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Huh. That’s interesting.
What?
Someone just asked me about doing something on Saturday night. Might have to go.
You know we’re going to the fair! Everyone is going, and I can’t miss.
Are we though? I don’t know. Can’t seem to remember.
I could just have Emmeline’s parents drop me off with her.
Nice try. If you go, I go. Now… give me the info.
It’s TrixXTreats.
That’s my girl.
Making me sell out Trix so I can see my friends. I’ll have to discuss that with her when we chat.
Don’t you dare.
Hmm. Just hoping I can get some time with my friends without my dad watching me like a loser.
Smartass.
I learned from the best.
I’m going. Those are the rules. I drive. I stay.
You can stay at the same place, but you can’t, like, stalk us around the fair. You’re going to embarrass me.
You realize half the guys in your school invite me to their birthday parties every year, right?
Embarrassment. Distraction. Either way. Not cool.
I’ll keep a low profile. Like a spy. You won’t even know I’m there.
You are such a nerd.
A nerd who loves you. Getting ready to BBQ. Have a good night. Do your homework. Listen to your mom.
Don’t eat all the cookies I bought. I want some when I get home. Tell the guys I say hi and remind Rams he still hasn’t beaten my score.
Will do.
I’m laughing at how much it’s going to irk Ramsey that he can’t beat my daughter at his favorite game, and more that she loves to taunt him about it. I copy the name Lizzy gave me and type it into the search bar so I can find the account.
It comes up quickly and is private just like Trix said it would be. A small picture of her in a dress is the only sign it’s hers with a bio so vague it could belong to anyone. I have my own private account for friends and family, so I don’t blame her for wanting some anonymity in a world where people can turn the smallest thing into a salacious detail. I like having somewhere I can post things that are just between all of us and not having to hear every thought that runs through random people’s heads about me and my performance out on the field.
It’s one of the few things I hate about being a pro athlete—some people have no boundaries, and others feel like being pro means being flawless all the time. So I can appreciate a space where there’s no pressure to be perfect .
I hover my thumb over the follow-request button for a moment, contemplating whether or not I should. But I’m curious what’s behind the privacy wall. Who she is when she’s not being the senator’s daughter, the good girlfriend in front of my parents, or the public-facing PR person.
I’ve seen enough to know I like her. More than I should given who she’s been to me before now. But I have a feeling there’s a lot more to Beatrix Xavier than I’ve seen so far, and a whole lot fucking more I’m going to like. Which is enough to convince me to push the button.
It’s anticlimactic, though, because nothing happens. Just a note that she’ll be notified and will have to accept or decline. I tap my phone against my leg and then set it on the counter so I can hop in the shower. I’m more anxious to see how she’ll respond than I’ve been for anything outside of a game in a while. I am playing with fire already, but I like it.
An hour later, I’ve got the grill going, and Northmore is splashing around in the pool with Mira, Kelly, and Daphne, while Ramsey and Garner are busy helping me prep the food. I check my phone again, and there’s a notification, but when I open it, it’s from a post I made on my main account this morning and nothing from my private account.
