Page 116 of The Fake Out Flex

"You caught me. And here I was, thinking I was being all cool and stealthy about it."

"You're not being stealthy at all."

We kiss again, and there's a heady mix of newness and familiarity about it.

I close my eyes, committing to memory every sound, every taste, every smell.

We don't know what our future holds, so I want to remember these details about her for the rest of my life.

"Fraser. No."

"Awww, come on, Evie. Gimme a clue."

"No."

"First letter?"

"No."

"Rhymes with?"

"Still no and will always be no."

With an exasperated sigh, I flop down onto the hotel bed, drained from last night's loss, the early flight this morning, worrying about Culver—he's out for the next game but will hopefully return after that—and squeezing in a gym session after we checked into the hotel here in Tampa.

"Fine. You win," I concede before letting out a silent yawn.

"Sorry. The line broke up. What was that?"

The line did not break up.

"You win," I repeat, only so I can hear the satisfaction in her voice, when she shoots back with, "Has such a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

I laugh through my tiredness, then try my luck again. "So what are you doing in LA?"

"Fraser! I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"Trying to get me to reveal what my segment tomorrow is about. Nice try, buddy."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I can hear the smile in your voice."

I bite my lip, but it doesn't work. I'm grinning from ear to ear.

I've spent the last fifteen minutes trying to pry something—anything—out of Evie to get a clue about the subject of her segment.

But yeah, I've well and truly lost that fight.

I yawn again, not so silently this time.

"I should let you go," she says.

Normally, I'd fight her on it, but my eyes are already getting heavy. "Okay."

"Rest up. Oh, and Fraser?"

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