Page 22 of One Day

“Yeah, Sunny.” Dylan leans in. “Use me.”

“Fuck off,” I whisper, nudging him with my elbow. He lets out a laugh, leaning his face into my shoulder to muffle the noise before it echoes.

Professor Andrews pulls up a presentation on her computer, projecting it onto the screen with our player assignments. She begins reading them out loud, but my eyes drop down the list to my last name and smile when I see the names DeLuca and Quinn. “Looks like you two are with me for one,” I whisper with a grin, shooting Campbell a look around Dylan.

“Thank God,” Campbell says with a sigh.

“Who is Topher James?” Fitz asks, his eyes moving to me after finding his first assignment. I grimace at the name and point his attention to the front row where Topher, the biggest kiss-ass I’ve ever met in my life, sits. “I don’t like that face.”

“He’s a bit of a…” I trail off, trying to figure out how to put it kindly. “He’s a little overbearing. Kind of a dick.”

Dylan snickers. “Fitz can out dick him.”

“Fuck off, DeLuca,” Fitz grits out, his green eyes moving back to the screen. His hand moves to his jaw, scrubbing at the light dusting of facial hair that lines his jaw.

“Stop pushing people’s buttons,” I say, grabbing Dylan’s arm when he moves to lean over Campbell and pull him back to me while Professor Andrews continues to read out the pairings.

“He started—”

“No, he didn’t,” I cut him off. “Be nice.”

“I’m very nice. Some say—”

I dig my fingers into his bicep when Professor Andrews’ eyes come up to us before going back to her list. When she’s done, all the players move to hand out their contact information before they’re excused. Dylan stops to squeeze my shoulder when he comes back up the stairs after giving out his number to the necessary parties.

“Come over when you get home so we can figure out the dirty details,” he teases with a wink, shooting Campbell a look over his shoulder.

“Anyone ever told you you’re the worst?” I tease. “I’ll see you at home. Now, go away. You’re distracting.”

“Heard it here first, Soupy.” He slaps his hand against his friend’s chest, leaning in close and quietly saying. “I’m distracting.”

“I don’t think that was a compliment, buddy,” Campbell tells him. He gives Dylan a gentle shove up the stairs before waving to me. I bite down on my tongue, trying to hold in my laughter before turning back to the front and settling in for the beginning of a long semester.

“Hey, Sunny,” Fitz says from his spot at the stove when I let myself in through the backdoor, slipping my shoes off on the mat.

“Hey,” I say, leaning into the island counter across from him. “What are you making?”

“Some stir-fry bullshit. The nutritionist always sends out our weekly meals and the recipes keep getting lost in my inbox. This was the only thing I could find,” he explains, shaking his head at the pan like it has somehow betrayed him by being the wrong meal.

“It smells good, at least.”

His lips part, likely to argue with me, when his phone buzzes on the countertop, and they press back together to suppress a groan. “Would you bail me out if I committed murder?” he asks, and a laugh rips from my lips.

“What has led you to have murderous tendencies?”

He shoots me a look, and I realize I already have the answer.

I grit my teeth. “How many times has Topher texted you since he found out you were one of his assigned players?”

“I’ve lost count already. The kid needs to fucking cool it, or I’m going to block his number. He can do this project by himself.”

“I’m sure your Coach would be totally okay with that, too.”

He shakes his head. “The universe is punishing me.”

“Are Dylan and Campbell here?” I ask, choosing to ignore that comment. I do feel bad he got stuck with someone who will make this harder than needed. What I don't feel bad about is Topher having Fitz as one of his players.

It might make me a bad person, but Fitz isn’t going to sugarcoat this for him and make it easy. If Topher pisses him off, he’s going to let him know it.

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