Page 17 of Draft Pick

Lincoln shrugged even as he nodded. "Got nothing better planned. Might as well kick back, see what happens."

See what happens. That was code for "Wait and see if Ursula shows up" and I didn't like that plan.

"C'mon man, she's moved on. You need to do the same. Besides, she was toxic."

Zayden agreed, helping to jog Lincoln's memory, "Didn't that crazy bitch slash your tires?"

"I'm not hoping to run into Ursula," he protested with a scowl. "I told you, I'm over her."

Like hell he was. Lincoln might be big and scary on the outside, but inside he was a fucking softie — a fact Ursula had exploited often and well.

I didn't like to call women crazy just because they sometimes acted up, but Ursula had a screw loose.

I looked to Zayden. "You going?"

"Yeah, I was thinking of checking it out."

Good. Zayden could be Lincoln's wingman and keep him from trailing after Ursula when he's had too many beers. I pulled my shirt on and rubbed the remaining water from my short hair. "I'll let you know if I end up heading your way."

I left Zayden and Lincoln arguing over whether Lincoln would try and mend things with his crazy ex — God, I hoped not — and headed to my favorite deli for a foot-long meatball sub. Starlie's morning bagel hadn't gone far. Between Starlie and practice, my tank was empty.

And I needed my strength if I was going to convince Starlie I was good for another round.

Now the bigger question was — did I try and find her number and call first?

Or show up at her place with a pizza, beer, and a smile?

I'd try to find her number first.

If that didn't work — pizza and beer, it is.

I was enjoyingthat much-needed soak in an Epsom salt bath when Danielle, my roommate, knocked on the bathroom door with a, “Hey, someone’s at the door for you,” and I was forced to cut my soak short.

Grumbling as I wrapped my fluffy towel around me, I couldn’t contain my shock when I saw Cason standing in the doorway, holding a pizza and a six-pack of beer with an adorable smile on his ridiculously handsome face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked baldly, pulling my robe tighter around me as if he hadn’t seen me splayed out in all my glory less than 24 hours ago.

Danielle paused on the way to her room to warble around the spoon of peanut butter in her mouth, “Hey, aren’t you that football guy? Jason Something? You play for the Wolverines, right?”

“Cason,” he corrected before I could, but he was nice about it. “Yeah, I’m the quarterback.”

“I thought so. I think you dated a friend of mine last year, Kenzie — God, what was her last name…anyway, total whore, we’re not friends anymore but I knew you looked familiar. I’m good with faces.” She popped the spoon from her mouth with a sucking noise and said, “I’m Danielle.”

“Nice to meet you, Danielle,” he said, being a perfect gentleman, which normally would be a good thing, except tonight I was irritated. Maybe it was because Danielle spent most of her time in the apartment half-naked, and tonight was no exception. I mean, I didn’t care most times, but I cared tonight.

Ugh. Was that a prick of jealous insecurity? I didn’t want Cason eyeing Danielle like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet like most guys did. She was drop-dead gorgeous — like real model-pretty, not just Instagram-pretty — with a body that should’ve been a crime and good for her, but still, put that booty away.

Normally, I was all about that ‘Get It, Queen’ energy, but I felt frumpy standing in my bathrobe, still dripping wet, probably smelling like Epsom salts instead of something fruity and cute, like a banana split bath bomb.

But to his credit, Cason wasn’t drooling or suddenly forgetting I was there, so that was a point in his favor. I gestured to the pizza. “Are you moonlighting as a gig driver for Steve’s Pizza now?”

He chuckled, hefting the pizza box, admitting, “I was hoping you didn’t have plans for the night and I could bribe you into having some pizza and beer with me.”

No longer interested, Danielle disappeared into her room and shut the door.

“I didn’t realize you had a roommate,” he said, almost apologetically. “I tried to find your number but it was unlisted and we didn’t seem to have any mutuals.”

“Yeah, we don’t exactly run with the same crowd,” I said, but I was privately tickled that he’d tried to find my number. Not that I wanted him calling me. Or did I? “So, you just thought you’d show up at my place and hope for the best?”

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