Page 6 of Game Face

“Wait a second, shouldn’t you have asked me?” I can tell from my father’s tone that he’s joking, but I’m pretty sure Wyatt’s had enough of Reed Johnson’s ribbing for one night.

“No, Dad. Because he’s not askingyouto move in. Just me.” I wave my dad off, and he chuckles before immediately muttering something about needing to have a new “talk” with Wyatt.

“Yeah?” Wyatt says softly to me in the meantime, a crooked grin playing at his lips.

I nod as my eyes squint under the pressure of my growing smile.

“Yeah. I’ll be your roomie.” I close the tiny distance between us and push up enough to press a soft kiss to his lips. “On one condition,” I add.

His eyes flicker for a beat and his head tilts with caution.

“Youhave to tell Tasha,” I say.

My best friend. Who is tougher than most of the linemen gunning for Wyatt on the field. Who doesnotlike the idea of living alone. And who is going to lose her ever-loving mind when she finds out she’s going to have to find someone else to take over my half of our split floorplan.

Wyatt’s eyes remain wide open, perhaps a little frozen in fear. Without breaking our gaze, he feels for my hand and promptly pulls the key free of my grasp. Then, leaning to the side, he pushes it back into his pocket and utters, “Never mind.”

Chapter Three

“Explain it to me again, dude. Why am I not going to move into the apartment downstairs?” Whiskey is going to take a little convincing, but not nearly as much as Tasha is, I’m sure. Peyton and I came up with the idea of encouraging Whiskey to move in with Tasha after the world’s most uncomfortable dinner last night. So far, I think Whiskey is intrigued—but also skeptical. He and Tasha are what Peyton calls frenemies.

I line myself up on the bench press, hands wrapped around the bar as I stare up at my friend. Our eyes meet as I sigh before going through the plan yet again.

“Look, it’s cheaper rent, and her building is way nicer. You’ll have your own room, and you’ll be doing me and Peyt a solid.” I lift the bar from the support brackets and lower it to my chest, breathing out as I push it back up.

“Yeah, I hear you, but . . .” He waggles his head, and I bust out another four reps before sliding the bar back on the supports and sitting up.

“Is this about the kiss situation?” I snag my towel from my gym bag on the floor and wipe the sweat from my face while mybig-hearted and big-boned right guard chuckles. Whiskey and Tasha spent an entire night making out over the summer during one of our lake trips. We never discussed it, or rather, I brought it up and Whiskey quickly told me to, “Fuck right off.”

“There is no kiss situation. At least, not for me. I don’t know what’s going on in Tasha’s head, but as far as I’m concerned, it was just another night at the lake with a few beers and a good time.”

My friend is a shitty liar, but I don’t push him on this. He’s also sensitive, which is one of his best qualities.

“Okay, fine. There is no kiss situation,” I say with my hands up. “Then, what’s the big deal? Cheaper room, better building, closer to the stadium . . . and campus.”

He shrugs, and his shoulders quickly sag with an invisible weight as his eyes dim. It hits me. The big lug is going to miss me.

“You know we’ll still be hanging out all the time, right? And Peyt loves you like family, so you’re welcome in our place anytime.”

He breathes out a short laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure she really wants my ass on the couch between you two while we watch the late-night rerun ofSports Center.”

He has a good point.

“Well, no. I mean, she probably doesn’t want us to have sleepovers and shit, but you know you’ll still be a part of our Sunday night dinners. And me and you will still do our regular hangs, and?—”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not like I’m crying about it or anything, it’s just . . . you two are really growing together. And it’s beautiful. I don’t want you thinking I’m not on board with what you two have built together, because I am. I guess I feel a little left behind is all. And I know that’s all in my head, or my own fault, but I was sort of getting my head around the idea of living alone andfinding out what I’m all about. I’m sure this all sounds stupid as hell.”

I stand up and drop my hand on my friend’s shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly before he clears his throat and masks his emotions, quickly busying himself by removing the clips on the bench press bar to load up another plate for his reps.

“It’s not stupid, Whisk.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” he mutters, sliding the second plate on and following it up with the safety clip. He straddles the bench and drops down with a heavy sigh before lowering onto his back.

“I don’t know,” he starts before I interrupt with, “I’ll pay you.”

He punches out a laugh so loud it echoes around the weight room and draws attention from the other dozen guys lifting with us. He powers through his set, lifting three hundred pounds like it’s a bag of groceries. The bar lands back on the supports with a clang before he sits up and meets my gaze.

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