Page 56 of Punt

I responded by saying I'd be there, then flopped down on the couch to go through the rest of my messages.

My parents, checking up to see if I was okay. I told them I was fine.

Hawk, to ask the same thing. Same response to him, but with

c u before the gameat the end.

Bam with a laughing emoji and the words

For reals dude?

I frowned at that and shrugged before replying with a question mark.

Ollie, also checking up on me.

The publicist telling me to call her, right now.

Several were requests for stories, from reporters whose names I knew in passing. Those were an immediate delete.

That was all. I was half tempted to check social media, or research myself. If people were talking about me, shouldn't I want to know what they were saying? At best, I'd know how to respond.

I exhaled through my nose. As if I'd beallowedto respond. I already knew what the publicist would say.'Don't say a thing. Talk about football, the season, the weather if people ask. That's it. Full stop.'

If I gave them a tiny little bite, it would turn into a huge chunk, totally out of proportion. If I swore at them, it could end up on the news at best. At worst, it would follow me for the rest of my career. We were expected to be role models for kids everywhere. Most of the time, I didn't mind. Sometimes though, it felt like I was the second or third last person anyone should look up to.

Not the last person, some people were worse than I was. Even I could admit that. As role models went, I really wasn't too bad, but the pressure to look good and act right whenever anyone was watching, chafed worse than badly fitting wraps, or too tight underpants.

Still no message from Brandi. I hadn't expected one. I should be mad at her, but I felt sorry for her. It was sad to think of thelengths she thought she had to go to, to get seen. Was she so down on herself, she needed an audience to perform for? That she was nothing unless people were watching and pointing, and applauding?

Okay, I could be thinking about myself as well here. I loved an audience, the bigger the better, but it was about the game. What recognition she got wasn't about her, it was about me. That was the saddest thing. She couldn't even be proud of her own achievements, unless she counted seduction. It took two for that to happen.

I put the phone down and headed to the fridge for a drink of water with ice. Even in colder weather, it was my go-to beverage during the day. I could still hear my mother's voice telling me not to chew ice, but I did it anyway.

I chomped down on one and almost slid on a puddle on the floor left—I presume—from when Bernice mopped. I grabbed the counter and stayed on my feet, just barely.

I managed to step back to the phone without killing myself, as it pinged.

Another message from Ashley. A smiley face in response to my last message, and the word,great.

I smiled the same silly smile as the emoji. One word got my heart racing faster than riding my bike on the freeway.

It hit me harder than a seven foot quarterback trying to save a game at the last minute. I wanted to hear the word directly from her lips. I wanted to touch her, taste her, lace my fingers in hers.

"Damn," I said under my breath.

I'd fallen for her. Hard.

CHAPTER 19

ASHLEY

I drummed my fingers on the table and checked my phone for the one hundredth time.

Chase was only ten minutes late. I told myself to stop stressing. He'd be here. He said he would. So far, he hadn't given me any reason to think he wouldn't do what he said.

Still, it wasn't like him to be late.

The man behind the counter gave me a look, then his eyes swivelled toward the sign which read, 'tables are for customers only.'

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