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“Damn, Adam,” a football player snapped and I stepped away from him on the field. I didn’t mean to bump into him. I wasn’t thinking.
“Adam!” Miles’s call brought me out of the whirlwind and I glanced back, irritated.
“Hey, Cleo’s lapdog.” I mock-saluted him, knowing one hundred percent it was a shit move. But jealousy was rearing its ugly head again. Miles, who fawned over Cleo in between practices, and snuck off with her after we left the building like none of us noticed the two of them giggling and holding hands.
Must be fucking nice.
He ignored the nickname. “Cleo’s got a package for you.”
“Oh, you’re her mailman too? Nice promotion.”
“I have a girl who wants to stay in my bed.” He shrugged. “Don’t be an asshole.”
I started walking towards the locker room and made a wide arc to look back, shocked. Did he really say that shit to me? But Miles was already on his way to the water station. He did just say that to me. That smug bastard.
“You know what, Miles?” I snapped.
He held up his hand, waving me away.
“Well, you’re the fucking—” I made a noise at the back of my throat. “You’re like the pitbull—the dog—the—the—that’s right, fuck off!”
Miles threw a thumbs-up sign.
Fucking asshole.
I stalked towards the locker room. Miles was always even-tempered, just a cool, casual guy, and today—today he wasn’t the problem. I was. I’d thrown two footballs at the bleachers by accident and I yelled at a group of freshmen for laughing on the sidelines. My brain was unspooling. It was pretty obvious.
And now a package, no doubt some kind of shoe thing I had to sign for or social media crap or something else I didn’t need. Shaking my head, I saw Cleo waiting for me.
“Hey, Cleo,” I muttered.
She held up a package. It didn’t look like any of the crisp, black packages I got from high-end companies signing on for sponsorships. Just a regular package, with scribbled handwriting for the address.
I frowned and took the package from her.
“This is a little different from the usual,” Cleo said carefully. “We have your mail routed here because of how many—um—fan service packages you receive.”
“No shit?”
“I could knit a quilt out of the used panties you receive.”
I made a noise at the back of my throat. Sometimes I forgot how many professionals I had working around the clock for shit I never had to worry about. They didn’t get paid enough.
“Hey?” I caught Cleo’s attention. “Thank you.”
Her eyes flickered from her phone. “What?”
“Thank you. I know this shit can’t be easy, so…thanks.”
“I…” Cleo stared at me suspiciously. “Is this a prank?”
I rolled my eyes and went back to the package. It was homemade. I could feel it the moment I grabbed it. No extra cardboard pieces inside to hold up the structure. And from a university in Oklahoma too. Cleo would’ve never in a million years let another university try to poach me.
“Adam, I saw your interview,” she said.
I glanced up. “Yeah?”
I didn’t even know how I did in the interview. And what I did after Piper kissed me…not my proudest moment.
