4

Ryan

Sliding Her Into Every Conversation

In the photo, half a dozen people posed with her in front of a colorful art project with hundreds of googly eyes. Paint streaks lined everybody's faces. Kassie looked different. She looked…happy. Her hair was twisted into two braids down her shoulders. A hint of her curves shone through the thin Marrs shirt. And those lips. Plump and perfect.

That's her.

On the far right-hand side, I recognized somebody else.

I wracked my brain, trying to bring up a name. The art teacher who dropped by last semester.

"That's uh…King, who's the art professor who comes here?"

King narrowed his eyes in concentration but Adam took the cue. "That's Mr. Ishisaka and he doesn't just skip around here. He's looking for people to model for a drawing class."

All of them looked straight at me.

"No. Thanks though. I'm not modeling." I shook my head, amused.

Now that I found her, the obsession could stop. I'd send my apology, receive an apology in return, and get back to what was important. The Birchwood Conference. The Birchwood Bowl .

Tapping the screen, I left the training room. Adam and King followed me out, then headed towards the field amid a low argument.

"Are you sure you're okay?" June asked.

I couldn't lie to her. "I didn't act like a team captain with Kassie. I was a complete dick."

It was the truth. I was the first pick for captain after our last one graduated and the first one Coach Lawson had personally selected as head coach of the Marrs University's Romans.

New coach. New structure. New path to winning the Birchwood Bowl.

But everything was riding on how we looked . It drove me crazy. Shouldn't football be about football?

According to Cleo, no. It was not.

June shrugged. "It happens."

"To anybody else, not with me. We're this close," I held up my fingers with half an inch of space between them, "to winning the Birchwood Bowl this year and I can't let stuff like this happen. The viral shit's bad enough." I shook my head. "I shouldn't have let her…get to me like that."

June patted my shoulder. "What's the plan?"

"Cleo thinks an apology is in order."

"It's not like it'll hurt your—"

"If Cleo's panicking about it, it's my job to panic about it too," I retorted. "We're going to be taken seriously this season, June. No matter what. This means everything."

"You're putting too much pressure on yourself." She sighed. "King! Adam! Don't let him beat himself up!"

"If he wants to get pussywhipped, that's between him and the pussy!" Adam shouted, and I rolled my eyes. "Ryan, Cross, captain, boss, boss captain, captain boss. How many times do I have to say it? Any day of the week, there's some blue eyes I'm taking out to dinner with a friend who'd give their right arm to do whatever you want."

It was a game between us. Adam would say, let's go on a double date, and I had the same answer in my pocket every single time.

"No."

"You used to be fun, dude."

"I'm still fun," I replied. A glance at the three of them made me stop. "I'm a fun guy."

Silence.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're not supposed to be quiet when I say that."

"Captain. Boss." Adam slung an arm around my shoulder and gestured towards the empty hallway. "Yeah, you used to be fun. And then, Coach Lawson made you captain. Now? No frat parties, no girls, no good pizza—no pizza, man. I wouldn't be captain for all the money in the world. No good pizza? "

Focusing on something that wasn't the Birchwood Bowl wasn't an option. Simple as that.

We stepped into the light mist of the morning and nobody was out running drills. Inexcusable. There's no such thing as being too prepared. My team needed to learn what giving a hundred and twenty percent was all about.

Ah. I see Adam's point.

"I'll think about it." I rubbed my temples. "I will."

Adam whistled, jogging over to the water coolers. "You'll think about being fun. That's promising!"

King stood next to me. "Sorry, Ryan."

"It's fine."

"Adam can be…he's worried about you."

I knew that. Adam and I went way back, we met in elementary school and when Adam had his injury in high school, it'd been the kind of experience that bonds two guys for life. I knew how Adam operated. The only time he went over the line was when somebody needed it. And when it came to Kassandra Ragar, I needed it.

"I don't know why I'm letting this girl get to me. I've got to get my head in the game."

Muttering under my breath, I tried to settle into our routine. If I stopped talking about her, if I stopped sliding her into every conversation, if I stopped thinking about her, I could at long last get back to my routine.

"We have game reruns at three," I counted down. "Practice after class."

"First class canceled," King pointed out. "We could grab breakfast at Gianna's ."

It was a damn tempting offer. But my phone—that shitty, thousand-dollar piece of plastic—burned in my pocket. If I went to the best on-campus restaurant we had, I'd spend the entire time on Kassie's old accounts. That was an unsettling thought. Distractions like Kassandra Ragar couldn't happen.

"Maybe another time," I said reluctantly.

"Ryan!" Adam waved by the water cooler. "The swim girls are practicing at pool three! We could make some rounds!"

I turned back to King. "Five times around the track?"

King nodded and started stretching, but Cleo hurrying across the field made me pause.

She held her phone to her ear, snapping her fingers at me. Part of her red hair was flat against her head, the rest in tangles. She struggled to slip on a heel while she stumbled across wet grass.

I'd never witnessed Cleo half-ready.

" Ryan! I told June to tell you to come to my office! Why didn't you—?!"

I tried to explain. "I was going to see you after."

"My office now . We've got something big!"

Why do I have a bad feeling about this?

I followed her to the doors just to see our new transfer football player holding them open like it was his nine-to-five.

Miles Locke.

Cleo had gone to KYU over the summer to scout for players and ended up signing him on and getting engaged. The man was a great football player, but I couldn't believe how often I had to snap at him to get his focus back in practice and stop gazing up at Cleo's War Room, her office that overlooked the training center's field.

"Miles." I nodded to him.

"Ryan."

Even if he held the door open for us, the way Cleo barreled through it, she might as well have crashed through the glass.

I cleared my throat. "Cleo, I told you I'm leaving in April. I appreciate the talks but—"

"We're not discussing that! We're putting a pin in that!"

"Is this about Adam's photoshoot? I already talked to him. He wants to apologize."

"We shouldn't have asked him anyway." Cleo slammed her fist against the elevator's button. "No. I have Coach Lawson in my office."

I opened my mouth, but she blared on.

"The alums are on the phones, my bosses. We've got something big in the works, something we've got to get you in for!"

With a looming sense of unease, I walked into the elevator. "What's going on?"

"One moment." Cleo stretched out from the inside of the elevator and smiled at Miles. "I'll see you later, baby."

I faced the back of the elevator, rolling my eyes. Miles followed Cleo around like a sick dog. It was hard to watch. I mean, have some pride . Being a professional means being a professional . Not making everyone dry-heave behind the bleachers.

The door closed and Cleo pressed the button to her office, ten, fifteen, twenty times in a row. "Trust me, Ryan. We're going to have some real fun."