Page 68 of End Game

Emma blushes and looks away. “He was okay.”

“Just okay?”

She shrugs. “Not a disappointment, but there won’t be a repeat. He made damn sure of that.”

Ouch.

“Sorry, girl.”

She clears her throat and lifts her chin. “It doesn’t matter. I just won’t sleep with any more football players.”

“You’re okay to hang out with them?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess so. They’re not going to hit on me?”

I pause. “Amir probably won’t, he knows when to keep it in his pants. Greg, on the other hand, is a total slut. I don’t think he knows how not to be. He hits on me all the time, even though Barrett and I are—”

Johanna looks over with interest.

“Best friends,” I finish lamely. “So by the transitive property of the bro code, he shouldn’t be flirting with me.”

Louisa frowns. “Is he gross?”

“No, he’s a total sweetheart. Just… slutty. Doesn’t know when to turn it off.” I should probably give them fair warning. “I don’t care if you sleep with him, but you have to know that he is not the kind of guy who will call you after or want to hang out. He doesn’t go out with the same woman twice. That’s just the way he operates.”

Emma sighs. “I think I’m done with football players.”

“Guys are gross,” says Zoe.

“If only they didn’t have dicks. I’d love it if I could just get a dick on demand without having to deal with the guy attached to it,” Terri says.

“That’s called a vibrator,” Emma says. “They’re infinitely better.”

Barrett is waiting for me outside the locker room, flanked by Amir and Greg. Tucker and Mason are a few feet away, holding hands, and Miles has his arm around Sam’s shoulders. Even Wes and Mackenzie have shown up—him clutching his book like it’s a lifeline, her looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. I don’t take it personally; I know it’s how she feels about nearly all social situations, and she showed up in spite of it.

“Hey. Good game,” Barrett says. He steps forward and wraps his arm around me in a sideways hug. “You played well.”

I laugh, because we lost 0-3—though he is right, I did play pretty damn well.

“Thanks.”

He’s gone home since I saw him before the game—he’s freshly shaved and wearing a different outfit, dark jeans and a button-down shirt beneath an army green bomber jacket I told him I liked on him last week. I like that he remembered.

Or maybe he didn’t, and I’m reading too much into it. He has two light fall jackets. He can’t wear them both all of the time.

“Pizza time?” I look up at him and he grins at me, his eyes crinkling.

“You got it. You guys coming with?” He addresses this to the semi-circle of women behind me.

“Sure, thanks,” says Emma, clearly the spokeswoman for the group.

“I need breadsticks, like, stat,” I tell him.

Barrett laughs and takes my backpack from my slack grip, tossing it over his shoulder. I know better than to fight him on this front.

“Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

Snorting out a laugh, I push past him with my shoulder and head off in the direction of town. I haven’t been to the pizza place before, only ordered in, but I’ve walked past it nestled beside the all-night diner and the cute brunch place.