Page 46 of One Day

“That’s a lie. Bekah texted me,” he corrects me. “I’ve officially earned my membership to girl’s night. We’re doing a Kate Hudson marathon next time.”

“If you’re watching How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, I’m coming,” Campbell interjects, neither of them paying any attention to me anymore. “That shit was good.”

“If we can get back on topic, you’re more than welcome to,” I tell him.

“Sorry, Sunny. Ask away.”

Bringing my screen back to life, I start tossing out the questions I thought out for their profiles. Everything from the basics, like their favorite color (blue for Dylan, orange for Campbell) to their celebrity crush (Ryan Reynolds for Dylan, Florence Pugh for Campbell). None of the questions are serious, and not all of them will make it onto the app, but it gives me options to paint a story of them for eager fans.

And to Dylan and Campbell’s credit, they don’t complain. Not even for a second. Not even at the stupidest of questions.

“Got everything you need?” Dylan asks when Fitz comes back downstairs in a rush, half-dressed in his dress pants and partly done-up dress shirt.

“We got to go,” he says, his voice laced with frustration. “Coach just called in a panic. I guess his email didn’t go through again and we’re supposed to be at the arena already for some last-minute meeting.”

“Again?” Campbell gets up as I shut my laptop. “How many times has that been?”

“Too fucking many.” Dylan shakes his head, getting up to his feet. “Sorry, Sunny.”

I shake my head, waving him off before sliding my laptop into my bag. “Don’t be. I’ll let you know if I need anything else,” I say, getting up to my feet to carry my empty mug to the sink as the two of them rush upstairs to change, and Fitz fixes the buttons on his shirt.

My eyes trail to the stove, Fitz’s words about the unorganized meal plans pushing forward before going back to the morning Dylan took my phone because of a training schedule mix-up.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, turning to Fitz.

“Shoot.”

“Do you think a portal for student-athletes focused solely on communication with your trainers and coaches would be useful?”

“What would that entail?” he asks while folding his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

“A message board for last minute changes, a calendar your coaches could add to, a recipe book for your nutritionist to set up individual meal plans for each of you. Push notifications to let you know of the changes as soon as they happen. Maybe a messaging system. Just a way to keep your athletics and academics separated that can be organized instead of all of this where you’re running around with your heads chopped off.”

“That’d be cool, Sunny,” Dylan says, having caught the last half of the conversation on his way down the stairs. “It’s definitely something we have a need for. These last few months have just been chaotic. We barely have free time as it is, and now it’s getting even shorter because of messed up communication.”

I nod my head when Campbell joins the group, making a beeline for the kitchen to grab a banana from the bunch. The idea brews a little further at the frantic way they move, knowing that this could be an easy solution to a lot of their problems and a whole lot more helpful than the app they want to develop. As much fun as an app driven for fans could be, I’ve witnessed their frustrations more than enough times to realize if something doesn’t change, they are all going to burn out.

“I’m going to get going. I’ll see you three after the game?” I ask, smiling when they stop what they’re doing to say goodbye. “Good luck out there.”

“Bye, Sunny,” Campbell and Fitz say on their way to the front door while Dylan follows me to the back, grabbing my elbow before I can slip out.

“Hey, what was that about?”

“Just an idea,” I say before leaning on my toes and kissing his cheek. “I’ll let you know if it becomes something more, but for right now, go win your game. I’ll see you after.”

He nods his head in agreement as I slide back into my shoes and head back to my house, a new sense of hopefulness filling my chest. It’s not what they’re asking for. Not even slightly, but it feels like it could be something big.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WALKER

Flynn has been staring at me since I arrived at our favorite campus library and settled in at the table in the back corner with the perfect view out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s quieter than the main campus library located between the science buildings. Because even in public, Flynn demands the noise be drowned out around her.

Her heavy gaze, however, couldn’t be louder.

“Care to share why you’re staring?” I ask, looking up from my laptop.

“Is this the way it’s going to be now?” Flynn asks, folding her arms over the table.

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