Page 38 of Playing to Win
“My abs are pretty fucking stellar, considering how hard I work out.” I lean back, barely lifting up my shirt and showing her what I’m talking about. Her gaze immediately drops, lingers almost lovingly.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, her gaze still locked on my abdomen.
Uh huh. My abs are no big deal.
Sure.
THIRTEEN
RUBY
We don’t go backonto the football field for the rest of the week, much to my secret disappointment. Part of the reason is because the coaches asked us to stay away because they didn’t want the team distracted. Their first game was away, and it was important, so totally understandable.
We were supposed to attend that game but were unable to go because Eric forgot to get permission from administration and it turned into this big mess, Gwen and Eric arguing over it for a solid thirty minutes. They were so snippy with each other, I’ve never been more grateful for the weekend to come because I needed to get out of there. Couldn’t take the tension.
Those two? I think they got a little thrill over being mad at one another. Like their arguing was foreplay.
Hmm.
Over the weekend when I was sick of homework, I’d scroll through the hours of content Eric shared with us via Google Drive, trying to put something together that felt fresher.
It was a struggle, but I managed something and ran it by Gwen. I posted the video Saturday right before the scheduled kickoff, and while it was decent, and we got about two hundred likes, it was nothing like our arm candy post.
That one now has over ten thousand likes, which means it’s gone semi-viral. And it has almost five hundred comments, pretty much all of them from women trying to guess the players by the guys’ arms. Or they’re demanding to know who they are. Some of the guesses are right, which is kind of impressive.
When Monday rolls around, Gwen sweeps into the office, the last one to arrive, a smug expression on her face as she deposits her book bag on her desk.
“Eleven-point-five-k likes, Eric.” She shoves her phone in his face for emphasis and he averts his gaze, annoyed. “I told you that type of content would work.”
“You had one lucky post, okay?” He shakes his head, crossing his arms in front of him. “Let’s see if you can do it again.”
“We can,” Gwyneth says smugly, and I wince.
“Saturday’s post didn’t do so well.”
“It wasn’t new content we filmed,” Gwen says. “It was Eric’s.”
“Hey,” he protests. “You’re making it seem like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t,” Gwen says, not mincing words. Her gaze shifts to mine. “Ready to go film?”
“Oh, thank God.” I leap to my feet. “I can’t take it hanging out in here with you two fighting all day.”
“We don’t fight,” they say at the same time, which is weird and proof that they’re secretly in sync with each other.
“Afraid to break it to you, but you guys do. And I’m over it.” I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder, heading for the door. “Let’s go.”
When I realize no one is following me, I turn and lean against the door, contemplating them both. Their matching sour expressions. Their narrowed eyes. Ugh, these two. I can’t with them anymore.
“Are we really going to waste away in this office today because you’re mad at each other?” I snap, feeling as if I’m going to actually snap.
Eric and Gwen share a look, Gwen speaking first.
“Maybe we should still go over the video content first—”
“Give me a break,” I interrupt. “You don’t want to go over Eric’s content, and Eric doesn’t want you touching it either.” Eric opens his mouth to speak but I shoot him a look that has his lips pressing closed. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel like you’re in some sort of weird standoff that feels more like foreplay than actual anger, and I can’t take it anymore. The tension between you guys is thick enough to slice through, and I’m sorry, but you’re both being stupid.”
Gwen’s eyebrows shoot up and Eric grimaces.
