Chapter 17
Zach: When you’re done studying, do you want to come over? We need to finish what we started.
The whistle blows as I jog onto the practice field, hoping my compression pants don’t let me down since I’m still half-hard over what happened in Honey’s dorm room an hour ago. Not to mention the taste of her is still on my lips… or the way she came apart on her desk.
Fuck.
I need to focus on football instead of the memory of her thighs shaking around my face. One day back from Carolina, and all I wanted was to bury myself between her legs and show her exactly how much I missed her.
“Evans!” Coach Summers barks from the sideline. “Get your ass over here before you start warming up.”
I change direction, jogging toward him while the rest of the team continues their stretches. Reese catches my eye and raises a brow, but I just shrug. I have no idea what I’ve done, but if it has anything to do with the boner that won’t go down, I’m in trouble.
“Yes, sir?”
Coach crosses his arms, but there’s something different about his expression. He’s not angry… he’s almost amused. “So,” he starts, drawing out the word. “Want to explain to me what the hell you did to Jacob Miller at that dinner?”
My stomach drops. “Sir?”
“Because the man called me yesterday singing your praises like you walked on water and turned it into Gatorade.” Coach’s mouth twitches. “Said you were ‘mature beyond your years’ and had ‘the kind of football IQ that can’t be taught.”
Relief floods through me so fast I nearly stumble on my cleats. “He said that?”
“More than that. He’s putting in calls to people he knows. Scouts, coordinators, the works.” Coach steps closer, his voice dropping. “This is big, Evans. Really big. Miller doesn’t throw his weight around for just anyone.”
“I… wow. I don’t know what to say, Coach.”
“Don’t say anything. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand lands on my shoulder and he gives it a good squeeze. “Miller also mentioned Drew McCallister was there?”
“Yes, sir. They gave me a lot of advice about the draft process.”
Coach nods slowly. “Good. Those two know what they’re talking about.” His expression shifts slightly, his jaw tightening just a fraction. “McCallister say anything about… anything else?”
Well, shit. How the hell am I supposed to answer that? Drew and Coach clearly have a difficult relationship because of his daughter, and I don’t want to put my foot in it.
“Just football stuff, sir. Draft prep, mostly.” I pause, debating whether to poke the bear, then decide against it. No point bringing up London when Coach already looks like he wants to put Drew through a wall.
“Good,” Coach says curtly. “Now get out there and show them why you deserved their praise.”
I'm halfway back to the team when Sebi intercepts me, practically vibrating with curiosity.
“Dude, what was that about? You look like Coach just offered to adopt you.”
“Jacob Miller called him,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Said good things about our dinner.”
“No shit?” Dax jogs over, sweat already beading on his forehead despite us barely starting. “Like what kind of good things?”
“The kind that get scouts making phone calls,” I reply, still processing it myself.
“Holy fuck,” Sebi breathes. “Evans is gonna be famous.”
“More famous,” Reese corrects, joining our impromptu huddle. “Congrats, man. That's huge.”
Mason appears beside us, because apparently we're having a team meeting in the middle of warmups. “What's huge?”
Sebi turns to Mason with a grin. “Well, based on what we heard from your room last night, I’d say your dick, apparently.”
Silence.
Mason’s face turns approximately seventeen shades of red, only serving to make Sebi’s grin wider.
“I wasn’t—that wasn’t—” Mason stammers.
“Dude,” Dax says, eyes wide. “You were loud. Like, unnaturally loud. At one point I thought someone was being murdered in the football dorm.”
“It was enthusiastic,” Sebi adds helpfully. “Very… vocal. Lots of 'Oh God, yes' and 'Right there, Mason.'“
“Jesus Christ,” Mason mutters, looking like he wants the turf to swallow him whole.
“Who was she?” Reese asks, because he's incapable of letting anything go.
“Nobody,” Mason says quickly. “It was nobody.”
“Nobody doesn't scream your name for forty-five minutes straight,” Sebi counters. “Trust me, I've tried with nobody. She's very unresponsive.”
I can't help but laugh. “Forty-five minutes? Mason, you dog.”
“Can we please talk about literally anything else?” Mason pleads.
“Like how Evans is about to be NFL royalty?” Dax suggests.
“Or how Mason discovered his dick actually works?” Sebi adds.
“I vote for the NFL thing,” Mason says desperately.
“I vote for hearing more about Mason's mystery woman,” Sebi counters. “Because whoever she is, she clearly knows what she's doing. Man went from monk to porn star in one night.”
“Sebi,” I warn, but I'm still grinning.
“What? I'm just saying, good for him. We all thought Mason was celibate by choice. Turns out he was just saving it all up.” Sebi gestures wildly.
“I mean, the man sleeps with his playbook under his pillow and has never looked at a girl twice.
Now suddenly he's going at it like he's training for the sexual Olympics?”
Mason lets out another strangled groan.
“What? I'm just saying, good for him. About time someone on this team got properly laid.” He pauses, considering it. “Well, besides Evans, obviously. That man gets more action than the concession stand.”
“GENTLEMEN!” Coach's voice booms across the field. “Unless you're discussing plays, shut your mouths and start running!”
We scatter across the field, but I can still hear Sebi muttering under his breath about “sexual awakenings” and “the miracle of Mason's dick finally working.”
Toweling my hair, I open the locker and pull my phone out.
New Message: Honey
I grin, hoping it’s her agreeing to come to my house tonight.
Honey: I wish I could, but I’m drowning in internship work. My father sent over three new case files to review before tomorrow. Rain check?
My smile falters slightly, but I get it. She needs to put everything into this internship to see if it’s something she wants to do. Just sucks because I wanted to pick up where we left off earlier.
Zach: Of course, Honeycomb. Completely understand. What about tomorrow night?
Her response comes quickly.
Honey: Definitely. Chris invited us to his hockey game then. Thought it would be fun to go together.
I stare at the message, my grip tightening on the phone. Chris’s game?
“You good, man?” Reese asks as he pulls his shirt over his head.
“Fine,” I mutter, typing back.
Zach: Sure, sounds great.
But it doesn’t sound great. Watching Honey’s face light up as she watches her “friend” play hockey? Yeah. It sounds like fucking torture.
Honey: Awesome! I’m really excited. I’ve never been to a hockey game before.
When was the last time she said she was “really excited” about watching me play?
“Seriously, what’s wrong?” Reese presses, sitting on the bench beside me.
I show him the messages. “Tell me I’m being paranoid.”
Reese reads them and his expression shifts. “Shit, man. I wish I could.”
“Right?” I run a hand through my damp hair, feeling like absolute shit.
Sebi plops down next to us, grinning. “What are we analyzing? Please let it be Mason’s sex life again, because based on the volume alone, I still have questions. Like, did she stub her toe mid-hookup or does our boy have a hidden superpower?”
Mason’s groan echoes from across the locker room. “I can hear you, asshole!”
“I’m counting on it!” Sebi calls back cheerfully.
“Honey's going to Chris's hockey game,” I say flatly.
“Ooh.” Sebi's grin fades. “The hot hockey guy who's obviously got it bad for your girl?”
“The very one.”
“And she's excited about it?”
I nod, showing him the messages.
Sebi whistles low. “That's… not great, brother.”
“You think I should say something else?”
“Hell no,” Reese says immediately. “You already made your feelings clear at Hail Mary's. Say more and you'll look obsessed.”
“But if you don't do something,” Sebi counters, “and he makes a move while you're sitting right there like a chump…”
“He's not going to make a move at his own game,” I argue, but even as I say it, I'm not sure I believe it.
My phone buzzes again.
Honey: Chris says it should be a really good game. Rome U is their biggest rival, and apparently there's some drama between the goalies.
Another message about Chris. Another reason she's excited that has nothing to do with me.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, shoving my phone in my bag.
“Easy,” Reese warns. “Don't do anything stupid.”
“Like what? Show up to support my girlfriend?”
“Like show up looking for a fight,” he corrects. “Because that's what this feels like.”
He's not wrong. I can feel the anger building in my chest, hot and territorial. But what am I supposed to do? Sit back and watch Chris slowly wedge himself between us?
“Look,” Sebi says, surprisingly serious for once. “If this guy's really trying to snake your girl, he's playing the long game. The best thing you can do is be there, be supportive, and remind Honey why she chose you in the first place.”
“And if that doesn't work?”
Sebi's grin returns, all teeth and terrible ideas. “Then we get creative.”
For a second, I almost buy into it. The part of me that likes drama and the idea of forcing the world to notice what I already know, but Reese is right. Acting now would make me the loser that can’t control his feelings, and I’ll look like an overbearing and controlling boyfriend.
I won’t do that to her.
Not ever.
I let out a long, quiet breath and shove my hands in my pockets like I’m steadying myself. “okay,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. “We don’t make a scene. We don’t start anything. We do the opposite.”
Reese blinks. “You mean… be normal—something I know is really hard for you. Zach, if you want Honey to continue dating you, I think this should be a solo mission.”
My phone buzzes again.
Honey: Not sure if I was clear, but I want you to come with me. Chris says it’s a huge game and I don’t want to be there without you.
For a second, all the noise in the locker room drops away. She wants me there—to watch him. To cheer from the stands while Chris tries to get her attention. My jaw flexes and heat crawls up the back of my neck.
“Shit,” Reese mutters, reading over my shoulder. “She just invited you to the guy’s game?”
“Yup.” My voice is flat, my chest tight.
Sebi lets out a low whistle. “That’s brutal. She’s basically handing the guy the mic and asking you to clap.”
Reese shakes his head. “You can’t go, man. Not like this. It’ll just blow up into something it’s not.”
I stare at Honey’s name glowing on my screen, my thumb hovering over the keypad. I could tell her that I’m busy or be honest and let her know it pisses me off, but I can’t.
He’s her friend. Just like Jenni, I have to let Honey find herself, and make friends.
I pocket the phone. “It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.”
“Alone?” Sebi asks, pouting out his bottom lip.
“Alone,” I confirm, grabbing my bag and standing. “He might be out on the ice, but I’m the one in her bed.”
“Ooh, that’s fighting talk from our QB.” Dax laughs, throwing an arm over my shoulder and pulling me in to rub his knuckles in my hair. “I like this guy. All bite and no bark.”
I push him off me and shunt the bag further up my shoulder. Reese studies me like he wants to ask more questions but finally nods.
Tomorrow isn’t about making a show. It’s about reminding Honey who she came with—and who she’s going home with.