Chapter 8
KINGMAN MEN PLAY BETTER
ARTEMIS
Gryff had another rough day at practice.
I could tell from the way he slumped into the kitchen when he got home in that particular shade of frustration that came from knowing you'd underperformed. Again.
“Let me guess,” I said, looking up from my laptop where I'd been reviewing game footage from my own training. “DeMarcus ate you alive?”
“Clay, Mahelona, and pretty much everyone else on the defensive line.” He grabbed a protein shake from the fridge and downed half of it in one go. “Tyson pretended not to know who I was after practice. He was kidding around, but I'm playing like shit.”
This was becoming a pattern. For every good practice day Gryff had, there seemed to be two or three where he came home looking like he'd been put through a blender.
It wasn't that he was bad, or that he wasn't cut out to play in the pros.
He was clearly talented enough to be there, but he wasn't playing at the level that had made him a Heisman winner.
And in the League, talent wasn't enough. You had to be consistent. You had to prove yourself every single day.
“You're still adjusting,” I said, though we both knew that excuse was wearing thin. They'd been in training camp for weeks now.
“Flynn's adjusting fine. Flynn's playing like he belongs there.”
That was true. From what I'd observed, Flynn seemed to be settling into professional football with the same steady competence he'd brought to everything else in his life. But then again, Flynn had Tempest. Flynn was happy and settled and in love.
I knew what I had to do.
The running joke that wasn't really a joke about how Kingman men played better when they were getting laid was absolutely true.
It was practically a legend at DSU by the time we'd been freshmen.
There were more than enough warm and willing partners to keep both Flynn and Gryff playing at the top of their games.
The pattern was undeniable, even if people laughed it off as coincidence.
But what if it wasn't about sex at all? What if it was about happiness, about having something stable and wonderful in their personal lives that freed them up to excel professionally?
Gryff was clearly not happy. He was stressed about proving himself, worried about fitting in, probably still processing the huge life change of moving halfway across the country, away from his family for the first time. And all of that anxiety was showing up in his performance on the field.
“You know what you need?” I said, closing my laptop and giving him my full attention.
“Better reflexes? Faster footwork? A time machine so I can go back to college where I actually knew what I was doing?”
“You need to get laid.”
He choked on his protein shake. “Excuse me?”
“It's a proven fact. Kingman men play better when they're getting action. Everyone knows it.”
“They do not.”
“They absolutely do. Your brothers dominated the field last season and won the Big Bowl game like it was just for funsies. It's like a family superpower or something.”
Gryff stared at me like I'd suggested he take up interpretive dance. “That's... that's not how athletic performance works.”
“Isn't it? Think about it. When you're happy and relaxed in your personal life, you play better. When you're stressed and lonely and spending all your free time worrying about whether you belong on the team, you play like shit.”
“I'm not lonely. I have you.”
The simple way he said it made something flutter in my chest, but I pushed the feeling aside. It was sweet of him, but I wasn't the one who was going to sleep with him. This wasn't about me. This was about helping my best friend succeed.
And I knew the surest way to make that happen. Mr. Fix It would be more than willing to go along if he thought he was going to be fixing my love life too.
“Bestie support is not the same thing as romantic fulfillment, and you know it.”
He was quiet for a moment, considering. “Even if that were true, which I'm not admitting it is, what exactly are you suggesting? That I download a dating app and start swiping my way to better football performance?”
“I'm suggesting we both get back out there. We've been hiding in this house like hermits ever since we swore off dating after our respective disasters.”
“We haven't been hiding. Unless of course you mean you've been hiding from making a decision about moving to the other side of the world.”
Damn, he could see through me like a clear mountain morning. Which I had been counting on. Come into my web said the spider to... the other spider. “Shush your face. That's not what this is about.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Look, everyone else in our friend group is either coupled up or actively dating. Parker's been meeting people, Freddie's connecting with classmates, Sean and Ren are obviously settled. We're the only ones who aren't pursuing anything romantic.”
“And?”
“And maybe it's time. We've had enough time to get over our breakups. We're both settled in here for the most part. Plus, you asked me to move in with you partly because you were nervous about meeting new people in a new city, right?”
He nodded reluctantly.
“Well, we've met people now. Good people. But neither of us is going to meet potential romantic partners if we keep spending all our free time meal prepping and watching game film.”
Gryff was starting to look interested despite himself. “So what are you suggesting?”
Gotcha. “I'm suggesting we help each other. We're both clearly terrible at picking partners for ourselves, hence the spectacular breakups, but we know each other better than anyone. Who would you trust more to find someone compatible with me than my best friend?”
“That's...” he paused, considering. “Actually not the worst logic you've ever used.”
“Thanks for the ringing endorsement. And since we don't know a ton of people in LA yet, we could ask Sean and Ren to help. They seem like they'd be great at matchmaking.”
“They do seem like the type who'd enjoy that.”
I could see him warming to the idea, which was exactly what I'd hoped for. If I could get him focused on finding me someone great, he'd be distracted from his own anxiety about dating and might actually agree to let Sean set him up too.
He was quiet for a moment, and I could practically see the wheels turning. Gryff loved solving problems, especially when those problems involved taking care of other people.
“There's just one issue,” he said finally. “Sloane.”
“What about her?”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. “I got a call from her today about Abbey Cat. She saw Freddie's InstaSnap posts and wanted to know why we didn't bring the documentary crew along.”
Oh, crappola. “How upset was she?”
“She wasn't upset, exactly. More like...
disappointed. In that way that's somehow worse than being yelled at.” He rubbed his forehead.
“She was very sweet about it, but also very clear that we have a contract and obligations.
Apparently 'authentic LA lifestyle content' means they need to actually document our social activities.”
“Ooph. I'm slightly regretting signing that release now.”
“Sorry. We don't have to. I can just like... I don't know, get her to film me babysitting Burrito Petito while Flynn and Tempest go out. I'm sure Sloane would be happy to make me out to be the loneliest rookie in the League this season.”
Nope. Make an immediate U-turn, you have missed your exit. “No way. If Sloane's going to want to document every second of your life we need to get back on her good side first. Because I'm not going to the premier with a loo-hoo-zerrrr.”
Gryff grinned for the first time in the whole conversation. “You're the loser.”
“Your face is a loser.” I settled onto the couch next to him, stealing a handful of the almonds he was snacking on. “What if we invited everyone to something that would actually be good for filming? Like that yoga in the park thing I keep seeing flyers for?”
“You want them to film us doing yoga in public?”
“Why not? It's outdoors, it's very LA lifestyle, and Sean and Ren would probably love it. Plus we could actually have a proper conversation without worrying about loud music. And remember how fun goat yoga was?”
“You did not find a goat yoga class, did you?”
“This is just regular yoga.”
“We are not adopting goats just to take to this class.”
“Spoilsport.”
I grabbed my phone and pulled up Sean's contact. “I'm texting Sean and Ren now. You text Sloane and make nice with her.”
Want to try yoga in the park this week? Very LA of us. Fair warning: documentary crew will probably want to film.
SEAN
OMG YES. Ren and I have been meaning to try that. And we're going to be on FlixNChill?? This is so exciting.
Thursday? There's a session at Griffith Park at 4 p.m.
Perfect. Can't wait.
“Sean's in,” I announced. “He seems thrilled about the filming part.”
“Of course he is. He's got that personality that was made for cameras.”
On Thursday the documentary crew arrived early to set up, and Sloane seemed genuinely pleased with the setting.
“This is exactly the kind of content we need,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses. “Very authentic, very aspirational lifestyle.”
Sean arrived with perfectly coordinated athletic wear and the kind of yoga mat that probably cost more than my monthly coffee budget. His enthusiasm was infectious as he waved at the camera crew like they were old friends.
“This is so cool,” he said, setting up his mat next to mine. “I've always wanted to be on a reality show.”
Ren appeared moments later, looking significantly less excited about the filming aspect. He'd positioned himself carefully at the edge of our group, far enough from the main camera angle that he'd be barely visible in most shots.
“You're not camera shy, are you?” I asked him quietly as we settled into our starting positions.
“I've spent plenty of time in front of them,” he said, but there was something guarded in his expression. “But I don't want to make this about me.”