Page 26 of The Game Plan

I don’t want to be his friend. I want more than that. And he is so completely not interested, he’s introducing me to his family. He would never do that if he saw me as anything but a friend.

“We’re on our way out to McRory’s Pub,” his mom says. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on your family time,” I manage.

“Maybe another time,” his dad says. “We’ll see you next week?”

“Next week is an away game,” Miles cuts in. “We’re playing Harvard.”

“If I can get a group of girls together, we’ll be there,” I promise him. “I’ve never gone to an away game before.”

“Oh, it’s really cool,” the younger sister—Ashley—says. “There’s a whole group of us that go to all of the regional games. And the Harvard stadium is really pretty.”

“I’ll think about it. Hopefully I’ll see you guys there.”

The older sister giggles again. His mom—Nancy—smiles kindly at me.

“Will you be at the Delta house later?” Tamar asks.

Miles goes pink. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not a big fan of parties.”

“Well, we’ll miss you,” Tamar says. I elbow her, and she smirks at me. “Sam will be there.”

It’s a Delta party. Of course I’ll be there. I’m there every week, whether I want to be or not. It’s not like there’s much else to do in our sleepy college town. On Saturdays we go to frat parties. Attendance is basically mandatory for sorority members.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally says. He clears his throat, glancing back at his family. “You all about ready to head out?”

“It was nice meeting you, honey,” Nancy says, clasping my hand briefly.

“See you next week,” Steve says.

Greg sniggers and throws his arm over my shoulder. He’s remarkably demonstrative.

“Just friends, eh,” he murmurs into my ear.

I elbow him in the ribs, and he lets out a softoofof surprise.

“I hate you,” I tell him casually, and he laughs.

“You love me, baby.”

Chapter ten

Miles

Ican’tbelieveI’mhere. I’m not the kind of guy who goes to frat parties. Most of my Saturday nights are spent at home on the couch, recovering from a brutal game with a superhero movie and a bowl of ice cream. It might not be cool, but it works for me.

Sam. It’s because of Sam that I’m even at this party, and she’s nowhere to be found.

With Amir and Greg flanking me, we head towards the keg, more for something to do than any real desire to drink. Tucker opted to stay home, and Wes wouldn’t be caught dead at a frat party. Barrett had a few rough tackles this afternoon. We don’t all need to hang out together all the time. We just like it. It’s nice finally having a group of people that look like, think like me, like the same things I do. We come from all different places, have vastly different life experiences, but there’s a thread of commonality there that simply existing in the same space for so many months has made us friends. No, not friends. Brothers.

Drinks in hand, we meander through the party. People cut a wide berth to allow us to pass. Greg heads towards the back patio so we follow him. The Greek houses are built differently than the ones in Athlete’s Village. There are twenty-five bedrooms, enough for fifty or more brothers to live here, plus a media room with an enormous flatscreen and squishy recliners. The kitchen is huge. There’s a formal dining room with seats for—I count quickly—thirty people, currently being used for beer pong at one end and what looks like strip poker at the other.

There are a few guys on the team who are in fraternities. I never once considered joining. It’s different with the football team. We’ve poured our blood, sweat, and tears onto that field, into that weight room. We battle together every week. That’s forged the fire that binds us together, whether we like it or not.

“Boys!” Sullivan, our best safety, cries out at the sight of us. He’s flanked by a girl on each side, both wearing tight jeans and crop tops, both pawing at him like he’s NFL caliber and not mediocre on a middle of the pack team. “Glad you could make it.”

I don’t think Sullivan is part of the fraternity, so I’m not sure why he’s acting like this is his party. He missed a pretty fucking important tackle at the end of the third quarter. I wouldn’t be partying like this if it were me.

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