Page 20 of Praised By the Cornerback

“That was different.”

“How?”

I don’t have a good answer for that, so I just sink deeper into the ice water and close my eyes.

“Come on, Vega,” McKenna says. His voice has that persuasiveness that probably works on most people. “One night. We’ve been grinding all week. Everyone needs a break.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Brooks counters. “You’re wound so tight you’re going to snap. When’s the last time you did something that wasn’t football-related?”

I think about that morning in my hotel room, Connor’s hand wrapped around his cock, the sounds he made. Definitely not football-related.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, which is the closest I’ll get to a yes.

Brooks grins as if he’s already won. “We’re meeting at the bar at the Hilton at nine. Don’t be late.”

They leave before I can argue further. I stay in the ice bath longer than necessary, letting the cold numb everything.

***

I show up at the Hilton bar at nine-fifteen. Not because I changed my mind about going out, but because spending another evening alone in my hotel room scrolling through game film sounded worse than facing this.

The bar is busier than I expected, but I spot Brooks and McKenna immediately. They’re at a corner table with Connor and four women I don’t recognize.

Connor sees me first. A complicated expression crosses his face when our eyes meet, surprise and a flicker of something he covers fast. Then he’s smiling, waving me over.

I weave through the crowd and pull out the empty chair next to McKenna.

“You showed,” Connor says. “Wasn’t sure you would.”

“Apparently.”

One of the women leans forward. She’s striking. Long dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a face that photographs well. “You’re Adrian Vega, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Isla Stone.” She extends her hand across the table, and I shake it briefly. “And this is Madison, Chloe, and Erin.”

I nod at each of them in turn. Madison and Chloe are models, judging by the conversation that follows. Erin is quieter, watching everyone with careful eyes. Isla, though, has that energy of someone used to being the center of attention.

“Connor was just telling us about training camp,” Isla continues, turning her focus back to him. “It sounds brutal.”

“It’s not that bad,” Connor says easily. “Lots of running, lots of making Vega here look slow.”

“You wish,” I shoot back.

He grins at me, and the warmth of it catches me off guard. I turn back to the table before any of it reaches my face.

The conversation flows around me. Brooks is telling a story about a disastrous date he went on last year, and everyone’s laughing. Connor drops a joke here and there, and the table cracks up. He’s good at this, making people feel included and keeping the energy up.

I watch him more than I should. The way he gestures when he talks, the crooked canine tooth that flashes when he laughs. The ease with which he moves through social situations that would make me uncomfortable.

Isla shifts closer to Connor, her shoulder brushing his. “So what position do you play again?”

“Wide receiver.”

“And that’s the one who actually scores, right?”