1. May

Jillian

I waketo the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand and slap at the surface before finally finding it. Rolling to my side, I rub my eyes with one hand and squint as the bright light from the phone screen renders me temporarily blind.

When I'm finally able to see, I realize it's a notification from Flingshot.

"What the hell?" I mumble, wondering how I managed to turn the notifications back on since I always make sure to check, only when the app is in use. But then I see it's from SportsManSamand am a little less annoyed because at least he's funny and has a hot body.

SportsManSam: What's up?

I blink a few times, contemplating closing the app and trying to fall back to sleep but fuck that, he's already disappointed me in bed, and he deserves to hear about it. Well, read it, anyway.

GoodtimesOnly: Are you seriously coming at me with ‘What's up?' After that bio, I was sure you'd give good banter.

SportsManSam: My bad. Lost the race against the cheetah today. My shoes were untied. I'll do better.

I sit up, trying to decide if that's good enough to continue, but then I remember his abs.

GoodtimesOnly: You already disappointed me in bed once; let's make sure that doesn't happen again.

SportsManSam: So, we're already in bed together?

GoodtimesOnly: Isn't that the point of this app?

SportsManSam: That's what I thought. Glad to see we're on the same page.

GoodtimesOnly: I may be reading between the lines here, but it seems like you've had some bad experiences. Same. My bio says looking for fun and interested in men. Apparently, that reads differently to couples wanting to add a third to spice things up.

SportsManSam: You won't get that here. I haven't been part of a couple in years, and if I ever traveled the marriage route, sharing isn't an option.

GoodtimesOnly: *laughing emoji* *teacher emoji* Reading between the lines again, but lemme help you out, SMS. You can't even mention the M word on here. Once we know it's in your head, we women could possibly believe our vijay-jay will rub enough of its magic on you to procure a ring.

SportsManSam: *notepad and pencil emoji* Added to the list. Keep them coming. So far, on my own, I have learned: 1 - that I'm a *shit emoji* because if "she" identifies as a woman, I should be DTF. 2 - Few want to meet; they just want a pen pal. 3 - Me stating I travel for work means I'm married or in a relationship. 4 - People don't post their own pictures.

GoodtimesOnly: Ouch. 1 - Try adding CIS man looking for CIS woman. 2 - That's unfortunate. If I lose interest, I block. 3 - Travel for work could also make people question if you have a girl in every city. 4 - Make them send you a picture.

I hold my phone, make sure a boob hasn't escaped my tank top, bow my head to hide my face, snap a picture, and send the message. Then I send another.

GoodtimesOnly: I have curves and love them. If you're not a fan, that's your loss. You don't get face until I know you're real, and SMS, I'm beautiful.

SportsManSam: Real men love curves.

A picture comes through of himself with a black ball cap covering his face while leaning against the headboard of a bed, a white sheet draped across his lower half.

SportsManSam: Excuse the semi if you must, but you did cause it.

GoodtimesOnly: I don't mind it at all, but tell me, how did I cause it?

SportsManSam: Cami's thin enough that I'm pretty damn certain I spied with my little eyes a pretty little piercing.

I pull the phone closer to my face for a better look. Well, there you have it.

GoodtimesOnly: *winky face emoji*

He doesn't respond. Fuck.

GoodtimesOnly: You still there?

SportsManSam: Of course. We should meet.

GoodtimesOnly: I'm down. Let's figure out a date and time.

SportsManSam: As mentioned, I work out of town a lot. I don't have time for a relationship, but it's important to me that you feel respected. I'd like to know what will make you feel as such.

Respected? I mean, that's a given, but I'd also like to feel fucked.

GoodtimesOnly: *thinking face emoji* I'd like to get off. I'd like you to get off. I don't want an awkward goodbye or hello.

SportsManSam: Your place or mine?

Definitely can't be my house. I don't have one, and I'm not going to his.

GoodtimesOnly: Why not meet at a hotel?

SportsManSam: I'm down for whatever as long as you're comfortable with that. Your bio says New York. You close to NYC?

I should be freaking out right now, but honestly, I just want to know if it lives up to the hype. And yeah, it's kind of shitty that I lied to my mom and told her that I had a boyfriend senior year in high school just so she'd stop asking me if there was anyone "special." Hell, I even agreed to go on the pill so she thought I'd had sex.

GoodtimesOnly: Yep.

SportsManSam: You sure about this, GTO? Yep, is one of those words we men sometimes lump in with that other word that freaks a guy out—"fine."

I roll my eyes at the fact that that's even a thing. If it's not fine, say so.

GoodtimesOnly: I'm not like other girls. *laughing face emoji* Yep means yep. Fine means fine unless it's coupled with an eye roll or a foot stop. I'm drama free, SMS. The profile name says it all: Good Times Only. I'm living my best drama-free life.

SportsManSam: *A gif of a man striking gold comes through*

SportsManSam: Let's agree now then, that if it's not fun, it's a one-off.

GoodtimesOnly: Let's not pretend it's something more. It is a one-off.

SportsManSam: Guessing you like variety?

Ew, no. Okay, maybe? I don't fucking know.

GoodtimesOnly: They say it's the spice of life.

Aaaand … nothing.

GoodtimesOnly: Did I lose you?

SportsManSam: Hell no. I'm just trying to figure out how I'm going to sneak a portable pole into a hotel. You're the real deal, a fucking unicorn, you get a free lesson.

Grinning, I start to respond, but he beats me to it.

SportsManSam: I want you to sleep on this. Send me a message tomorrow after you've slept on it to let me know either way. Sleep well, GTO.

GoodtimesOnly: Sleep well.

Knowing damn well I'm not going to be able to sleep, I decide to slide out of bed to grab my little bullet to curb the ache between my legs caused by staring at SMS's pics and the wicked thought of what lies ahead.

Sliding off the bed, I am startled when I hear, "Are you okay, Jillian?"

Fuck!I scream in my head, thankful I manage to keep it contained and eventually am able to answer. "Sorry, Mom, must have been dreaming."

"Do you want me to call down and have some warm milk brought to the room?" She begins to sit up.

"No, no, no. Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

The door to our room in the suite opens, and Hudson peeks in. "You ladies good?" Before I can answer, he huffs and looks up. "Jill, one of the girls escaped. Fix that, yeah?"

I look down, and sure enough … fuck!

I fix my damn shirt on my way to the bathroom. Eyes spring up to meet his, and he arches a brow. Busted.

I throw daggers from my eyes, hoping they penetrate deep enough that he doesn't say a word to Mom about the piercing.

"You sure you don't want some warm milk?" Mom calls after me.

"I'm good. Promise. Go back to sleep, Mom." Please!

Standingin front of yet another hotel mirror, I have to dig deep to remember where I am. California. Today's the last game in the series against the Angels, and then we hop on a plane to Syracuse and head to Hudson's house for Mom's Mother's Day surprise, and then …

Fuck, fuck, fuck, do not cry, do not?—

A light tap on the door, and then it opens just a crack. "It's?—"

"I know who it is. It's Hudson. You crack the door and wait to hear me say, I'm decent. Mom would knock and walk in, and Rome would wait until I opened it."

"All right." He flings the door open, eyes closed. "Coming in because you sound like you're crying and … fuck." He walks into the damn wall. "Well, that's gonna leave a mark."

"You're such a jackass." I laugh and cry at the same time. "I'm freaking decent."

He walks over and wraps me in his big, stupid arms. "Stop crying over pierced nips, Jills."

I sock him in the stomach. "I'm not. But you really should get your ass back to the gym."

"Fuck, J." He takes a dramatic step back and acts as if I've wounded him.

"Oh, please, no one could bruise that massive ego of yours." I move to lean against the counter as I bat away tears. "For your information, I'm not upset you saw my?—"

"And you shouldn't be. You're a girl; you have boobs. Boobs that have gotten me into many a fight since they started sprouting when you were fifteen."

I sock him again, but he keeps on going.

"You pissed you skipped walking at your graduation? I told you?—"

"That was my decision. No regrets." No one I wanted to see, anyway. I saw through all those bitches in my classes who acted like they wanted to be my friend. It was the same shit growing up.

He brushes a hand over his face then lifts his shirt. "Same."

"What the hell?" I gasp, seeing gold barbells through his man nips.

"Are you judging me?" he asks, dead serious.

I nod as I ask, "Why gold?" As soon as the question leaves my lips, I realize the answer. "Your team's black and gold."

He nods. "Got black, too, and even though we're oversharing tonight, tits are different than the parts south of the border, so if you have?—"

"You pierced your dick?"

"Fuck no," he states, looking at me like I'm insane. Then he grins. "Tags did it."

"One of the Jags' owners? He and Bella have that reality show and?—"

"Yep," he says proudly. Then he narrows his eyes. "Don't tell Rome."

"Pfft, he has more ink than you—he can't judge." I step back and push myself up on the counter.

"I'll have more. Planning on a back piece and the other sleeve next off-season."

"What are you planning?"

He shakes his head. "We'll discuss that later. How about we talk about what had you in tears?"

I shake my head. "It's stupid."

"You being upset isn't stupid, Jillian."

"Our lives have changed so fast that sometimes it's hard to keep up." It's not a lie, but not the whole truth.

"It's a whirlwind, for sure. I'd love to say it'll get better, but if the Jags keep kicking ass, Roman's season will overlap ours even more. Mom's going to be flying in a million different directions. But you, you're going to be in school with no interruptions. No Covid, no Dad squatting at the house, no?—"

"I got waitlisted at Binghamton and Rutgers."

"Appeal that shit. You're Jillian fucking Hart."

I shake my head and close my eyes. "I got into Montana University's program."

His pause in response warms my heart.

"What do you want?"

Tears prick my eyes again, and I see him swallow hard. Hudson doesn't get emotional; he and Roman weren't made to fall.

"Hard to grow being in the shade for so long." He walks over and hugs me. "Never got the chance to figure it out."

"Not your fault."

"Maybe not." He steps back. "Gonna suck not knowing my little sister's cheering me on every game, but it's your time, and when you figure it out, I'm gonna be in the stands, cheering you on."

"I know." I sniff.

"If it's Montana, then?—"

"That's the only option right now."

"Fuck it is. Take a gap year. Travel," he suggests, then laughs. "Who'd have thought the Harts would be in a position to use the term gap year?"

I can't help but smile. "I knew you'd make it."

"I knew Rome would."

"So did I," I defend myself. "Just shocked that it took a little longer."

"A year longer. His gap year. Now take yours."

"How is that going to help me?" I roll my eyes. "If anything, it would slow my growth."

"CeCe's little sister, Cora, got waitlisted. She's going to take a couple of online classes and work at Wags."

I knew this. The poor girl had her life turned upside down her freshman year and ended up with some shitty grades, so she's retaking those classes.

"I don't want to be a vet."

"Not sure she does anymore, either." He scratches his head. "You don't have to work. You?—"

"I worked from the time I was thirteen until Covid at the snack shack," I cut him off real quick. "I enjoyed working. I loved people. I want to be that me again."