Page 45 of One Day

“Well, I might need you to keep me from kicking Sunny’s classmate’s ass, but other than that, I couldn’t be better,” he says, stopping at the fridge to grab something off the top shelf. The mention of Topher is all I need to know why he’s in such a foul mood.

“He won’t leave you alone, hey?” I ask.

“The kid just does not seem to be getting the message. I told him I’d let him know when I was free to sit down for this bullshit Coach is making us do, and he just won’t accept that. He showed up at the fucking training facility and argued with security until one of them came to find me.” He shakes his head in frustration, grabbing the jar of peanut butter from the cabinet next to the fridge. “He fucked with my game day routine, and I swear if we lose tonight, I’m going—”

“We’re going to be fine,” Dylan assures him, watching Fitz messily assemble a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I didn’t realize how deep game day routines fell for athletes until Dylan entered my life. They each have their own, but it’s all the same. They are superstitious to a fault, and one misstep in those routines can completely throw them off.

“Did he eventually leave when you went down?” Campbell asks.

Fitz snorts and carries the plate piled with two sandwiches over to the table, tossing a half to Dylan. For whatever reason, he refuses to eat two whole sandwiches. It’s always one and a half, and Dylan is usually the recipient of the parting half. “I have no idea. He could still be there for all I know. I told the security guard I wasn’t coming down and that he’s been following me.”

My eyes widen. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to go down and talk to him? I know Topher can be a bit much, but he’s not completely unreasonable. He just sometimes needs a hard push in the right direction to get it through his thick skull.”

“I don’t have time to babysit him. I told him I’d make time for it, and I will, it’s just going to be on my schedule, and he’ll have to suck it up if he wants it done,” he says, sinking back into his seat. “How are you doing, Sunny? I hear you had some fun last night.”

I narrow my gaze at him before sliding over to Dylan. “Would you keep my sex life out of your fucking group chat?” I ask, leaning over to slap his chest.

“Hey now! I didn’t know this wasn’t public knowledge.”

“Some of us don’t go parading around and having sex in public restrooms, Dyl,” I argue, shaking my head with a sigh. “We should get some work done on this before you two need to get ready for your game. Fitz, they said you had some spare tickets?”

He nods his head. “Want one for the boy toy?”

“His name is Walker, but if you wouldn’t mind.”

“They’re yours,” he says, pushing up from the table. “I’m going to shower. I’ll text you the transfer for the tickets, Sunny.”

“Thank you!” I say with a smile before pulling my laptop towards me. “So, I thought it could be fun to get a little personal with your player profiles.”

Campbell’s eyebrow lifts. “Personal how?”

“Nothing scary, I promise. I’m just thinking instead of it all being technical, with your stats and numbers, which is all great and obviously going to be part of it. It would be nice for your fans to get to know you a little bit,” I explain. “To humanize you.”

“Humanize us?” Dylan asks.

“A lot of people see you as objects on a team, but you are people, and getting to know you adds that element of rush. It wouldn’t be anything crazy. Just silly things like what your guilty pleasure movie is, or what’s your favorite pizza topping.”

“She’s the Man,” Campbell says, and the corner of my lips pulls up as I jot the note down on his side of the document. “And pineapple.”

“Controversial,” I tease, turning my attention to Dylan. “Dyl?”

“You really think people will care about this?”

“I do. Not everyone watches sports to track stats. They watch because they like the sport or they get invested in a player. Take Beks, for example. How many games has she been to now?”

“A lot.”

“Exactly. Do you think she cares how many assists and goals you have?”

“Okay, I see your point.” Pushing his dark brown hair off his forehead, he leans on his elbow and thinks his answer over. “What was that one we watched with Beks a few weeks ago? With Captain America?”

“What’s Your Number?” I supply.

He nods his head. “That. Dude was hot in that, and bacon.”

“Why was I not invited to this movie night?” Campbell asks, stretching his arms out behind him as he shifts in his chair.

“Dylan wasn’t even invited.”

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