10

Cleo

Future Wife

I snuck out of his apartment.

What else was I supposed to do?

In the early, early hours of the morning, I eased out from underneath him and called an Uber to the hotel. Nobody noticed me, and nobody was going to notice me. Not with the super-secret spy moves I pulled in the stairwell.

In the end, I was still twenty minutes earlier than anyone else on my team at the training center, and jumpy at small noises.

Surrounded by Coach Lawson and his team, all I could think about was Miles while I checked items off my clipboard. His hands, all over me. Him, easing inside of me. His praises, muttered into my ear while he—

"Cleo Bennight."

I glanced up at the sound of my name, but I would've recognized that voice in a crowd. He rounded out my name in the most inappropriate way. It was just a name . But the way he said it, it felt like I needed to cover my ankles.

Miles. Here to complete his one-on-one with the new team captain. Why couldn't he wait for his spot like everyone else? I needed more minutes to figure out what to say to him.

But while we were in front of Coach Lawson, I needed to treat him like every other football player.

Even if he came twice inside of me.

"Mr. Locke, I apologize," I said, busying in front of him, picking up as many papers as I could to appear like I was actually doing something and not as flustered as humanly possible. "You weren't going to be called next. We'll let you know when you're requested."

A smirk touched his lips. "That's how it's going to be?"

I hesitated, my fingers skimming over the stack of random papers, like his fingers had skimmed over my hips.

Oh, fuck. No. Absolutely not. It was everything I was afraid of.

"Yes. That is exactly how this is going to work," I said, my voice firm. "As it does for everyone else."

"Well, I'm not everyone else."

Cocky bastard.

"Locke," Coach Lawson barked and I dropped my papers. "First thing about Marrs is that you listen to our team."

"No, no—" I stopped myself and swallowed back my words.

Oh, shit .

Coach Lawson peered up from his phone. " No? "

It wasn't a power play from my boss. Coach Lawson was genuinely surprised that I was sticking up for a football player, especially a KYU one. It wasn't like I was a hardass on the Marrs boys, but I would never let them dig themselves into holes that I couldn't rescue them from. And that included respecting staff.

Once Coach Lawson took over, respect became a cornerstone of the team. The fact that I was keeping my coach from admonishing a football player…I might as well have swung around a red flag.

Miles held up something into view.

"She meant no because of the coffee I brought her." He flashed him a respectful smile and shifted back to me. "He's right, I apologize. I believe wholeheartedly in pleasing your intern."

I choked.

"White drizzle mocha?" Miles offered, and I stared, dumbfounded, at the cup.

If I took it, was that inappropriate?

But if I didn't take it, that'd look weird. Because I took it from him when he bought the entire coffee order. But, if I did take it, then I'd have to—

Almost choke again when I spotted the name scribbled on the side of the cup.

Future Wife .

"Mi—Locke, Mr. Locke." I yanked the coffee away from him and covered up the name. "Mr. Locke, while we appreciate the…while we appreciate such a kind gesture, to show the…to show the enormous kindness of Kennedy Young University. You are not the next person on our list, and we'll only be too happy to see you in five spots. No more, no less."

His eyes trailed down my face, and a beat passed between us. "I apologize again. And I'll be back for my time, ma'am."

That voice .

With his final remark, he left the room, and I shifted in my seat, trying to relax the tension in my body.

The interviews crawled while I sipped from the coffee, after scribbling the name out.

It was so hard to wash Future Wife away from my thoughts. I knew it didn't mean anything, and I knew Miles would forget about me as soon as he found his place at KYU…but those thoughts didn't make it any easier to write over.

And then it was his turn.

In our meeting room, Miles sat, surrounded by all of us, and the Marrs's team captain, video chatting from Houston. Our head coach took the initiative to begin.

"Ryan Cross was my first selection for team captain," Coach Lawson explained. "He's reliable, he's dependable, he puts everything he has into this team, and he treats it with the seriousness that it—" He frowned and stared at the screen. "Cross, your screen's upside down."

"One second, coach."

Oh my god .

I held back a sigh. "Ryan, you flipped it horizontally."

"What?"

My coach glanced at me and I shook my head, motioning him to continue. If we were on campus, I would've calibrated the meeting for him, but by himself, we'd just have to make due with Ryan's nonexistent technology skills.

Coach Lawson shook his head and shifted back in his seat. "Cross is destined for the NFL. I know it, the last coach sure knew it. And while he isn't a part of our scouting team, I've given him the final say on the players we talk to." He scratched his beard with the familiar words. The same speech had been given to every football player before Miles. It'd been received the same way. Eye rolls, covered scoffs, and pressed lips.

Except Miles listened with rapt attention, concentrating on the conversation.

I watched him, waiting for the shoe to drop, but as Coach Lawson continued, about how the last coach had decimated their spirits and how they were going to win the Birchwood Bowl again, the same things I'd heard over and over again. Miles didn't even throw a grin my way. He stayed respectful.

Respectful for me.

The realization startled me.

Miles wouldn't have given a shit otherwise but he didn't want me to get in trouble. He didn't want anyone to have a sneaking suspicion that we were tangled together. I glanced down at the coffee cup, blacked out with a sharpie. If I squinted hard enough, I could read out a few letters from Future Wife .

"I have a couple of questions of my own," Ryan said. "Locke, what are your goals?"

A hard one off the bat.