Page 4 of Endgame

Navy has never made me feel that way.

Navy and her mom were the ones who showed up for me the most after my parents passed and continued to show up for months after. Our friendship is straightforward, which I appreciate because I’m a straight shooter, always have been, and Navy is the same. It works for us.

Before I have a chance to end the call, she blurts out, “Oh wait. Cal can take you. He’s headed to the field anyway for conditioning, and the apartment is right up the street.”

Great.Great. I should have seen this coming.

Despite how I feel about her volunteering Callaway, these are the moments where I feel so grateful to have a friend like Navy. Although the beauty in her outward appearance is difficult to ignore, the inward part makes up my best friend.

The idea of seeing Callaway Hayes makes my blood pressure spike.

Shockingly, my hair hasn’t turned gray at the rate this man stresses me out without having even met him. It’s not like he even knows who I am, but I know who he is.

Everyone does.

I’m a speck in the number of women he encounters daily, but I also happen to be his sister’s best friend, and he still has yet to recognize my existence.

It's my fault for preferring isolation in the dark rather than the light, I suppose, but I’m a woman, and being noticed still means something.

Even if I come across as it doesn't.

Not that I would ever volunteer that information to anyone.

I quickly jump in to stop her. “Absolutely not. We haven’t spoken two words to each other. I am not about to mooch off of my best friend's brother for a ride. I’ll text Trevor and tell him I can’t make it today and call myself an Uber.”

I already know how this will play out.

Navy has never known how to take no for an answer.

“Absolutely he’ll pick you up. I texted him while you were rambling on about God knows what, and he’s currently en route to your destination. I shared your location, so don’t go bailing now. Take the help. You need it and know that I love you.”

“Nav-”

She hung up on me.

The last thing I want is to make small talk with someone who’s practically a stranger. I can’t even handle the conversations I have with myself.

But at least I have a ride.

Like always, Navy did what she always does. She showed up.

Except this time, in the form of unobtainable man candy, likely to be wrapped in tight pants.

Lucky me.

This should be fun.

3

DAKOTA

Sweat is pouringdown my face.

My legs are chafing through my jeans, and I’m not all that confident in the strength of my deodorant at the moment.

Cute.

I wish the bad days happened when I was sheltered in the confines of my own space, free to cry or scream whenever needed.

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