Page 121 of Plays Well With Others

Chocolate. Yep. Rachel loves that. I’ll stop by Elodie’s and pick some up. Also, what the fuck with her ex? That jackass never took her on a chocolate shop date. Seriously. What kind of an asshat was he?

The kind I should have objected to at her wedding, that’s what.

But he’s history, and I’m the present.

I turn on the car, then drive, running the play as I go.

I’ll take her out to a romantic dinner. It’ll erase all her shitty memories of him. I’ll show her that I’m the one guy who knows how to date her. That all these un-dates weren’t just teaching her how a man should treat her in some distantsomeday.

These un-dates are for now.

I’ll give her a brand-new mug, and I’ll ask her to be mine. Five dates to a real date.

That’s the play.

But when I reach Beck’s house, I remember what I couldn’t while standing at my door—Jane.

Dammit. I forgot to water the forget-my-tits ficus. I’ll have to do it tonight, and in seconds, Jane is out of my mind.

Once Beck’s in the car, we talk football.Only football.I shove romance out of my mind as we head to the Renegades facility. This Sunday in Las Vegas will be my first game since my bad catch cost us the last one.

I intend to do everything I can to win.

I don’t do anything halfway—not football, and not romance.

39

DÉJÀ VU

Rachel

I am ready to rip out my hair.

“I can’t take this game,” I announce as I pace in my living room on Sunday night like a caged lion at a zoo, back and forth, staring at the tense action on the screen.

“We know, honey. Trust me, we all know,” Fable calls from her spot on the couch. It’s her first time here. I invited her over to watch the game, and it feels like she’s already part of our regular crew. We’ve been brainstorming ideas with her during commercial breaks about how to get more stores to carry her jewelry. For now, though, I clutch my wine mug like it’s a lifeline, but I can’t take a drink because I’m too stressed. The game is tied.

It’s one game. Just one regular season game. But it’s not reallyjust one game. It’s a big one for my friend.

Carter won’t say as much because he keeps things to himself, but I know he’s still beating himself up over the loss two weeks ago. While he’s played flawlessly in Vegas tonight, the Renegades defense has struggled.

I cross my fingers and offer a prayer to the gods and goddesses of the gridiron.

Only a few minutes left, and offense is taking the field again after defense just gave up a touchdown to the Pioneers.

Carter runs across the grass, getting into the huddle.

I grip the back of the couch, staring at the pack of players like I can will the game to go the Renegades way.

“Go, Carter, come on. Make Rachel a happy girlfriend,” Juliet catcalls at the screen.

I pinch my sister’s shoulder. “I am not his girlfriend,” I say, but secretly, I savor the sound of that.

She tosses me a sisterly glance that says I’m full of it. “Lies. Sweet little lies.”

Well, I’m not his girlfriendyet. Maybe soon? But I can’t even give voice to mydo you think that could actually happen, ormaybe someday really, really soon. Why? Because I want this win for him so badly. I want him to have all the good things. I want it so freaking badly that when Beck drops into the pocket, searches for an opening, then lobs a beautiful spiral Carter’s way, I am about to chew off my arm as I wait.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on,” I mutter at the screen as Carter chases it, arms outstretched. He leaps and hauls it close to his chest.

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