CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SONYA
Bekah and Everett are on me before the door even shuts behind Reid and Walker. I knew what to expect by having Walker stay the night, and yet, I’m still not prepared.
“Details,” Bekah demands, following me into the kitchen with Everett hot on her tail. The books she had now abandoned on the couch behind her. “What the heck happened after we got home last night?” she asks, grabbing my arm to keep me from getting any further.
I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from smiling at them. For lack of a better word, last night was amazing. I knew things with Walker would be good, but it was better than I expected. He was more than I could have ever imagined. “He changed his mind.”
It’s not that I don’t want to tell them everything. I do. I want to scream it from the rooftops, and as much as I am okay with them knowing, having this small bubble of space for just Walker and I, it feels sacred. Something for just the two of us.
“That’s all you’re going to give us?” Everett asks. “We need details, Sunny. The dirtier, the better. Don’t leave us hanging.”
I roll my eyes and snatch the coffee cup from his hands, bringing it up to my lips. “Yes, that’s all you’re getting. He changed his mind about being friends with benefits, so we’re going to do this thing, and that’s all I’m going to tell you.”
Bekah groans behind me as I take a sip of Everett’s coffee, humming at the sweet swirl of cinnamon he added and decide I’m keeping it for myself. “Sunny!”
“Bekah!” I mock in response, a hint of a smile pulling at my lips on my way to the stairs. “I know you want more, but that’s all I’m giving you.”
“At least tell me when to stop,” she says, holding her hands up and slowly inching them apart. My lips part at the very un-Bekah-like question before the laugh slips out of her mouth. “Okay, if you want to keep it to yourself, that’s fine, but we’re here if you change your mind and want to talk about it.”
“I know,” I assure her. “I promise if I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
She grins, tilting her chin up with glee. “I’d expect no less.”
Everett shakes his head, approaches the stairs, and holds his hand out over Bekah’s shoulder, clearly wanting his coffee back. His inquiry over Walker and me fades into nothing, in the same way Bekah let it go the moment I put my foot down. The safety of having friends who respect my boundaries makes it that much easier to want to share the things going on in my life because I know when I don’t, they’ll back off.
“Sorry,” I say, bringing the cup up to my lips with a grin. “This is mine now.”
He narrows his eyes for only a second before deciding it’s a losing battle. In no world is he getting this mug of heaven back from me. “Fine.”
“Love you, Evy!” I grin before trekking up the rest of the stairs.
Taking a long sip, I settle in at my desk and reach for my computer mouse, sinking into the brightness of my room. The screen springs to life and opens to my workspace, the basic sitemap for the app displayed in various colors in front of me, but something about it doesn’t fit. For all the features they want, I can’t help but think back to all the issues their athletes are struggling with: missing emails, schedule mishaps, and unorganized meal planning.
Staring at my screen, an app takes form in front of me—one not for the fans but for the athletes and coaching staff to streamline everything. It feels like a missed opportunity just sitting there waiting for someone to grab onto it. With a sigh, I switch over to the second sheet with the breakdown of the profiles I have fleshed out.
My mouse hovers over the empty text box to start working again when my phone vibrates on the nightstand. Sliding out of my chair, I cross the room and smile to myself at the wrinkled sheets. The memory of Walker’s calloused hands on my body permanently pressed to my skin.
DYLAN
Got a bit of time before my game if you wanted to pop by to work on your app.
Back door is open.
ME
Be over in a few.
Setting my phone back down, I step out of my sleep shorts and toss them onto the bed before opening the bottom drawer of my dresser to pull out a pair of leggings. I quickly get ready before grabbing my phone and laptop bag, taking my now empty mug downstairs with me.
Bekah is wrapped back up in her book, this time with headphones on, and Everett seems to have disappeared from the main floor altogether.
Stopping at the fridge, I grab the dry-erase marker off the side of the fridge and make a note on our chore chart to let them know where I am before sliding into the shoes I keep on the rack by the backdoor. The cold air hits my exposed skin when I step onto the deck, and I almost immediately regret not grabbing my jacket.
Instead of turning around to grab it, I head across the frozen yard to the snow-covered deck box. Using it, I climb over the fence to Dylan’s yard, landing safely on the matching box on his side of the fence.
“Hey, Sunny,” Campbell greets from the kitchen table where he’s eating when I let myself in through the sliding door and step out of my shoes, tucking them into the corner. “How’s your morning been?”
“She got some morning cardio in from what I heard,” Dylan says with a teasing grin, sliding into the chair at the end of the table next to Campbell. His eyes are full of amusement.
“That so?” The corner of his lips tip up as he meets my eyes.
I shrug my shoulders and pull the chair out across from him, setting my computer bag down. “Walker had a change of heart. No need to make a big deal about it.”
Dylan hums. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Really good.” A part of me was expecting there to be some big shift of energy after, but there wasn’t. We’re still the same Sonya and Walker we’ve always been. Even with the tangled lines, it almost feels like a natural switch for us.
Like maybe we should have been doing this all along.
“Yeah?” He folds his arms over the table as I pull my laptop out to open my notes. “How’s he feeling about it?”
“Good, I think? We didn’t get much of a chance to talk about it this morning. He had to meet up with Flynn for some LSAT thing they’re doing. Things were good, though, and we’re going to talk later.”
“You should invite him to the game,” Campbell suggests, getting up with the now empty plate to bring it to the sink. “Better to get it out of the way, right?”
I nod my head. “I don’t have a ticket for him.”
“Don’t worry about that. Fitz always has spare tickets in case his parents and sister ever decide at the last minute to come down for a game, and they aren’t coming tonight.”
As if on cue, the front door opens, and Fitz walks through the door with a pinched look on his face. Pressing my lips together, my eyes dart over to Dylan, who has the same look on his face.
“Everything okay over there, man?” Dylan calls out to him.
Fitz lifts his head, suddenly aware he’s not alone. “Hey, Sunny.” He lifts his chin in my direction, acknowledging my presence before answering Dylan. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t seem fine,” Campbell says, crossing back to his seat at the kitchen table, this time with a water bottle in hand and a mug that he sets on my side of the table. My lips curl up at the smell of more coffee, reaching for it greedily.
“Well, I might need you to keep me from kicking Sunny’s classmate’s ass, but other than that, I couldn’t be better,” he says, stopping at the fridge to grab something off the top shelf. The mention of Topher is all I need to know why he’s in such a foul mood.
“He won’t leave you alone, hey?” I ask.
“The kid just does not seem to be getting the message. I told him I’d let him know when I was free to sit down for this bullshit Coach is making us do, and he just won’t accept that. He showed up at the fucking training facility and argued with security until one of them came to find me.” He shakes his head in frustration, grabbing the jar of peanut butter from the cabinet next to the fridge. “He fucked with my game day routine, and I swear if we lose tonight, I’m going—”
“We’re going to be fine,” Dylan assures him, watching Fitz messily assemble a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I didn’t realize how deep game day routines fell for athletes until Dylan entered my life. They each have their own, but it’s all the same. They are superstitious to a fault, and one misstep in those routines can completely throw them off.
“Did he eventually leave when you went down?” Campbell asks.
Fitz snorts and carries the plate piled with two sandwiches over to the table, tossing a half to Dylan. For whatever reason, he refuses to eat two whole sandwiches. It’s always one and a half, and Dylan is usually the recipient of the parting half. “I have no idea. He could still be there for all I know. I told the security guard I wasn’t coming down and that he’s been following me.”
My eyes widen. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to go down and talk to him? I know Topher can be a bit much, but he’s not completely unreasonable. He just sometimes needs a hard push in the right direction to get it through his thick skull.”
“I don’t have time to babysit him. I told him I’d make time for it, and I will, it’s just going to be on my schedule, and he’ll have to suck it up if he wants it done,” he says, sinking back into his seat. “How are you doing, Sunny? I hear you had some fun last night.”
I narrow my gaze at him before sliding over to Dylan. “Would you keep my sex life out of your fucking group chat?” I ask, leaning over to slap his chest.
“Hey now! I didn’t know this wasn’t public knowledge.”
“Some of us don’t go parading around and having sex in public restrooms, Dyl,” I argue, shaking my head with a sigh. “We should get some work done on this before you two need to get ready for your game. Fitz, they said you had some spare tickets?”
He nods his head. “Want one for the boy toy?”
“His name is Walker, but if you wouldn’t mind.”
“They’re yours,” he says, pushing up from the table. “I’m going to shower. I’ll text you the transfer for the tickets, Sunny.”
“Thank you!” I say with a smile before pulling my laptop towards me. “So, I thought it could be fun to get a little personal with your player profiles.”
Campbell’s eyebrow lifts. “Personal how?”
“Nothing scary, I promise. I’m just thinking instead of it all being technical, with your stats and numbers, which is all great and obviously going to be part of it. It would be nice for your fans to get to know you a little bit,” I explain. “To humanize you.”
“Humanize us?” Dylan asks.
“A lot of people see you as objects on a team, but you are people, and getting to know you adds that element of rush. It wouldn’t be anything crazy. Just silly things like what your guilty pleasure movie is, or what’s your favorite pizza topping.”
“ She’s the Man ,” Campbell says, and the corner of my lips pulls up as I jot the note down on his side of the document. “And pineapple.”
“Controversial,” I tease, turning my attention to Dylan. “Dyl?”
“You really think people will care about this?”
“I do. Not everyone watches sports to track stats. They watch because they like the sport or they get invested in a player. Take Beks, for example. How many games has she been to now?”
“A lot.”
“Exactly. Do you think she cares how many assists and goals you have?”
“Okay, I see your point.” Pushing his dark brown hair off his forehead, he leans on his elbow and thinks his answer over. “What was that one we watched with Beks a few weeks ago? With Captain America?”
“ What’s Your Number? ” I supply.
He nods his head. “That. Dude was hot in that, and bacon.”
“Why was I not invited to this movie night?” Campbell asks, stretching his arms out behind him as he shifts in his chair.
“Dylan wasn’t even invited.”
“That’s a lie. Bekah texted me,” he corrects me. “I’ve officially earned my membership to girl’s night. We’re doing a Kate Hudson marathon next time.”
“If you’re watching How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days , I’m coming,” Campbell interjects, neither of them paying any attention to me anymore. “That shit was good.”
“If we can get back on topic, you’re more than welcome to,” I tell him.
“Sorry, Sunny. Ask away.”
Bringing my screen back to life, I start tossing out the questions I thought out for their profiles. Everything from the basics, like their favorite color (blue for Dylan, orange for Campbell) to their celebrity crush (Ryan Reynolds for Dylan, Florence Pugh for Campbell). None of the questions are serious, and not all of them will make it onto the app, but it gives me options to paint a story of them for eager fans.
And to Dylan and Campbell’s credit, they don’t complain. Not even for a second. Not even at the stupidest of questions.
“Got everything you need?” Dylan asks when Fitz comes back downstairs in a rush, half-dressed in his dress pants and partly done-up dress shirt.
“We got to go,” he says, his voice laced with frustration. “Coach just called in a panic. I guess his email didn’t go through again and we’re supposed to be at the arena already for some last-minute meeting.”
“Again?” Campbell gets up as I shut my laptop. “How many times has that been?”
“Too fucking many.” Dylan shakes his head, getting up to his feet. “Sorry, Sunny.”
I shake my head, waving him off before sliding my laptop into my bag. “Don’t be. I’ll let you know if I need anything else,” I say, getting up to my feet to carry my empty mug to the sink as the two of them rush upstairs to change, and Fitz fixes the buttons on his shirt.
My eyes trail to the stove, Fitz’s words about the unorganized meal plans pushing forward before going back to the morning Dylan took my phone because of a training schedule mix-up.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, turning to Fitz.
“Shoot.”
“Do you think a portal for student-athletes focused solely on communication with your trainers and coaches would be useful?”
“What would that entail?” he asks while folding his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.
“A message board for last minute changes, a calendar your coaches could add to, a recipe book for your nutritionist to set up individual meal plans for each of you. Push notifications to let you know of the changes as soon as they happen. Maybe a messaging system. Just a way to keep your athletics and academics separated that can be organized instead of all of this where you’re running around with your heads chopped off.”
“That’d be cool, Sunny,” Dylan says, having caught the last half of the conversation on his way down the stairs. “It’s definitely something we have a need for. These last few months have just been chaotic. We barely have free time as it is, and now it’s getting even shorter because of messed up communication.”
I nod my head when Campbell joins the group, making a beeline for the kitchen to grab a banana from the bunch. The idea brews a little further at the frantic way they move, knowing that this could be an easy solution to a lot of their problems and a whole lot more helpful than the app they want to develop. As much fun as an app driven for fans could be, I’ve witnessed their frustrations more than enough times to realize if something doesn’t change, they are all going to burn out.
“I’m going to get going. I’ll see you three after the game?” I ask, smiling when they stop what they’re doing to say goodbye. “Good luck out there.”
“Bye, Sunny,” Campbell and Fitz say on their way to the front door while Dylan follows me to the back, grabbing my elbow before I can slip out.
“Hey, what was that about?”
“Just an idea,” I say before leaning on my toes and kissing his cheek. “I’ll let you know if it becomes something more, but for right now, go win your game. I’ll see you after.”
He nods his head in agreement as I slide back into my shoes and head back to my house, a new sense of hopefulness filling my chest. It’s not what they’re asking for. Not even slightly, but it feels like it could be something big.