Page 36 of End Game

Maybe it’s because I get to watch the men I live with out on the field? I’ve heard all about their playing thanks to the conversations that flow at the dinner table. In the living room. Everywhere, really.

They’re obsessed with football, and I get it. They live and breathe it and are really damn good at it.

Or so I hear.

“Okay.” Sienna leans back some, her gaze roaming over my face, examining her work. “You look good. You want to see?”

“Please,” I say, practically thrusting my face into the mirror so I can check out what Sienna did.

She dotted light-blue, white, and black face paint—our school colors—underneath one eye for it to swirl across the bridge of my nose and above my other eye in an S pattern. She also painted the number eighty on my right cheek.

“Whose number is this?” I point at it on my face when I turn toward her.

Her smile is downright devilish. “Nico’s.”

“Oh my God, really?” I turn to look at myself in the mirror again, noting the panic in my eyes. “Take it off.”

“No way. It looks great! You’re just supporting your roommate. It means nothing,” Sienna reassures, knowing that it means more than what she’s saying.

She’s such a shithead.

“I have three roommates who are on the team,” I remind her. “I can’t just support one and not the others.”

Plus it looks like I might have a thing for him, which I so do not. I don’t want him getting any ideas. Not that he’ll see me.

Will we see each other directly after the game? Probably not. I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

Oh man, I need to stop thinking like this. Feeling like this. He is my friend and that’s it. The guy I share a bathroom with. I didn’t even bother telling Sienna that I caught him coming out of the bathroom last night wrapped in a towel and nothing else. His skin gleamed because he was still a little wet, and his hair hung around his face. And I swear ... I swear I saw the imprint of his dick beneath that towel.

I can’t tell Sienna because she’ll want details, and I’m not ready to share them. I’m assuming what she told me about it being ginormous is the truth because it most definitely was impressive.

He didn’t seem too bashful at being caught in just a towel either. Pretty sure he was about to whip it off right in front of me when Islammed the door and locked myself away in the still steamy bathroom, the scent of him lingering in the air.

This sharing-a-bathroom situation is getting harder by the day.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll blend right in,” Sienna reassures me.

“What do you mean, I’ll blend right in?” I sound skeptical.

I am skeptical.

“Everyone wears Nico’s number on their cheeks. Well, mostly everyone,” she explains.

I’m groaning. “You mean mostly girls, am I right?”

She nods.

I groan again. “Wash it off. Please, I’m begging you.”

“No way. Ooh, I know! I’ll add Coop’s number on your other cheek.” She grabs the black color stick, reaching for me, and I dodge out of her way at the last second.

“What about Frank’s number?”

“He’s currently benched.” Her gaze turns sympathetic. “His shoulder has been bothering him. They still won’t let him play.”

Oh no. “I feel so bad for him. I know he’s been trying to get back on the field.”

“Coop says the coaches don’t want to risk it.”

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