14

Kassie

Corporate Paperwork

The only sound outside was Ryan yelling at Adam. I couldn't catch everything. Something about Cleo, public apologies, and a photoshoot. Maybe that was football code? Either way, when Ryan reappeared and slammed his car door behind him, I didn't envy his teammate in the slightest.

Zariah waved at a flabbergasted Adam, and we took our exit. Anger pulsed off of Ryan from one street to the next. His foot didn't let up on the accelerator as trees whipped past.

Our apartment should've taken a twenty-minute drive. It took twelve.

"Thank you, speed racer!" Zariah stumbled out of the car.

I started to get out of the car but a ton of her girlfriends loitering outside instantly jumped in. My roommate was always more social than I was. While I had to clock in seventy hours at work, she'd actually been experiencing college the way it was supposed to be. The girls waved at me, swooping in from either side to help her up the steps.

For a moment, I gathered up my stuff to leave, but I hesitated.

Ryan sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel. He stared out into the empty darkness beyond the windshield.

"Hey?" I asked. "Speed racer?"

He didn't say anything.

The quarterback was an adult. If he had something going on with his teammates, that clearly didn't involve me. He was team captain. But, even if he was, this was also the same guy who just pummeled a frat boy into the dirt for smacking my ass.

I slipped my phone into my pocket. "Are you okay?"

With a low voice, Ryan remained absolutely still. "Go inside, Kassie."

"Are you heading back to the party?"

His fingers flexed against the steering wheel. "No."

I took one last look out the window. I should've gone to bed. But I'd seen a lot of Ryans. I'd witnessed plenty of them in action and I'd never seen the one in the driver's seat.

The guy aggravated me—sure—but aggravated suddenly seemed like a pretty insignificant word.

It wasn't just that he was angry…it was like…he was hurt. Ryan had a big metaphorical arrow sticking out of his neck. It felt weird to skip up my apartment's steps and just wave goodbye. It didn't feel right.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

Sure. And I had a shot at joining the Marrs football team. I drummed my fingers against the seatbelt. "What'd we got for tomorrow?"

For a long moment, I thought Ryan was going to tell me to fuck off. Instead, his eyes flickered over to mine before taking their post, staring out at the darkness again.

"We have photos taken by the guy at Clear Lens." The anger stilled as the human calendar booted up. If there was anything Ryan was good at, it was knowing how to cross everything off a list. "We have a lunch with the student center for the ceremony in November. And football practice at six. But that's a given."

I paused. "Six…at night? Evening?"

"No."

I took a long look at the clock that blinked on his dashboard. "Is that a joke?"

"Why would I joke about that?"

"About practice? "

Some part of me prayed he was keeping up a bit, but the bemused smile on his face said otherwise.

I shook my head. "You were just at a frat party. You just beat the shit out of a guy. Shouldn't that count?"

"If we're winning the Birchwood Bowl, we—"

"Did you forget what sleep is? Did that slip out of your brain with one too many football hits?"

"I sleep enough."

" When? " My question hung in the air. "Ryan, you do know you can rest. Right?"

The back-and-forth conversation rang out like shots in the air. Both of us weren't exactly singing daisies, and I was just drunk enough to keep going. But that question stamped itself differently from the rest.

Ryan gazed at me. Those dark honey eyes softened.

"I sleep enough to build muscle."

"That's not what I mean," I told him, stubborn. "You know that."

"Kassie, I can't cancel practice."

"Why not?"

"I can't."

"Give me one good reason."

"If I did, I'd have to tell Adam face to face." He sighed. "And I'm not interested in that right now."

I frowned. "You can't call him?"

"No."

"SOS him? Morse code with flashlights? You don't have messy group chats?"

"We—no, I can't because he doesn't check them." Ryan rubbed his jaw. "If practice times change, he doesn't check the texts fast enough and I don't know how to use the apps to notify him or whatever. I'd have to tell him before—"

"Why?"

" Why? " Ryan repeated, confused. "I'm team captain."

"He's an adult. You're an adult. Are you telling me you've got to hunt down these twenty-year-olds like toddlers at a daycare? That's what being a team captain is?"

Ryan ran his tongue over his teeth, and I was suddenly aware of the complete idiocy of the situation. He was a professional athlete, less than a year from going pro. And there was me, an animation student with a half-working tablet charger and enough credit card debt to make me ignore my emails.

Why would he listen to me? Why would I even think Ryan Cross would listen to me?

"He wouldn't know and he'd show up at six anyway," Ryan finished.

I raised an eyebrow. " Wait . You cancel practice tomorrow and he wouldn't know?"

Problem solved.

"Yes."

"No. Ryan. Listen to me." I leaned back, trying to get him to connect the dots. "You text everyone that practice is canceled, right? And Adam gets there anyway."

"Yes."

"At six in the morning? Only one there?"

Understanding dawned on his face. "He'd have…no idea."

"Bingo."

Everything was quiet and Ryan ran a hand through his hair, mulling it over. "Adam's one of my best guys. He is. We go back a long way. But it was like the second I got the captain badge, he figured he could fuck off and do whatever he wants." His jaw tightened. "I've been making excuses for him. Putting my neck out for him—he knows that, goddammit. His final chance was the photoshoot and—" He sighed again. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That isn't your role."

I frowned. "My role?"

"You're my fake girlfriend, you're more of a sideline position," Ryan explained. "This is confidential information. It's above your rank."

Ouch .

Why did that hurt? It wasn't like I cared about my role or my rank or however the hell Ryan classified us. Me. I shifted back in my seat.

Why am I letting this bother me?

"But thank you anyway," Ryan said.

I nodded. "Yeah, he won't have a clue,"

My seat belt slipped off, but my fingers hovered over the handle for the door. It was late, and I'd just weaseled my way out of an early practice. I should've been elated. Except the business between Ryan and I felt unfinished.

"I guess…I'll leave you to it then," I told him.

"Alright."

"Hope you get some sleep. Especially with that shiner."

"It'll heal fast," Ryan replied without hesitation. It couldn't have been his first bruise.

"You would know, ball dribbler."

He hesitated. "Kassie?"

I glanced back to see those dark honey eyes on mine again. I couldn't read the expression on his face. Was he pleased to find a solution for the Adam problem? Was he irritated about the whole thing? I didn't know. All I knew was that my heart slowed down in my chest.

"Yeah?"

"You need to be there for practices," Ryan informed me. "We'll let you know when you're expected."

I rolled my eyes. "Got it, captain. I'll bring my knee pads."

"And don't forget about the memory packet."

"Uh-huh. I'll get right on that."

It wasn't like I'd purposely ignored it. Each line of the memory packet had to be memorized for publicists, reporters, and the annoying teenagers that I'd been assured would jump us and demand Ryan's autograph. Apparently, fake relationships weren't spicy make-out sessions in the locker rooms—they were corporate paperwork.

There were so many papers and other actual school-related things to study for, I'd only just started skimming it.

"Do you have the packet memorized?" he asked.

"Sure. If you want to believe that, I won't stop you." I cocked my head to the side. "What about you? Do you have yours memorized?" A horrible feeling sank into the pit of my stomach. "Don't tell me you've already got it down."

"Memorize yours by Sunday."

"I don't believe it."

He smirked.

"No. I don't believe it. There's no way. What…what breakfast—"

"French toast."

I stared at him. "There's no way."

"Want to try another one?"

"There's no—you had that one ready."

"I had that one ready? It's on page five."

My car door swung open, and every bit of drunkenness I'd been lounging in seemed to vanish into thin air. It was too easy to find my footing, too easy to swing back over to see him, that gorgeous, annoying man grinning up at me with bruised and bloody knuckles.

"This is why you don't sleep," I snapped. "Too busy reading up on my personal life."

"Which is something that's required of me." He mock-saluted me. "Thank you though."

"Ryan—" I stopped myself and rested my arms on the top of the car. Cool air washed over me and the whole night seemed to sweep up in one moment. I squeezed my eyes shut. "Shit."

My first day with the graphic design team was coming up and plenty of people had already seen us together. There was no turning back now. We weren't redoing the introduction.

And Ryan Cross beat the shit out of that frat boy. Because of me.

The words untangled themselves. "I… I never thanked you for going Rambo back there."

Silence filled in the conversation. I had to lean down enough to make sure Ryan hadn't slumped over on his steering wheel.

"The guy? It's not a problem."

"Yeah but…you didn't have to do it." I hesitated. "Thank you."

I turned to leave and Ryan's voice was soft.

"You're welcome."