Chapter 24
Josephine
Kendrick sits at the front of the room, behind a table situated on a platform.
He’s sitting next to Decker, posing for a picture with two preteen boys.
The two football players look like royalty.
Kings holding court. Big-headed egos yukking it up, shaking hands, smiling for the camera, and signing footballs and posters and athletic shoes.
Kendrick’s gleaming white teeth almost make him look kind.
“I didn’t realize he knew how to smile.”
Locke chuckles beside me, lifting his glass of ice water to his lips. He takes a slow, measured sip, then gently sets the cup back down on the table.
He hisses and blows out a long breath, then he flexes the hand that was just holding the ice water, grimacing.
“You okay?” I ask, gently brushing my knee against his under the picnic table, going for nonchalant.
“No.” He presses his lips together in a tight line. “But I’m used to it.”
I don’t know what to make of that. Or where things stand between the two of us. So I’m not sure how to navigate this.
We went from hot and heavy to pissed off and resentful in a matter of days (at least from my end).
But this morning felt okay. Like maybe we could make amends.
Even if we don’t end up where we were headed, I could certainly use another friend in the house.
I have a feeling I’ll need all the help I can get in order to survive the insufferable grinning bastards at the front of the room over the next several weeks.
Now’s not the time to delve into any of that, though. For starters, we have an audience.
I’m sandwiched between Locke and Kylian.
Kylian, who had me pressed up against my bedroom door and served up a delicious, toy-assisted orgasm just a few hours ago.
Kylian, who has grazed his hand over my low back and teased his fingertips along the raw hem of my shorts more than once since we’ve been here.
We’re also surrounded by hundreds—yes, hundreds—of people, all waiting for their turn to speak to and take pictures with Decker and Kendrick.
The Boatyard is a massive venue. With indoor and outdoor seating and at least three separate bars, it’s a wonder we found a table.
Although as I take in our surroundings, I realize no one has tried to sit down across from us, or on either side of the guys.
With a quiet huff, it clicks. Obviously, they’ve got some sort of reserved seating arrangement worked out. Just like how there was a prime docking spot open when we got here.
“I’m going to order food,” Kylian announces, rising up from the picnic bench seat. He turns back and regards me.
When I tip my head back, I’m met with a heavy dose of liquid heat radiating from his gaze.
“Will you be okay here?”
His concern is sweet but unwarranted.
“I’m good,” I assure him, clearing my throat when my voice comes out shakier than intended.
With that, he walks away, lithely moving through the crowd.
“So that’s a thing now?” Locke murmurs, tracing the condensation gathered on the outside of his glass.
My hackles raise at the callout. “It wouldn’t be any of your business if it was.”
He licks his bottom lip and bites down, holding the plush flesh between his teeth for a few breaths. Then he offers me one of his brilliant smiles.
“Something you should know now, Hot Girl.”
I grind my molars at the use of the endearment. Things are less volatile between us today, but that doesn’t mean we’re back to flirting and pet names.
“If something concerns one of us,” he juts his chin toward Decker and Kendrick, “it most certainly concerns all of us.”
I assumed as much. Based on everything I’ve observed since moving into the Crusade mansion, it’s clear that the guys are close.
I’m at a major disadvantage, and I’d do well not to forget it.
Locke’s words are a good reminder that, regardless of his kindness, and regardless of the attraction between Kylian and me, I’m still their captive.
Anything I tell them or participate in is fair game.
I gulp past the anxiety that threatens to take over. I’m okay. I’m not in control… but I’m not out of control, either. I am here. This is now.
Desperate to change the subject, I steel my spine and sit up straighter.
“Can I ask you something?”
Locke regards me, giving me a slow, deliberate nod. “You can.”
“Why aren’t you up there with them?”
The subtle clench of his teeth tells me I hit a nerve.
“You play football, too. Are you not good enough?” I push.
This time, the dig has the opposite effect.
Locke smirks, and in a fluid movement that’s faster than any motion he’s made all afternoon, he swings one leg over the bench so he’s straddling our shared seat. Scooting close enough that his knees bump my outer thigh, he tilts forward.
“Joey, Joey, Joey,” he murmurs in my ear. Goose bumps erupt from the crown of my head and skate down my chest. “You know firsthand just how good I am.”
He licks the pulse point of my neck, then catches my earlobe between his teeth in the quickest of nips.
Sharply inhaling, I squeeze my legs together, fighting the surge of desire he just jettisoned through my body.
I shift slightly, desperate to put a sliver of space between us. Because if I don’t, I can’t be held accountable for what I’ll do next.
My body reacts to him with total disregard for anything my brain has to say on the matter. What’s even worse? My cheeks are flaming, and the glint in Locke’s smile tells me the reaction is outwardly noticeable, too.
Thankfully, Kylian pops back into existence in that moment and sets a full tray of food on the table before lowering himself back into his seat on my other side.
“All good?” He takes a massive bite out of a soft pretzel stick, then offers the basket to me.
I’m still full from breakfast, but I gladly accept one and take a bite that rivals his. Anything to avoid responding to Locke.
“Joey was just asking about Decker and Kendrick’s NIL deals,” Locke says, cocking his head to the side and making absolutely no effort to hide his flirtatious grin.
I almost choke on my pretzel as I stammer to clarify. “No, I wasn’t.”
The last thing I need is for Kylian—or worse, Decker and Kendrick—to think I’m trying to get all up in their business.
Kylian glances from me to Locke, then back to me again.
“You two are being weird.”
“Says the neurodivergent nerd who spent all of seventh grade wearing a tail,” Locke quips without missing a beat.
Neurodivergent? Frowning, I dart a look at Kylian, but rather than glowering like I expect, he’s grinning as he swallows and points past me toward his friend.
“Hey. At least I was wrapping the extra appendage around my waist instead of stuffing it down the front of my pants.”
“Low blow!” Locke throws his head back and laughs. “I can’t help it if I’m a grower, not a shower!” He reaches past me and playfully shoves Kylian’s side.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I let my shoulders drop. They’re teasing each other, and they both seem to be in on the joke.
“How long have you two known each other?” I ask, swiping another pretzel stick from Kylian’s tray.
He pushes the platter of food my way so it’s centered between us. “Try this with it.” He holds out a condiment cup of dipping sauce.
Locke groans. “Fuck. What I would give for a whole tray of pretzel sticks and a cold beer.” He puffs out his cheeks, exasperated.
“Do you want one?” I ask through a mouthful of food.
“Nicky follows a strict diet during football season,” Kylian cuts in before Locke can even open his mouth to answer me.
Nicky. I seriously love that.
“It helps temper the pain from my rheumatoid arthritis,” Locke mutters. His expression is far less playful now. Instead, there’s a weariness in his eyes, and his shoulders are hunched.
“Pretzel sticks covered in salt and dripping in spicy mustard don’t quite make the cut in terms of anti-inflammatory foods,” Kylian adds before taking a savage bite from the snack in question and chewing it almost obnoxiously while smirking at Locke.
“How did you two meet?” I ask again.
Both men go quiet for a moment, watching each other. Finally, Kylian inclines his head toward his friend.
“My foster parents lived next door to Kylian’s family. I was in the system by age six, and I bounced around for a while. But I moved in with Gary and Brenda when I was ten, and it stuck.”
Taking in a slow, steady breath, I work to keep myself from reacting outwardly.
I know enough about the foster system—mostly because I spent half my childhood trying to avoid it—to respect that he’s shared an exceptionally vulnerable part of his past with me.
I refuse to pry or make a big deal about how he grew up.
Just like I won’t harp on the mention of Kylian being neurodivergent.
Kylian adds playfully, “It stuck because my mom wouldn’t let you go.”
Locke ducks his head subtly at the callout. “True. Not my fault I was willing to hang out with her kid, who clearly preferred computers to people for the first two years of our friendship.”
“Not just computers,” Kylian defends. “I was obsessed with my iPod, too.”
“Dude. Remember that Christmas you got an iPod? The one with the little screen?”
A grin takes over Kylian’s face. “We hid under the covers and watched four seasons of Lost on that two-inch screen over winter break.”
“It took us the entire break, too, because someone had to keep pausing the show to look up fan theories.”
“Yeah, Okay,” Kylian admits with a grin. “Or maybe it took so long because someone was scared of the island monster?”
“Low blow!” Locke exclaims, pounding his fist into the picnic table playfully. The second he makes contact, he winces and lets out a curse. With a shaky breath, he closes his eyes and drops his head back.
I spin on the bench, looking to Kylian and noting the concern etched on his face. He’s watching Locke with his brows pulled together.
“Nicky…” he hedges. Whether in warning or in comfort is anyone’s guess.
Eventually, Locke opens his eyes and rights himself. He offers me a hollow smile that’s probably meant to be reassuring, then looks past me to his friend.
“How much time do we have left?”
Kylian pulls out his phone and examines the activity at the front table.
“Forty minutes on the clock, but you know Misty’ll push to extend it if the line’s still out the door.”
“And Decker will gladly comply,” Locke mutters.
“Catch me up to speed,” I insist. “I still don’t know what we’re actually doing here.”
Kylian answers this time. “This is one of Decker and Kendrick’s many, many NIL obligations this season.”
“NIL?”
“Name, image, and likeness,” he clarifies. “Appearances. Sponsorships. Endorsements. Meet and greets. You name it, they do it.” He adjusts his glasses. “Nicky has a few obligations this year, too, but not until later in the season.”
I scoff. Why does none of this surprise me?
At the front of the room, Decker and Kendrick are still cheesing it up for the camera and putting on what I now realize is a very convincing act. “So people pay just to meet them or get their autographs?”
Kylian shakes his head. “Not people. Companies. Brands. The Boatyard, for example.” He waves his hand. “A few thousand people will come through here today because of the guys, and the beer sales alone make it worth it for the owners.”
As if Decker Crusade needs another reason to pump up his almighty ego.
“All this just because they’re good at football?” I quip.
Locke scoffs and rests his forearms on the table. Kylian cocks an eyebrow. They’re both silent for several seconds as my flippant remark just sort of hangs between us.
Finally, Kylian replies. “Decker and Kendrick aren’t just good at football, Jo. They’re literally the best of the best. Without a shadow of a doubt, they’ll be among the first picks in the draft next spring. If Decker follows in his dad’s footsteps—”
“Oh yeah. My uncle mentioned this. Decker’s dad plays football, too, right?”
Locke barks out a laugh.
“Seriously?” Kylian regards me. “I don’t always register sarcasm. Are you joking right now?”
My blank stare answers that question.
“Decker is the son of Thomas Crusade. QB1 for the Carolina Cougars? The GOAT of quarterbacks with seven rings to his name?”
I blink once. Then twice. It sounds impressive, but it doesn’t mean much to me.
“You really don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into with us, do you, Hot Girl?”
Locke’s comment eats at me the rest of the night.
Because I really don’t.