1. Cameron

Cameron

" Y ou sure I can't get you guys anything else?" Our waitress asks us, though her eyes never leave Jagger, who subtly retreats further into the red vinyl booth to put some distance between them. "The apple pie is really good. I can bring a slice on the house."

Since Ruby's is one of our favorite lunch spots, we're well aware of how good the pie is, even though we hardly indulge in it. I'd be tempted to have a piece today since that gooey caramel sweetness and a scoop of ice cream would be a nice treat on what's shaping up to be the hottest day of the summer so far, but our waitress had to go and ruin it.

Why does everyone fall for that crap about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach?

"We're good. Thanks." Jagger smiles at her—a friendly smile, not a coy one—since he's not trying to encourage her, though there's an edge of finality to his tone.

"Oh. Okay. Well, thanks for coming in." She leaves a bill on the retro Formica table, angled toward Jagger, where a heart is clearly visible around her name and phone number. She gives me an almost embarrassed glance before spinning away from the table and heading back toward the kitchen .

Poor girl never stood a chance.

It takes guts to put yourself out there for a guy, but Jagger will never respond to special favors. She might've had a shot before the pie offer–she's cute–except, she brought a side of onion rings we didn't ask for, which she claimed had been made by mistake and she didn't want them to go to waste. Jagger has a no tolerance policy for special treatment, though and even I saw right through her act.

To the unknowing, it might seem harsh or even like Jagger is being an ass, but being treated differently reminds him too much of his dad, Jeremy, who relied on his looks to live like a king. Unfortunately, his dad also was all too happy to show his appreciation in the bedroom, despite the fact he was married to Jagger's mom.

The man left broken hearts all over the place by pretending to be interested long enough to get what he wanted, something we didn't learn about until we overheard his mom talking to mine. That day changed everything, and the moment Jagger realized her biggest fear was that he'd follow his father's example, he's made it his mission to be anything but who Jeremy was. My best friend may like the ladies as much as his dad, but he'll run the other way before mimicking his dad's behavior and using his looks to manipulate people.

I respect that about him. It'd be easy to let that shit go to your head–to expect or seek out special treatment and slip into the trap of using people. Only Jagger saw what his mom went through with his dad and witnessed the repercussions of his father's actions firsthand. He's not about to do the same thing to someone else.

"Put that shit away," Jagger says when he sees me reaching for my wallet. "I'm not splitting this with you when it was my idea to eat out. Plus, she brought extra food I need to pay for."

"She'll take it as a tip since it's not on the bill," I point out .

"Whatever. I'm still paying what it should've been." He tosses several bills on the table, conveniently covering the slip of paper with her number on it so only she'll know he didn't take it. Jagger's respectful like that.

"Good thing your name, image and likeness lets you pull in some NIL money so you can afford all the extra food that keeps making its way to our table." I tease him as we slip out of the booth and into the warm summer air.

We've been playing football for roughly a decade, and were lucky enough to score a full-ride to play at Front Range University. However, during our freshman year, Jagger started posting training tips on his social media, and since he's good-looking–like the fucker could be a painting kind of hot–they took off. Next thing we knew, a few clothing companies started paying him to wear their gear and product lines began begging him to endorse them.

It's not unheard of. A lot of college football players get contracts like that. But the dude has been rolling in the dough all summer.

"You could get deals, too," he says over his shoulder as we head to my truck. "That way, instead of giving you a cut to film me, we could trade filming duties."

It's not unreasonable to think I could find some sponsors of my own, but I'm not a limelight type of guy. Especially when you put me next to Jagger, which is where you can normally find me. Not that anyone ever looks.

I know I'm attractive, with blonde hair that makes it seem like I belong on a California beach instead of a football field, and brown eyes the color of chocolate, but next to Jagger I'm merely average.

Anyone standing next to the guy would be virtually invisible. Vibrant green eyes set under a crop of hair so dark it's almost black never fails to have heads swinging in his direction, and coupled with the confident swagger he has… Most people just freeze in their tracks. I've seen a few walk into walls because their attention was so focused on my best friend.

People have gawked at him since we were kids. It's only gotten worse as we've grown older. He's retained his youthful complexion while developing an angular jaw and bulked up some from all his training so… Let's just say his appeal has only increased.

I don't blame people for noticing him before me. I don't resent him for it either, since he's never once made me feel like I haven't been standing by his side for nearly two decades. It's just a fact of life that eyes are naturally drawn to him. I don't have his presence, and that's part of the reason I doubt my videos would do as well as his. Plus, we do pretty much everything together anyway, so his social media stuff is one thing he can have for himself. Though I won't tell him that. He's already sensitive about people flocking to him while I'm right there.

"Like I'd trust you to film me." I shake my head, a blast of warm air rushing at me as I open the car door. "You don't have a creative bone in your body, and you suck with technology. You'd probably focus on the wrong thing and either put me in a shadow or have the light glaring on my face. Besides, athletic training tips are way better suited for socials than physical therapy tips."

Though the two professions are similar as far as the required classes go, they're different in practice, and since physical therapy requires a diagnosis and treatment plan, I firmly believe it's not something you should tell people how to do in a video clip.

"Join my videos then," Jagger says as he slides into the passenger seat. "I could do a series of partner exercises and get you some visibility so you can get your own NIL deals. That could even put you on the radar of some pro scouts. "

"I'll think about it," I say, even though I know I won't, since getting scouted isn't my top priority.

It's not that I'm opposed to playing professionally, I'm just not convinced I'm good enough to get there, and I don't need the money or the validation that most people seek through an NFL career. Jagger does—he needs to believe he's more than just his looks—so I'd rather do what I can to help him reach the pros. If that means hanging out behind the camera, so be it.

"Ever think of adding nutrition tips to your posts?" I suggest, even though I know it will result in a trip to the grocery store and hours of experimentation in the kitchen when I'd rather finish unpacking and getting my room in our new house set. I've been procrastinating on that—it's hard to stay focused when there's a living room, a backyard, and four other people to hang out with—and I'm tired of dodging boxes. But it's the anniversary of the day we found out Jagger's dad skipped out, which is a historically bad time for him, and keeping him busy helps keep his mind off it.

He'll still make his way to my room tonight when the quiet gets overwhelming—he hasn't spent this night alone in ten years—but if I can wear him out before then he might actually sleep.

"That's not a bad idea." Jagger pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling. "I've been looking into juicing since I fucking hate green stuff, and I thought if I could chug something down I might stick with it. Do we have a blender at the house?"

"You think a house full of college students has kitchen appliances?" I snort as I back out of the space and start heading toward the grocery.

"I think a house full of athletes who pay attention to their nutrition might."

"We pay attention to what we eat, not how to make it. Do we even own a frying pan? I know we don't have a blender. "

"Ooh, this one looks good." Jagger holds up his phone for me to see even though I can't look at it while driving. "A cold press juicer. The reviews say it's easy to use, easy to clean."

He shows me again when we stop at a light. "It's six hundred dollars."

"Shit." He scrolls around and shows me another. "What about this one?"

"Better." I note the two-hundred-dollar price before the light changes. "Where do they sell it?"

"Target."

"Does it say that or are you guessing?"

"Target has everything." Jagger tucks his phone away.

"You could confirm that before we drive over there and leave empty-handed."

"We need fruits and veggies to juice so we have to go there already."

"Not if we don't have a juicer," I point out, though I head in the direction of Target anyway, since they probably do have one.

At the store, Jagger grabs a cart and heads straight for the grocery section, completely bypassing the appliances, and starts grabbing a bunch of random stuff. Typical .

"Juicer first, remember. Otherwise, we might not need any of this shit."

"We'll get there." He turns a green leafy thing over in his hands—looking for what I don't know—and adds it to the pile with an indifferent shrug.

"Do you even know what you're getting?"

"It says Kale."

"And Kale is?"

"Green stuff." He picks up a bunch of carrots and drops them in the cart .

"So green automatically means good?"

"Duh."

"I feel like you'll need to have a better understanding of why it's good if you're going to make videos telling people why they should eat it."

"I've gotta see if I can eat it first, and if I can, then I'll figure out what to say about it."

I bite back the chuckle that's desperate to come out. "I'm not sure that's the most productive order of operations, Kitcat."

"Trust my process, Camelot," he says as he drifts toward the fruit, completely missing the eye roll I give him, though I'm sure he can feel it since he knows that's what I do every time he uses that stupid nickname.

To be fair, it's not the fact he's given me a nickname that I object to. It's the fact that he gave me a name with English origins when my name is Scottish. He says it doesn't make a difference since my reasons for calling him Kitcat are just as flimsy as his reasons for calling me Camelot, but I disagree.

I can trace the evolution of his nickname while he blatantly ignores the meaning behind mine. And it's not even original. I mean going from Cameron to Camelot is as basic as you can get. He's stupid proud of coming up with it though, so all I ever do is roll my eyes when he uses it. And since he tends to only use it when his mind is preoccupied, I'm successfully distracting him from his demons.

"Is your process going to involve me having to try whatever you make?" I ask him.

"Obviously."

"Then I'd really like to know beforehand if something is going to give me the shits. "

"Why would anything give you the shits?" Jagger adds strawberries and blueberries to his horde.

"Foods are weird. Asparagus makes your pee smell funny. Pickles help you recover after a workout. It's not unreasonable to think something in that cart will give me the shits, and I'd like to know ahead of time so I can avoid it."

"Where's the fun in that?" He drops bananas in the cart.

"You know we share a bathroom, right? If you feed me something nasty, we'll both suffer."

That makes him pause. "Maybe I'll do a quick search on things before they go in the juicer."

I can't hide my triumphant smirk. "I knew you'd see things my way."

"You could've just said that to begin with."

"Where's the fun in that?" I turn his words on him, which he hates, but always makes me laugh. Jagger responds by kicking his foot up and to his left as we walk side-by-side down the aisle, tapping me on the ass. My yelp causes a woman carrying a toddler on her arm to shoot us a withering look.

Yes, we are giant children.

"Here it is." Jagger stops abruptly and reaches for a box on the shelf. "Told you they'd have it."

"You got lucky."

"And it's on sale." Jagger beams as he holds the box up for my inspection.

Of course it is.

My best friend has the sort of luck that makes you question the universe. Not that he doesn't deserve it after his rough start in life, and let's face it, it's not like he doesn't work for everything he has. But to say things tend to fall into place for him with uncanny precision is an understatement.

He needs an eighty-nine on a test, he'll get a ninety. He applies for a coveted summer job, the company has a rare opening. He wants an NIL deal from a nutrition company, the juicer he likes is on sale. He once even needed cash to repair his car, and the scratcher he bought on a whim ends up being worth a few hundred bucks.

Some people resent it when a guy has that kind of good fortune, but to me it's just pure Jagger. And since he doesn't take that shit for granted, I'm happy to see things fall in place for him.

Back at the house, Jagger spreads his loot on the counter, surveying his options and Googling what they do. "It says this helps with heart disease and cancers." He breaks off a piece of the kale and brings it to his nose, which wrinkles slightly as he sniffs it. Tossing it into his mouth with an indifferent shrug, he starts chomping on it, face morphing from curious to disgusted in about point five seconds flat. "That shit's gonna need to go with something strong enough to mask the flavor. Damn. What's the strongest fruit we got?"

"Pineapple is pretty potent."

Jagger scrunches his nose. "Are you for real or are you just trying to confuse me with all those ‘P' words?"

"I'm serious."

"Okay then, open that can and dump it in the juicer."

I reach for the can, which fortunately has a tab since I'm fairly certain we don't have a can opener. "Does it count if it comes out of a can? I thought the whole point of juicing was to have fresh stuff."

"This is a practice run, so for now, using a can is acceptable. Besides, I don't know how the fuck to cut an actual pineapple." Jagger adds several leaves of Kale to the mix. "What other green stuff should we use? "

"If your face is any indication, the kale is plenty."

Jagger shrugs and turns the juicer on, instantly liquifying the contents into a murky green slush that resembles what comes out the other end after you've eaten something foul.

"I'm not touching that," I say.

"Don't be scared of the color."

"I'm scared of all of it. The color, the taste, all of it."

Jagger dips a spoon into the canister and brings the contents to his mouth, making just as awful a face as he did when he tried the kale by itself. Rather than admit defeat, he shakes his head, clears his throat and declares, "It needs more substance. Protein powder maybe?"

"We only have chocolate flavored powder, which will do nothing for the color of that crap let alone the taste. Why not try a banana?"

"Did you look that up? If I'm gonna do this, it needs to be my own recipe."

I hold my hands up to show there's no phone in them. "Bananas just seem more substantial than berries."

He shrugs half heartedly, peels one and dumps it in whole before mixing everything up again and repeating his taste test. "Better," he coughs. "But it still needs to be thicker. And we definitely need protein."

"What about milk?"

Jagger checks the fridge. "We don't have any. Yogurt?"

"Do we have any of that?"

"No."

"Then why'd you suggest it?"

"Just thinking out loud." He shuts the fridge and steps back to the counter to inspect the available choices.

"I think Cruz has a carton of protein shakes in his room. Vanilla flavored. "

Jagger's brows pull together. "You think using a premade shake will help or hurt what's supposed to be an original recipe?"

"Unless you're going to invent your own ingredients, you'd have to use stuff made by other companies. And if you want those companies to sponsor you then making a shake that includes their ingredients is a good start."

Chewing on his lip, Jagger's eyes drift toward the hallway leading to our roommate's bedroom. "Good point." He makes up his mind and bolts toward the door.

When he's out of earshot I sigh heavily, relieved that I didn't have to try his invention before adding something that might salvage it. That relief quickly fades when I remember Cruz and Liam lent their Jeep to our other roommate Bennet, so chances are the fact it wasn't in the driveway when we got home doesn't mean they aren't here, and doing something they don't want an audience for. It's unlikely since the house is pretty quiet, and those two are hella loud when they get going, but you never know.

"Don't forget to knock," I shout toward Jagger, who hollers back "what?" and freezes like a goat who just got the shit scared out of it when he opens the door.