3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
TEAGAN
The sun beats down on me as I push out from beneath the canopy of trees onto the last leg of the trail. Sweat rolls down my back and beads my brow. I swipe at it with my forearm, focusing on the burn in my muscles as I push myself harder, faster, pumping my legs and arms until my chest heaves.
The rhythmic sound of my sneakers slapping the pavement increases in pace, and the fire building in my lungs is nearly enough to silence my toxic thoughts and the worry that comes with them as I wonder just how fucked I really am after last night’s antics. Six miles and I’m still every bit as stressed as I was when I started.
We’re not the first freshman class to be initiated into the Wildcat family, so it stands to reason I’m also not the first to get caught doing something stupid.
Although I am willing to bet I’m the first one to steal Coach’s tires.
Fuck.
How was I supposed to know that was his car? It certainly wasn’t the little red sports car I’ve seen him driving to and from practice.
But Chance knew; he had to. He’s played for Coach for three years now, not including their time together in high school. No way he didn’t know whose car it was. He set us up, plain and simple, and no one can convince me otherwise.
Ultimately, it’s my fault. My instincts told me something was off. I should’ve listened to my gut and walked away, but I didn’t want to look like a poor sport or like I’m not a team player when I pride myself on both of those things. Add to that the Knox news, and I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
Had Coach arrived only a minute earlier, he would’ve caught all of us.
It’s a lot harder to punish nearly a dozen recruits than it is a single person.
As it is, he only found me so I shouldered the blame.
Coach is no dummy, though. He knew there were more of us involved, but when he questioned me about it, I refused to rat my teammates out. I’m a lot of things, but a snitch isn’t one of them.
Instead, I retrieved every single tire dumped in the fountain myself and replaced them before he let me go with the reminder that this was the first strike against me; I’ve only got two more. I don’t doubt him. Coach Turner is a notorious ball buster, the strictest coach in the league. He doesn’t play around, and the kind of antics college football players get away with at other schools isn’t tolerated.
I should probably take the warning and let it go, but I don’t feel right about how I left things last night. He was pissed and I was stressed the fuck out. Hell, I don’t even know if I properly apologized.
The end of the trail comes into view, where it bleeds into the sidewalk flanking the road that leads in and out of the park. A car passes and I offer them a curt nod when they wave, though I want to tell them to slow the fuck down. Everyone around here rips through these roads despite the playground to my left, just past the grove of trees.
The joyful shouts of children reach my ears as I near it, and the sound reminds me of my little sisters back home. A pang of longing hits me in the chest, but I smother it and focus on the other sounds around me. A dog barking. Music from an open car window. The rustling of leaves on the sidewalk beneath my feet.
I lift my gaze at the same time a flash of pink catches my eyes on the edge of the sidewalk. It’s a bouncy ball, and it rolls past my feet onto the road in front of me as another car, again moving way too fast, heads straight for it.
I wince, anticipating the squashed rubber a moment before another blur of color joins it on the road, and it only takes me a split second to realize it’s a little girl.
Panic seizes my chest, and I open my mouth to scream, to tell her to move as the SUV careens toward her, but my voice won’t work.
Instead, I surge forward. My feet hammer the ground. My heart slams against my ribcage as the blare of a horn and the screeching of tires fill my ears, and I lunge for her. I’m airborne, arms outstretched as I fall to the hard pavement with a bone-rattling thud, enveloping the child in my arms and rolling us out of the way.
Using my body as a shield, I curve around her as the car flies past, horn blaring while the driver shouts something out their window, just barely missing us.
If it weren’t for how badly I’m shaking, I’d flip them the bird, cuss them out.
Asshole.
The breath rasps in and out of my lungs. Rocks and debris from the pavement stick into my bare skin and my joggers are wrecked, but it’s a small price to pay for the little girl still pressed against me, trembling like a leaf but safe.
I lie my head back on the sun-warmed concrete while relief swells inside me. I’m still trying to catch my breath when another figure appears above me, and the world stops.
A woman leans toward us, her expression horrified, and it’s like being struck with an anvil. Like that fucking cartoon with Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote.
All I can do is stare, my body numb as the sunlight shimmers over her auburn hair. Eyes dark as denim meet mine, and the breath snags in my throat.
She’s so beautiful my chest aches, and everything inside my head goes blank.
I forget where I am and what just happened.
I forget about Coach and Chance fucking Lockhart.
Nothing matters as I blink up at her, my gaze sliding down the rest of her face, over her pert nose and full mouth. The soft curve of her jaw and the sharp contours of her cheekbones are so glorious, I have the sudden urge to draw her. Though I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, I’d do just about anything to commit her to memory.
Instead, I just stare.
At some point I decide I’m hallucinating; I must be, because she’s a real life, auburn-haired Little fucking Mermaid.
And everyone knows the Little Mermaid is fucking hot.
Shit. Maybe she’s an angel.
Maybe I died and this is heaven.
Fuck. Did I die saving the little girl?
A hysterical sob bursts from the tiny body I still hold in my arms, morphing into an all-out wail so loud it startles me from my trance.
I jerk to attention as I release the little girl at the same time the woman above me scoops her up into her arms, cradling her against her chest like she’s a doll.
I swallow, mustering what’s left of my dignity after staring at her like an idiot and rise to my feet with a groan.
No doubt every muscle in my body is going to fucking hurt later. Practice tomorrow should be fun.
Now that I’m upright, my gaze flickers down her body, past the tight athletic leggings I have no doubt hug her ass to perfection, paired with a loose T-shirt and sneakers.
My brain cells slowly come back to life and I guesstimate she’s about my age, maybe a little older, a revelation that suits me just fine.
A flush of warmth shimmies down my spine that has nothing to do with the six miles I just ran and everything to do with the chick in front of me.
“Oh God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” the woman says on repeat, squeezing her eyes tight and depriving me of those gorgeous baby blues.
My breathing slows as I come back to earth and realize I’ve yet to say anything. I’m still staring at her like a lovestruck idiot. Or a fucking psycho. Take your pick.
I shift my weight on my feet and nod. “Hey, it’s no problem,” I say before I turn around and zero in on the girl’s pink ball. My mouth flattens at the sight of the deflated rubber.
Striding over to it, I pick up the floppy material while the woman behind me scolds the little girl. “You know never to run out onto the road,” I hear her say.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” the little voice trembles on a sob.
“You scared the crap out of me, Soph.”
I return to them and offer up the deflated ball with a grimace. “Looks like we didn’t save the ball.”
“Better the ball than Sophie,” the woman says, a hitch in her voice as she takes what’s left of it.
The little girl’s chin wobbles as the woman sets her on her feet, clasping one of her hands tightly as if she might take off again when she meets my eyes. “I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened had you not been there.” The woman shakes her head, glancing down at the pink material in her hands. “I was distracted, thinking about something else, and she kept messing with the ball . . . I should’ve been paying closer attention. I should’ve been holding her hand. I always hold her hand,” she says like she’s afraid I’ll think her irresponsible.
“Hey,” I nudge her arm, “things happen. It’s okay.”
Hell, the number of times my little sisters, Trista and Sabel, have given me a heart attack . . .
“I know, but I—”
“Beating yourself up over it won’t change it now.”
She inhales, her whole body puffing up, and I can practically see her worry de-escalating as she exhales. “You’re right.” Her gaze flickers to my tanned chest, and the darks of her eyes dilate before she meets my eyes again, a flush in the apples of her cheeks.
She clears her throat, jerking a thumb behind her. “Anyway, I, uh . . . we should probably go, but thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”
I nod. I should go, too, but I can’t seem to move my feet because if I leave now, I may never see her again, and that would be criminal. I can’t allow that to happen.
My heart lurches as I try to think of something to keep her here.
She begins to back away as my gaze darts around us, then back again as I settle on her T-shirt—a Wildcats football T-shirt—and I motion toward her. “Are you just a fan, or do you go to CU?”
Her lips part. Startled, she glances down at her shirt as if she’s forgotten what she’s wearing. “Oh. I, um . . . both?” She scrunches her nose and it’s so damn cute, my heart fucking flutters inside my chest.
I grin. “Same, although it’s my first year. What about you?” Not exactly the most nonchalant way of finding out how old she is, but I’m not really in the business of giving a damn about being casual.
She hesitates before she answers. “I’m a junior.”
Which makes her roughly . . . twenty, twenty-one?
Perfect. I just turned nineteen so the age difference is nothing, though she could be thirty and a fucking professor at CU and I’m not sure I’d care.
My gaze flickers to the little girl tucked under her arm.
Damn, that’s some age gap. At twelve years difference between me and my sisters, I know what it feels like to play the overprotective sibling role.
“So, you’re a Wildcats football fan, then?” I ask, not yet ready to let her go.
Her hesitates before her lips quirk. “I was practically raised on football.”
She’s gorgeous and loves football.
I’m completely fucked.
“So, you go to the games?”
“Most of the home games, yeah. You?”
I grin. “Again, it’s my first year, but I tend to go to most of them.” Nodding to the park behind her, I ask, “You’re headed to the park?”
She arches a beautiful brow. “For a stranger, you ask a lot of questions.”
I shrug, smirking a little but saying nothing.
Sighing, she says, “We were headed to the park. Looks like we’re doing so now with a busted ball.”
“Sucks you have a busted ball.” She shifts, as if preparing to leave, and I panic. “I didn’t catch your name,” I blurt.
“That’s because I never gave it.” The upward slant of her lips tells me she’s teasing.
I smile, dimples popping as I cock my head and wait.
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Lane. My name is Lane.” She glances down at the little girl. “And this is Sophie.”
“Lane,” I repeat, feeling it roll over my tongue like velvet. “And your last name?”
“Are you always this nosy with complete strangers, or just the ones you save in the park?”
I chuckle. “Is that a deflection?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, Lane-with-no-last-name, I’m Teagan Nichols.”
“Well, Teagan Nichols,” she says, taking a step back, “thanks again.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Anytime.”
I watch as the pair turn and leave, heading for the playground, while an unexpected jolt of longing settles in the pit of my stomach.
Turning, I head to my car and slide behind the wheel, then grab the T-shirt I left on the passenger seat and tug it on before I start the car and take the road toward the mini-mart a couple blocks down.
Ten minutes later, I park back in the lot with a brand new ball in hand.
Butterflies swarm in my stomach as I contemplate my next move.
Will she think I’m a fucking creep if I find her on the playground?
What’s meant to be a sweet gesture could very well come off as trying too hard, or worse.
The last thing I want is for her to think I’m some kind of stalker, but the idea of leaving the park without her number doesn’t sit well with me, so consequences be damned. I step out of my car and head toward the grove of trees.
Once I step onto the playground, my gaze scans the faces. Children dart around the swings and slides, climbing the jungle gym like ants on an ant hill. I spot a flash of auburn hair and my stomach turns in knots.
Making my way over to them, my guts tighten with nerves. A moment passes before I clear my throat, and bright blue eyes meet mine.
Her eyes widen in surprise before glancing down at the ball in my hands.
“I thought she could use this.” I hold it out, offering it up as she shakes her head.
“Oh, no. We can’t accept that.”
“A ball!” Sophie yells and reaches for it but I hesitate, unsure of whether I should give it to her when Lane whispers, “Soph, we can’t just accept things from strangers.”
My mouth twists.
A stranger? Great. She totally thinks I’m a fucking creep.
Lane straightens and offers me an unreadable look. “It’s okay. She can live without a ball.”
“But I want the ball,” the little girl cries.
“Please just give it to her,” I say. “It’s the least I can do.”
“The least you can do?” Lane arches a brow. “You did just save her life, remember? I’m the one that should be thanking you.”
“Then thank me by taking it. Seriously.” I motion with the ball. “I have little sisters so I know how disappointed she probably is.”
“There’s really no need—”
“Do you always argue so much when someone does something nice?” I ask, my grin spreading as I squint down at her.
“Please?” Sophie tugs on her arm.
“But . . . why?” Lane blurts.
“Why what?” I narrow my eyes, not following.
“Why would you do that? Go get her a new ball. It’s . . .”
“Weird?” I say, because it’s a much better adjective than creepy.
“Well, yeah,” she blurts.
I understand her skepticism. Hell, if my sisters popped a ball and some rando at the park went and bought them a new one without being asked, I’d be suspicious, too. I’d probably deck their ass. So, if anything is going to save me, it’s the truth.
“Would you believe me if I said I had a really crappy night last night and I was out here trying to shake off the funk, so doing something nice for someone helped lighten my mood?”
She stares at me warily.
“What about the fact that I’m trying to figure out what to do to correct a mistake I made and running to the store to fetch you a new ball was a distraction?”
She purses her lips and I can practically see the wheels spinning, see her assessing me as if she’s trying to decide on the chance I’m some kind of stalker.
“Or how about the fact that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and the second you turned for the park, I panicked because I couldn’t stand the thought of not getting your number. And I thought maybe if I went above and beyond, you might do me a solid and give it to me?” I hold my breath, waiting.
She nods, her shoulders sagging with the movement, and I can breathe again. “Okay,” she drawls, “you can have it.” For a moment, I think she means her digits before Sophie skips toward her and squeals as she takes the ball.
“So, do you always hang out in parks where you can play Superman to little girls?”
“Just another Sunday.” I shrug, and when she chuckles, it feels like a reward.
Maybe I can win her over yet.
“This is the part where you ask how you can make it up to me,” I say.
She arches a brow, her posture stiff as she angles herself toward me and scoffs. “And how can I make it up to you?”
My lips quirk. “By giving me your number.”
“My number,” she says like she’s never heard of such a thing.
“Yeah, you know. Those ten digits you put into a phone when you want to call someone.”
“And why would I do that?”
I bark out a laugh. “Ouch. Point made.”
She shakes her head, clearly flustered. “No. I didn’t mean . . .”
“I guess I hoped you might think the gesture of buying a new ball was sweet.”
“So it’s bribery?” Her brows quirk.
“Maybe.” My lips curl. “I also hoped you might find me charming. Or if not charming, then blown away by my sexual prowess and brooding good looks.”
She bites her lip, and I can’t tell if it’s to fight a smile or because she’s contemplating what I said. “I don’t usually give out my number.”
My stomach sinks. “Boyfriend?
“No.” She shakes her head. “No boyfriend.”
I frown. “A girlfriend, then?”
There’s no fucking way this girl is single.
She snorts out a laugh, and it’s the cutest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
“No girlfriend, either. I’m . . . it’s . . . my life is complicated.”
I cross my arms over my chest and offer her a grin. “I can do complicated.”
She stares at me like she’s never seen a human before. Like she landed on Mars and doesn’t know what to make of me.
She opens her mouth and closes it a couple times, then asks, “But . . . why?”
“You ask that question a lot.” I grin and step forward, and though I know I should keep my hands to myself, I just can’t seem to help myself as I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Complications make life interesting. Simplicity is boring. And let’s just say, I know myself well enough to know I’ll be thinking about a certain redhead long after I leave this park.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
I cock my head, watching the emotions play over her face—surprise, flattery, confusion—while marveling at the obvious fact that this girl isn’t used to such blatant admiration, which, quite honestly, is fucking mind-boggling. She should be. Every hot-blooded male in this park should be chasing after her.
“Yeah, oh,” I say, and when her eyes soften, I know I’ve won.
A second later, she’s rattling off her phone number while I punch it in my phone, then walk away feeling like at least one thing in the last twenty-four hours has gone my way.
After a shower to wash the run off me, I change and sink down onto my bed. I can hear Tommy in his bedroom talking to someone on the phone. The dude has proven to be a good roommate, all things considered, but I’ve quickly discovered he’s loud as fuck. If I weren’t convinced Chance had set us up to get caught Saturday night, I’d peg us getting busted on Tommy. No matter where he is, his voice carries. I could be standing right beside him or three hundred yards away and the dude would burst an eardrum.
I click open my texts and find the group chat, the one where I sent my buddies the link to the article about Knox and scroll through their reactions, which are essentially a mirror of my own.
To know someone feels the same way I do helps ease the sting of injustice a little bit. I guess there’s comfort in numbers, and the kind of friendship I have with them can’t be replaced. Though I get along just fine with my new teammates, I don’t see myself getting close to any of them. Blame it on Knox’s betrayal and my inability to trust new friendships. Either way, I can’t seem to get past the fact the fucker lied to my face for years.
I trusted that asshole with my life, and he broke that trust.
Ever since, I’ve found myself putting space between me and my new teammates. I’m a little less forthcoming, a little less friendly.
If Knox could completely blindside me, I don’t want to see what a mere acquaintance, someone who hasn’t earned my trust, can do.
It fucking plagues me all the time.
I think about it when I wake and when I go to sleep at night, like a bad dream I can’t shake.
Only two months have passed since the revelation, and I find myself constantly questioning the new people in my life. Trust is something I don’t feel equipped to give. Doubt is my instant reaction to most anything.
Maybe with time, I’ll adjust. Maybe now that Knox is paying for what he did, I can move on. But for now, my go-to for advice and an open ear is and always will be my boys from Riverside. Each and every one of them had been just as shocked and hurt as I was when we discovered the truth about Knox, especially Jace since he’s in love with my sister.
Next to me, Knox was always the sensible one of our group, the most rational and even-keeled, so his betrayal came as an even bigger shock.
My mood shifts. I need to get my mind off him.
I can’t go down that rabbit hole, not today. Not when I’m already stressed as fuck.
I shove the thought aside as my fingers fly over the keyboard, in need of an ear.
Me:
Pretty sure I'm fucked.
Jace:
In the head?
Graham:
We could’ve told you that.
Unknown:
Or are you, perhaps, talking about the kind of fucked that involves a woman? You gentlemen are so quick to assume.
I frown at the number I don’t recognize. For a moment I wonder if it’s Knox, that somehow, he got a new number and infiltrated our new group chat.
The flash of fear strikes me like a lightning bolt, then quickly dissipates when I realize that can’t be right. Jace was the one that started the chat this morning, and Knox would’ve had no way of adding himself.
As if reading my thoughts, the next text comes through, and I snort.
Atlas:
Who the hell are you?
Me:
Wondering the same before I spill my guts.
Jace:
Chris, what the hell?
Chris? The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it, so I type:
Me:
Who’s Chris?!?!?!
Unknown:
What?
Graham:
Can someone tell me what the hell is going on? Who is Chris and how is he in our group chat?
Jace:
Chris is my jackass roommate. How did you . . . wait . . .
Unknown:
Okay, so I might’ve swiped your phone off the kitchen counter this morning and added myself to the chat.
Graham:
Um . . .
Jace:
WTF? Why the hell did you do that?
Unknown:
I figured you were down a friend now, and I wanted to see what it is you’re texting your friends about all the damn time. In truth, I wanted to see if you’re bitching about me.
Jace:
I have far better things to talk about than you. Trust me.
Unknown:
Well, I’m here now. Might as well stay. Carry on . . .
I drag a hand down my face.
Me:
Okay, I don’t have time for this. For the sake of brevity and so I don’t have to referee whatever kind of catfight you two are about to have, I’m adding Chris to my contacts.
Atlas:
Seriously? We’re doing this?
Jace:
Chris is cool. Sometimes.
Unknown:
YES!!!
Jace:
But you’re banished from my phone. I’m changing the security code right now and I don’t even WANT to know how you knew what it was.
I quickly tap on the unknown number and add Chris’s name in my contacts, then return to the texts.
Me:
Anyway, can we get back to my problems? I don’t even remember where we were.
Chris:
The guys assumed you’re just fucked in the head, but I, on the other hand, was giving you the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe you got your dick wet.
This guy . . .
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to focus my thoughts.
Me:
Right. Well, I did happen to meet someone today, but that’s not what this is about.
Jace:
Seriously? It’s about damn time. How hot is she?
Me:
Hot.
Graham:
Like Merry Beth Mayweather hot?
My lips quirk at the name of the British exchange student that I’d been obsessed with as a freshman in high school.
Me:
Hotter.
Chris:
I’m guessing I can’t ask who Merry Beth Mayweather is?
Jace:
NO!
Graham:
No.
Atlas:
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m with Chris. Merry-whatever was before my time at Riverside, so I need some context. Give us a visual. How hot is hot?
Me:
Does it really matter? That’s not why I’m texting.
Jace:
Abso-fucking-lutley.
Graham:
It matters. It always fucking matters.
I sigh. How did we get off on this tangent?
Chris. I blame Chris.
Me:
Slim, petite build with curves. Long auburn hair. And she has these eyes, these huge fucking blue eyes framed by ridiculously long and thick lashes.
I sound like a sap. I don’t even know anything about this chick other than the fact that we go to the same college, she likes football, and has a little sister. Regardless, I am not about to fill them in on her peach-shaped ass or how well she filled out the tight little Wildcats t-shirt.
Jace:
You always did have a thing for gingers.
Graham:
True. Remember how he stole Brynn’s Little Mermaid poster when they were six? He had that thing hanging on the wall in his fucking room for YEARS.
Atlas:
LOL! That’s . . . Did you ask her out?
Me:
Not yet. She seemed a little spooked.
Chris:
Oof. Rejection happens to the best of us, buddy.
Jace:
True. Not all of us can have the Taggart Swagger.
I scoff.
Me:
Taggart Swagger? Did you just make that shit up?
Graham:
Dude, coining a phrase about yourself is a whole new level of loser.
Jace:
Whatever. Brynn agrees with me.
Ugh. My sister and Jace started seeing each other over the summer, and it’s a development I’m still getting used to.
Me:
Please. Let’s not talk about my sister.
Graham:
Back up. Out of all of us, you’re a fucking cinnamon roll. How could she possibly get spooked?
Me:
I don’t know. I got the feeling she’s not used to guys hitting on her. Which I can’t for the life of me understand because she’s fucking gorgeous.
Chris:
Ah, I get it.
Jace:
???
Chris:
She’s sweet but psycho. The super-hot chicks are always crazy. Guys probably steer clear of her.
Me:
What? No. That’s not it.
Atlas:
Were you trying too hard? Sometimes that’s a turn off.
Me:
No.
I answer instantly, then hesitate.
Shit. Was I?
Me:
I guess there’s a slight possibility she thought I was a creep or something. But that’s not even the real reason why I texted.
Jace:
Don’t try and change the subject. This conversation is just getting interesting and I’ve been waiting forever to impart my words of wisdom on you.
I roll my eyes. The last thing I need are words of wisdom from Jace who was hands down the biggest player at Riverside. Just because my sister somehow rehabilitated him doesn’t mean I want to listen to his advice on love . . .
At least not yet.
Maybe if I’m really fucking desperate.
Me:
I fucked up, and now I think my coach hates me.
Atlas:
Shit. Why?
Graham:
You’re probably just being paranoid.
Me:
He caught me in the middle of stealing the fucking tires off his car.
Graham:
Okay, maybe you’re not being paranoid.
Jace:
Yeah, you’re fucked.
Chris:
Wait. Back up. Why would you do that? Even I wouldn’t do that, and I do some dumb shit.
Me:
The upperclassmen have been hazing us on and off for a month now, and Lockhart got it into his head to make the rookies remove the tires off four cars and dump them in the school fountain. Just so happens one of the cars was our coach’s and he caught me in the act.
Jace:
Shiiiiit.
Atlas:
Damn, bro.
Chris:
Teagan needs our support, not our condemnation right now.
Atlas:
Who IS this guy?
Graham:
Of course we’re going to give him shit. He stole his coach’s fucking tires.
Chris:
You know what, I feel unappreciated by the group chat, so I’m leaving now.
Graham:
Okay . . .
Chris:
Seriously. I won’t even come back to read these messages.
Atlas:
Anyway . . .
Chris:
I’m leaving.
Jace:
Carry on. What happened after he caught you?
Me:
I had to put all the tires back on the cars, and then he told me I have one strike against me. Sounds like I have two more before I’m riding the pine. You know what a ball-busting rep he has.
Jace:
Well, damn. I do love a good ride, but not on the pine.
Me:
Do you think I should go to his place and apologize? Or should I just leave it be? Last night was such a blur, I can’t even fucking remember what I said.
Graham:
It’s not a bad idea. It’s always good to be a man and do the right thing.
Atlas:
It certainly won’t hurt. He’ll probably respect you more for it.
Jace:
Agreed. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last month, it’s that you need to own your mistakes.
I snort, knowing he’s referring to how he hooked up with my sister and hid it from me.
Me:
Damn. Looks like it’s time to swallow my pride.
Chris:
I totally didn’t read these.