could find some sponsors of my own, but I’m not a limelight type of guy. Especially when you put me next to Jagger, which is where you can normally find me. Not that anyone ever looks.

I know I’m attractive, with blonde hair that makes it seem like I belong on a California beach instead of a football field, and brown eyes the color of chocolate, but next to Jagger I’m merely average.

Anyone standing next to the guy would be virtually invisible. Vibrant green eyes set under a crop of hair so dark it’s almost black never fails to have heads swinging in his direction, and coupled with the confident swagger he has… Most people just freeze in their tracks. I’ve seen a few walk into walls because their attention was so focused on my best friend.

People have gawked at him since we were kids. It's only gotten worse as we’ve grown older. He’s retained his youthful complexion while developing an angular jaw and bulked up some from all his training so… Let’s just say his appeal has only increased.

I don’t blame people for noticing him before me. I don’t resent him for it either, since he’s never once made me feel like I haven’t been standing by his side for nearly two decades. It’s just a fact of life that eyes are naturally drawn to him. I don't have his presence, and that’s part of the reason I doubt my videos would do as well as his. Plus, we do pretty much everything together anyway, so his social media stuff is one thing he can have for himself. Though I won't tell him that. He’s already sensitive about people flocking to him while I’m right there.

“Like I’d trust you to film me.” I shake my head, a blast of warm air rushing at me as I open the car door. “You don’t have a creative bone in your body, and you suck with technology. You’d probably focus on the wrong thing and either put me in a shadow or have the light glaring on my face. Besides, athletic training tips are way better suited for socials than physical therapy tips.”

Though the two professions are similar as far as the required classes go, they’re different in practice, and since physical therapy requires a diagnosis and treatment plan, I firmly believe it’s not something you should tell people how to do in a video clip.

“Join my videos then,” Jagger says as he slides into the passenger seat. “I could do a series of partner exercises and get you some visibility so you can get your own NIL deals. That could even put you on the radar of some pro scouts.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, even though I know I won’t, since getting scouted isn’t my top priority.

It’s not that I’m opposed to playing professionally, I’m just not convinced I’m good enough to get there, and I don’t need the money or the validation that most people seek through an NFL career. Jagger does—he needs to believe he’s more than just his looks—so I’d rather do what I can to help him reach the pros. If that means hanging out behind the camera, so be it.

“Ever think of adding nutrition tips to your posts?” I suggest, even though I know it will result in a trip to the grocery store and hours of experimentation in the kitchen when I’d rather finish unpacking and getting my room in our new house set. I’ve been procrastinating on that—it’s hard to stay focused when there’s a living room, a backyard, and four other people to hang out with—and I’m tired of dodging boxes. But it’s the anniversary of the day we found out Jagger’s dad skipped out, which is a historically bad time for him, and keeping him busy helps keep his mind off it.

He’ll still make his way to my room tonight when the quiet gets overwhelming—he hasn’t spent this night alone in ten years—but if I can wear him out before then he might actually sleep.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Jagger pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling. “I’ve been looking into juicing since I fucking hate green stuff, and I thought if I could chug something down I might stick with it. Do we have a blender at the house?”

“You think a house full of college students has kitchen appliances?” I snort as I back out of the space and start heading toward the grocery.

“I think a house full of athletes who pay attention to their nutrition might.”

“We pay attention to what we eat, not how to make it. Do we even own a frying pan? I know we don’t have a blender.”

“Ooh, this one looks good.” Jagger holds up his phone for me to see even though I can’t look at it while driving. “A cold press juicer. The reviews say it’s easy to use, easy to clean.”

He shows me again when we stop at a light. “It’s six hundred dollars.”

“Shit.” He scrolls around and shows me another. “What about this one?”

“Better.” I note the two-hundred-dollar price before the light changes. “Where do they sell it?”

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