Chapter 13
“Anyone up for watching Sebi strike out with everyone, including the fucking bench, tonight?” Dax calls across the locker room, toweling off his hair.
Sebi doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey! I resent that! The bench loves me. She’s a real freak for my glutes. We’ve been flirting since preseason.”
The locker room echoes with groans. Reese looks at me, making a gagging sound just as Mason throws a sock at Sebi.
“The bench is the only thing that’ll touch you willingly,” Mason mutters, dragging a hoodie over his head.
“Touch me?” Sebi snorts. “She clings, bro. Last week, she left a dent in my ass. We’re basically exclusive now.”
“Dude, you’re so horny, you’re hallucinating,” Dax laughs. “Next thing you’ll be proposing to the hand dryer.”
“Nah, that bitch blows hot and cold.” Sebi winks. “Can’t trust her.”
“I swear to God,” Mason grumbles, “if I hear about you and another piece of furniture, I’m setting your mattress on fire.”
“Good. She likes it hot.”
Dax makes a gagging sound. “Okay, I’m tapping out. Can we go for drinks now and talk football before Sebi starts serenading his locker next?”
“First round’s on Mason since he dropped that block in the third quarter drill,” Sebi calls.
“Fuck off,” Mason retorts, pulling his shirt over his head. “That was Dax’s assignment.”
“Was not,” Dax shoots back, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “Just because you can’t remember the playbook doesn’t make it my fault.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I pull on my jeans. Once they’re zipped, I check my phone and see a message from Honey.
Honey: So I hope you don’t mind, but I’m at your place. I’ve made dinner. It’s your favorite. Chicken parm.
Fuck.
My smile is instant. Wide and stupid because Operation: Honey, I shrunk the Distance is working, and I don’t think she even realizes it.
She’s at my place, cooking me dinner. No heads-up.
No half-apology. Just I’m here. Two weeks ago she was ignoring coming to my place completely, and now she’s inviting herself over, letting herself in and acting like it’s her space as much as it is mine.
“Evans,” Sebi calls, snapping his fingers in my face. “Earth to Loverboy. Did you zone out thinking about Honey’s tits again or are you composing your next proposal in Notes?”
“I’m busy tonight,” I say, not looking up as I type a response to her.
Zach: You had me at chicken parm. OMW. Love you, Honeycomb.
“Shocker,” Dax mutters, combing his curls. “Evans is whipped. Always has been.”
“Not whipped,” I say, finally lifting my gaze. “Just not dumb enough to choose your crusty asses and warm beer over homemade chicken parm and a girl who actually likes me for more than my stats.”
“Definitely whipped,” Sebi confirms. “But can we blame him? If I had a girl like Honey cooking for me, I’d propose before the plate hit the table. Twice just to be sure she heard me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if he knows just how often I ask for her hand in marriage, and subsequently just how often she puts it off. I haven’t told anyone, so he shouldn’t, but honestly, I haven’t been shy about asking and he eavesdrops with the best of them.
“Whoa, Romeo.” Sebi raises his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, the girl’s a dime. If she ever dumps you, I’m buying a ring.”
“Try it,” I deadpan. “I’ll bury you behind the practice field before you get to the store.”
“See?” Reese says from across the lockers, shoving his stuff in a duffel bag. “You guys think he’s whipped. I just think he’s in love. There’s a difference.”
Dax lets out a dramatic sigh. “Spare me. Last time I got laid, TikTok still thought I was funny, and my mom still called me handsome without sounding worried.”
“True, and let’s not forget that Mason’s still using his hand like it's prom night,” Sebi adds.
“Speak for yourself,” Mason mutters, not even bothering to deny it. We all know he’s too focused on football to even think about the appropriate way to talk to women.
“Face it, boys,” Dax shoves his head through his shirt, then looks between our teammates. “While we’re out here fighting for leftovers, Evans bagged the best girl on campus before any of us figured out how to shave. Man’s been living the dream since high school.”
I smirk because they’re not wrong. Not about that.
Sebi leans forward, his interest piqued. “She’s been at your place a lot lately, huh? She moving in, or just marking her territory after clocking the shrine of footballs on your porch?”
“Neither, but I’m working on it,” I admit, tying my shoes. “You know Honey. Stubborn as hell. Doesn’t want to be ‘just the quarterback’s girlfriend’ even though she’s been my endgame since day one.”
That earns a round of groans.
“God, you're disgusting,” Dax says, throwing a towel at my head. “We get it. You're in love. She’s your moon, your stars, your damn chicken parm. Spare us.”
I catch the towel midair and fling it back. “Keep talking. One day you’ll meet a girl who makes you delete every contact in your phone without hesitation, and I’ll be there with a bottle of champagne and a playlist called ‘RIP, Hoe Phase.’”
“Bold of you to assume he has contacts worth deleting,” Sebi deadpans. “His phone is just DoorDash, fantasy football, and his mom. Even she doesn’t text him back.”
Dax grins, but before I can fire something back, his eyes flick with a spark of mischief.
“What about Honey’s friend, though? Jenni, right? That blonde from the party. I’d be honored to add her to the coveted list.”
My jaw ticks. “Stay far away from her.”
Dax holds his hands up. “Damn. Okay. You still got that voodoo doll, or did you finally toss it?”
“She’s bad news,” I insist. “Shows up at my house uninvited, flirts and gives me her number. Then she acts like we’re strangers when Honey’s around. Sketchy doesn’t even cover it.”
“Maybe,” Dax shrugs, “or maybe she didn’t know you and Honey were together-together and bailed the second she realized. Could’ve been trying to save face.”
Reese snorts. “That’s a reach. Everyone on campus knows Zach’s taken. He’s made that pretty damn clear.”
“Has he?” Sebi raises a brow. “Our boy’s out here throwing heart hands into the stadium, but when’s the last time he actually said her name?”
“I don’t have to. Everyone knows it’s Honey,” I say flatly.
“The OGs, sure, but the new girls?” Sebi points out. “The freshmen. The ones showing up in jerseys two sizes too small? They don’t know shit, and I bet Honey’s not exactly out here announcing your relationship either.”
“I’m with Sebi on this one,” Dax says, casually tossing a water bottle in the air before catching it better than any pass from me. “Not everyone’s out here playing chess, Evans. Some people are just… dumb. Girl probably made a stupid mistake and regrets it wholeheartedly.”
“Evans!” Coach's voice booms from the doorway.
The room goes still, and the energy shifts.
“My office. Now.”
I nod, my stomach tightening. I look around, but no one wants to make eye contact because they know I must’ve really fucked something up if Coach wants to see me after a win.
“Uh oh,” Sebi whispers. “Someone's in trouble.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, zipping my bag. “It's probably about the game film.”
“Or maybe they're giving you another award,” Reese suggests. “That throw in the second quarter was pretty spectacular.”
“Or maybe he’s finally found out you’ve been sneaking Honey into the locker room late at night,” Dax adds.
I freeze, cutting a look at Dax.
That’s not public knowledge, so how the fuck did he know?
Dax points at me triumphantly. “Ha! I knew it! You dirty dog. Word of advice, her hair bows are basically a trademark. One shows up down here, and we all know who’s been in the locker room.”
I roll my eyes, not dignifying him with an answer, and head out with a one-finger salute. That earns a round of laughter from the team as I head down the hall, passing the pictures of alumni quarterbacks.
Carter Briggs…. Beckett Slade… Jett Wallace…
Then there’s a space before Jacob Miller. Not sure who that was for, or why we switched to our alternative uniform colors after, but I don’t have time to care. The most important thing is that my picture will be the one after Jacob’s.
I knock lightly on Coach’s door.
“Come in, Evans.”
He doesn’t look up as I walk in—he’s too busy scribbling something out with enough aggression to rip the paper. I drop into the chair across from him and glance at the framed photo of his daughter, Bella, on the corner of his desk with what looks like Big Ben in the background.
“Good game today,” he says, finally setting the pen down. His tone is neutral, but coming from Coach, that’s basically a standing ovation. “Your accuracy’s improved since last week.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
I brace for the inevitable “but” that usually follows, only it doesn’t come. Instead, he leans back in his chair and levels me with a look.
“I’ve been in talks with a few teams down south while we’re there for the southern swing. The Crossbills have kindly agreed to let us train at their practice facilities over the week we’re there.”
“That’s amazing. It’s going to be an honor to train there.”
Coach nods. “Save the platitudes. You are the leader of the team, and with that comes the responsibility of leading by example. I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This isn’t just practice, Evans. This is an opportunity to meet with NFL staff, teams, and the like. I expect you to take full advantage of it.”
“I will, sir.”
He gives me a stern look before reaching into his desk drawer. He pulls out a slip of paper and pushes it toward me. “On that point, Jacob Miller wants to have dinner with you while we’re down there. Just you. Said he was impressed with that game film I sent him last month.”
“You sent him my film footage?”
“Yeah, he requested it after his coach asked about you.”
His coach asked about me?