Page 97 of End Game

Meaning Nico.

“Yep.” Coop nods. “Expect a call from one of the coaches tonight.”

“Wow. Thank you, Coop.”

“That’s great,” Frank says, and I can tell he’s truly pleased for me. “Now everyone is going to see how helpful yoga is.”

“Aw, thanks, Frank. You’re my biggest fan,” I tell him with a laugh as we turn onto the walkway that leads to our front porch.

I debate my decision the rest of the walk home, going over various scenarios in my head. Should I agree to do this? Or am I wanting to do it just to spite Nico? Am I secretly vengeful?

No and no. I need as much money as I can get. I asked for more hours at the café, but they can’t give them to me right now. If helping out the team actually happens, it means I won’t have to lead yoga sessions at home. I can do it all at practice and get paid for it.

Sounds like the perfect setup.

Hopefully Nico won’t have a problem with this. With me. Watching him walk away from practice earlier filled me with bitter disappointment—and a hint of guilt. Is he trying to avoid me so badly that he’ll get himself kicked out of practice? He’s putting himself at risk, pulling that stunt. What if they don’t let him play Saturday?

Ugh, that’s the problem. He’s so good out on that field, they’ll let him play no matter what. He has to do something truly awful to get benched. And he’s not that dumb.

We enter the house, and the first thing I notice is that the living room is clean. Not a leftover glass or discarded beer can in sight, which is a typical problem and one I take care of in the morning before I go to work.

Not this morning, though. I was still frustrated and not in the mood to be helpful.

The video games are in a neat stack on top of the console that sits just below the TV, and there’s even a lit candle sitting in the middle of the coffee table.

Weird.

Coop closes the door, looking around the room. “Did you clean up before you came to practice?” he asks me.

“I haven’t been home all day.” I shake my head. “This isn’t my doing.”

Music is playing. I can hear it coming from the little speaker in the kitchen, and I head toward the room, coming to a stop when I see another lit candle sitting on the counter and the dining table is perfectly set for six, a large bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase sitting right in the center.

Huh.

“What the hell is going on?” Frank asks, sounding as baffled as I feel.

The sliding glass door opens, and Nico emerges from it, carrying an empty plate in one hand and a pair of tongs in another. He stops short when he sees us, a contrite smile on his face. “Oh, hey. You’re finally home.”

“We took longer because we didn’t have our normal ride,” Coop reminds him, though he doesn’t sound pissed about it.

“Yeah.” Nico’s expression turns apologetic. “That’s on me. Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool.” Coop nods. Nothing fazes this guy, while Frank and I say nothing. I need more than asorry about that, because what Nico did at the start of practice?

Felt personal. And rude.

“Whatcha up to?” Coop asks him.

“I’m making dinner.”

“What are you making?” Frank asks warily. Like he doesn’t trust him.

I feel the same way, Frank.

“Barbecuing some steaks. Got some garlic bread already in the oven. Everything will be ready soon.” Nico’s gaze shifts to mine, slightly pleading. “You make the best salads, Ever, and I was hoping you’d help me out? I already bought the ingredients.”

I lift my chin, ready to tell him he can stuff that salad up his butt, when Coop speaks up first. “He’s right, Ever. Your salads really are the best.”

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