Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
ISA
I kept my head down as I walked through the athletic complex, trying to ignore the whispers that followed me like smoke.
Tristan and Stella were still the buzz everywhere. Their perfect little getaway was all anyone could talk about.
My freshman year was officially in the toilet.
I couldn’t even play.
My leg was finally out of the brace, but I still wasn’t cleared for full contact.
I’d spent the last week hiding in my room, scrolling through the transfer portal like a coward, wondering if anywhere else would even take me while I was injured.
Going home for the holidays sounded even worse.
My mom had been blowing up my phone nonstop.
“I told you to lock it down,” she’d snapped last night, her voice already thick from whatever she was drinking at the country club. “You had one job, Isabella.”
She didn’t care that I actually liked him. She didn’t care that my heart was cracked open. All she cared about was the money. The status. The idea that I could erase generations of nothing by marrying richer than she had.
I was so deep in my own head that I almost didn’t hear Drew when he walked into the training room.
“Hey, what’s up, babe? How’s your leg feeling?”
Before I could even process what was happening, he leaned down and kissed me.
Right there. In front of everyone.
The entire room went silent.
My brain short-circuited. I barely had time to react before he pulled back and looked around like he owned the place.
“Yeah,” he said casually, loud enough for half the training room to hear. “Isa and I had a good laugh about it. We kept our shit under wraps. She was playing Vale while I’ve been hooking up with her this whole time. Why don’t you guys write about that in your campus blogs?”
My face burned.
He reached out and brushed his thumb across my bottom lip, then gave me that cocky half-smile.
“I’ll see you later, babe. Netflix and chill tonight. I’ll grab your favorite Thai on the way.”
And just like that, he walked out.
The second he was gone, my teammates swarmed.
“Seriously, Isa?” one of them whisper-shouted. “You’ve been hooking up with Travers? How did we not know?”
My roommate’s eyes went wide. “Wait… that night you came home wearing that giant shirt and looking like you’d done the walk of shame… that was Travers?”
“Damn, Isa,” another girl laughed. “You go, girl. This whole time we thought you were heartbroken and you already had another big fish on the line.”
“Pro scouts are looking at him too,” someone else added. “His season’s been insane. Hell, trade the NBA dreams for the NFL. You’re locking down a six-four giant with those shoulders. Who cares if he doesn’t have the bank account yet? He will.”
I just sat there, staring at the floor while they kept talking like I wasn’t even there. Like Drew was some prize they were all suddenly proud of.
When I finally looked up, Dante Daniels was standing a few feet away. The starting QB, Drew’s right hand man, His jaw was tight. He’d heard everything and by the way his fingers were tapping out a text—filled Drew in.
I felt sick.
I mumbled something to my teammates and shuffled out of the room and down the hall, toward Drew, who was already on his way in full gear to the practice field. Like he hadn’t just blown up my entire life in the middle of the training room.
“That wasn’t me,” I said quietly when I reached him. “That was all them.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just slipped his arm around my shoulders and started walking us out.
“I don’t like your friends, babe,” he muttered.
I didn’t argue.
We walked in silence for a minute before he spoke again.
“Come on. I’ll take you to dinner after practice. If I take you back to my place right soon, we both know we’ll have our clothes off in twenty seconds.”
I stopped walking and looked up at him.
“Drew. Control yourself.”
He gave me that crooked grin, the one that always made my stomach do something stupid.
“It’s hard not to, baby. This thing between us has been keeping me up at night for weeks.”
I crossed my arms, trying to look unaffected even though my face felt hot.
“Sex isn’t part of this fake dating thing.”
“Negotiable.”
“No,” I said firmly. “It’s not negotiable.”
He just smiled wider, like he already knew he was going to wear me down eventually.
“Whatever you say, Texas.”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t pull away when he started walking again with his arm still around me.
For the first time all day, I didn’t feel completely alone.
Dinner after his practice, apparently, meant burgers.
Not cute burgers. Not one of those tiny, artfully stacked things with truffle aioli and a sad pile of micro-greens arranged by someone who hated joy.
Real burgers. Greasy paper baskets, red vinyl booths, neon buzzing in the front window, fries salted so aggressively my trainer would have staged an intervention if she’d been within twenty feet of the building.
Drew slid into the booth across from me like the place had been built around his shoulders and immediately took up too much space.
His knees bumped mine under the table. His forearm landed on the edge like a threat.
He looked completely at home here, which annoyed me because I wanted him to look ridiculous.
I wanted one thing about Drew Travers to be easy to dismiss.
Instead, he sat there with his cut-off Stanford hoodie, taped wrist, damp hair curling at the nape of his neck, and that stupid, unfair mouth, looking like every bad decision on campus had learned how to smile.
“You brought me here after detonating my entire life in the training room?” I asked.
He picked up a laminated menu even though I had a strong suspicion he already knew every item by heart. “You’re welcome.”
“I did not say thank you.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking about stabbing you with a straw.”
“Hot.” He glanced up, dimples flashing. “But let’s order first. I can’t negotiate fake dating terms on an empty stomach.”
I stared at him. “Fake dating terms.”
“Rules,” he said, like that made it more reasonable. “Boundaries. Expectations. Public-facing behavior. Private-facing behavior. Posting schedule. Overnight logistics.”
“Overnight logistics?”
The waitress appeared before I could follow that particular nightmare to its natural conclusion. Drew ordered three cheeseburgers, extra fries, a chocolate malted shake, two waters, and a side of onion rings without looking at the menu once. Then he glanced at me.
“She’ll have—”
I held up one finger. “Finish that sentence carefully.”
His mouth twitched. “Whatever she wants, because she is terrifying and I respect all waitstaff.”
The waitress laughed—traitor.
I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and fries because I was not about to sit across from him and nibble lettuce like I had been raised by rabbits. The second she walked away, Drew leaned back and studied me with a seriousness I did not trust.
“Okay,” he said. “Rule one. You post about me once a day. Twice if something big happens.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Stories count. Feed posts count more. Soft launch is already done because half the athletic department watched me kiss you, but now we need consistency.”
“You sound like a brand manager.”
“I sound like a man who understands the internet is full of bored people with group chats and bad intentions.”
I hated that he was not wrong. Ever since the training room, my phone had been vibrating nonstop. Teammates. Girls from class. Random accounts that had never cared about my existence until Drew Travers walked in, called me babe, and turned me from sad almost-girlfriend into secret football hookup.
The worst part was how fast it worked.
By the time we left the athletic complex, three people had already looked at me differently. Not with pity. With curiosity. Envy, even. Like Drew’s arm around my shoulders had repaired something Tristan’s absence broke.
It made me feel powerful.
It also made me feel sick.
“Fine,” I said. “One post a day. But I approve all photos.”
Drew scoffed. “Baby, every angle of me is good.”
“I have seen your student ID picture.”
His face changed. “That was a dark time.”
“You look like you got arrested for stealing protein powder.”
“I was bulking.”
“You were blinking.”
“Still hot.”
“Debatable.”
He grinned, and just like that, the tension loosened. That was the problem with him. He made everything too easy. Fighting with Tristan had felt like trying to read a book with half the pages missing. Fighting with Drew felt like throwing sparks at gasoline and pretending I didn’t like the fire.
“Rule two,” he said. “We eat together at least four times a week.”
I opened my mouth.
He pointed at me. “Before you complain, athletes eat constantly. You’re rehabbing. I’m trying to keep this hot body firing on all cylinders. Everybody wins.”
“What body?” I rolled my eyes, because apparently I had chosen violence.
He just stared at me.
Then he slowly gestured to himself.
The entire booth somehow became hotter.
“Six thousand calories a day,” he said. “Give or take. Do you know what it takes to maintain this level of elite campus resource?”
“A medical team and delusion?”
“Carbs, baby. Carbs and God’s favor.”
I rolled my eyes, but my mouth betrayed me. It did that small almost-smile thing I hated because Drew noticed it every single time.
“There she is,” he said softly.
My stomach dipped.
No. Absolutely not.
I reached for my water and took a sip I did not need. “Keep going with your fake-dating constitution, Travers.”
His gaze stayed on me for one beat longer than necessary before he continued. “Rule three. Hand-holding. Yes. Public touching. Yes. Me kissing you in corners in front of everybody—also yes.”
My water went down wrong.
Drew’s smile turned wicked. “Problem?”
“I’m sorry, did you say kissing me in corners like that was a scheduled athletic requirement?”
“Only when necessary.”
“When would it be necessary?”