Friendship? I wanted to stab that word with a knife.
You’re probably asking yourself why we are even friends, and I wonder too why you’d ever want to have anything to do with me again, but the truth is, you make me into the person I’ve always wanted to be. You don’t expect anything from me. I’ve never met anyone like you, and the thought of losing you makes me feel . . . desperate.
Will you forgive me for asking you to marry me?
When he put it like that, it was hard to stay mad . . .
With Love,
Max, AKA Mr. Quarterback
Ugh. I tucked the letter in my jean pocket.
My phone pinged and I saw it was him.
Hey.
I stared at it. Should I respond or pretend I hadn’t seen it?
I see you.
I glanced across the street. There he was on his porch, standing bare-chested and staring a hole through me.
I see you too, I texted.
Can we talk?
I shifted from one foot to the next, staring at him. His hair was a halo of dark around his face, his shoulders slumped and his usual grin absent. He looked a mess.
I don’t know. I have a lot to do today. Some of us have to work.
Whatever you’re doing, I want to help, was his reply.
I ignored that. Is the engagement all over the local news?
Even made Sports Center.
Nice.
FYI, pics of Bianca raging in my pool are all over social media.
Are you mad? I asked.
Hell no.
Good. Because I don’t regret it, I typed out.
Can we talk?
There was no use in ignoring him or refusing. I got the feeling Max wasn’t the type to give up. But I could make it hard for him. If you want to spend the day with me, you have to help me paint the trim in my kitchen.
Done.
And I promised Mimi I’d clean her house today.
Done.
You get toilet duty, I texted.
I peeked up to see his fingers hovering over his phone with a weird expression on his face.
I’ve never cleaned a toilet in my life, he replied.
I assumed.
But what you don’t know is how good I look in rubber gloves, he replied.
I snorted.
Show off your muscles today, was my text back. Mimi will need the pretty to help her cope when you explain to her how we aren’t really engaged. I’ve been thinking and I want you to tell her everything—from the day Sierra hit my car to where we are now. I want you to be sweet to her and kiss her butt. You need to make it up to her. I suggest you bring a signed football, a jersey with your number on it, and a maybe a bouquet of flowers. Tickets for the rest of the home games wouldn’t hurt either. Deal?
I watched his head came up to take me in. Even though several yards separated us, I felt the intensity of his gaze. He sent me a nod and typed out, I’ll do anything as long as you aren’t mad at me anymore. I didn’t sleep at all. I’ve been up since four this morning. I. Am. So. Sorry. Please forgive me.
Goosebumps flew over my skin. Why was it so hard to stay upset at him? God, I was weak when it came to him.
You know why, Sunny . . .
Put some clothes on, Quarterback. We got chores to do.
I heard his chuckle.
Give me five to mess with my hair. Don’t want to disappoint Mimi.
Max
“YOU’RE BEING BENCHED FOR THE next game,” Coach Williams said when I met with him in his office Monday afternoon after practice. He sat behind a heavy oak desk, framed photos and banners of Leland’s winning seasons behind him. I’d put two of those banners up there.
I sat in the hard chair across from him. My lips tightened—but I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Getting engaged hadn’t exactly turned out like I’d planned. Yes, the media had eaten up the story, putting me all over the sports news—even the mainstream shows. Good Morning America and The Today Show had both played the footage this morning. We were the new it couple in the media—at least for now. It was good. It kept my name out there, floating around and reminding the voters that not only was I a great player, but I was in love with a sweet girl.
The problem was Coach was angry and Sunny was still weird around me even though we’d mended fences.
Mimi had forgiven me. She’d just watched us as we cleaned her house, those eagle eyes dissecting me until I felt like a bug under a microscope. She’d clapped and laughed like a loon when I cleaned her toilet. Heck, she videotaped it and claimed she was going to post it on Facebook—although I wasn’t so sure she knew how to post a video.
And now I was being benched.
“Felix will start when we play Georgia Saturday,” he went on to say.
“I understand,” I said with gritted teeth. I’d known the possible consequences of my actions and I’d done them anyway.
An expression of sympathy crossed his face. “Son, you’re the best player this school’s ever had. Don’t fuck it up over a girl. The players and the fans will blame you.”