—Anna

I GROANED AND TURNED off my phone. Since the day Charlotte stood me up, I was dodging all aspects of my professional career until I got to the bottom of her disappearance. I was turning down every interview, every meeting with sponsors, and I didn’t want to speak to anyone from the NFL. Well, except for the person I was meeting tonight.

I locked my phone in my glove compartment and stepped out of my car, heading into my team’s sports complex. Holding up my access card for the doors, I stopped and signed an autograph for the new security guard.

"Congratulations, Mr. Connors." He held up his hand for a high-five. "Any chance you're considering chasing a three-peat next season?"

“Of course.” I slapped his hand. “That’s the only option.”

“Your guest is in the restaurant waiting,” he said. “I told him you were running late.”

“Thank you.” I headed to the locker room and grabbed my MVP trophy, carrying it with me upstairs.

"Here I was thinking that you were going to be an adult about this." Kyle stood up as I approached, adjusting his cufflinks. "I should've known better."

“You should’ve.” I plopped the trophy in the center of the table. “Two years in a row of beating your team in the playoffs and winning MVP. I wouldn’t be a good best friend if I didn’t take this opportunity to share my victory with you. This isn’t just mine, you know. It’s for the both of us.”

“Fuck you, Grayson.” He laughed and took a seat. “I would tell you congratulations, but you don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you.” I motioned for the waitress to bring a fresh bottle of wine to the table.

Ever since we were drafted into the NFL, we made it a point to meet over dinner at the end of every season. No matter which of our teams fared better, the menu was always the same: Steak, bottles of wine, a short walk down memory lane.

While I spent most of my time off the field investing in small companies here or there, Kyle was now the face of Ralph Lauren, Reebok, and Gatorade. With his increasing layers of fame, he’d become far more restrained with women than he was in college. For the most part.

“Grayson?” He waved his hand in front of my face. “Grayson, are you there?”

“Huh?”

"We've been sitting here ten minutes, and you haven't started gloated about your historic performance in the Super Bowl yet. If we go five more minutes, I may have to check for a pulse."

“Sorry.” I sipped my wine. “I was thinking about something.”

“Something other than your win?”

“It’s Charlotte.”

He let out a long sigh and picked up his glass, drinking it in one gulp. Then he poured himself a shot of whiskey.

“It’s been seven years, and she hasn’t even sent you a birthday card." He seethed. "She disappeared for no reason—leaving you wrecked for God knows how long, and you have no idea where she is currently. I understand that you were hurt for the first couple years, but it's way past time for you to let her go."

“She’s here in New York.”

He uncorked a new bottle of wine and drank straight from the rim.

“I saw her at the reunion,” I said. “For some strange reason, she’s under the impression that I was the one who did something to break us up.” I looked him square in the eye. “Are you sure you didn’t say anything to her our senior year?”

“Jesus Christ.” He kept his voice calm. “For the umpteenth time, I would’ve never stepped in between you and Charlotte, and I highly doubt you would’ve let me. The fact of the matter is that she ghosted you. Period. I don’t care what crazy excuse she’s made up in her mind about it after all this time. The last thing I remember saying to her was, ‘See you at the draft party in New York.' The very same party where you were going to ask her to marry you." He shook his head. "You were too young to get married anyway, and you dodged a bullet, so it was good she didn't show up."

The waitress set our steaks down and replaced the wine before stepping away.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said.

“Gladly. Tell me about the championship parade plans, since I won’t be caught dead watching it.”

I laughed and ran down the list of over the top things my team had planned. I told him about my predictions for next season and listened as he told me about his desire to play for another football team. We swapped stories about our endorsement deals, laughed at our agents' Type A personalities, and by the time we finished, it was three in the morning.

“Shit,” he said. “I’ve got two hours to make it to the airport. I can’t believe I didn’t make you take me to the club while I was here. I wasted an entire day of my life on you.”

“I feel the same way.”

He laughed and extended his hand. "So, when will you see Charlotte again?"

I shrugged, attempting to be nonchalant. “What makes you think I plan on seeing her again?”

“Because I know you,” he said. “When?”

This week. "In a few weeks."

“Will this meeting be taking place on a Tuesday?” He smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Figures. Is she married? Any kids? Still sexy as hell?”

“No, not that I know of, and yes.”

"Well, look. I'll never repeat this because a part of me will always hate her for leaving you the way she did, but if you ever end up with someone for the long-term who isn't Charlotte Taylor, I'll have to be honest and tell you that you're making the biggest mistake of your life." He paused. "But she better have a damn good reason for leaving you, never making contact, and hiding her whereabouts. I mean, come on. Seven years? Does she have any idea who the hell she was dating back then?”

I laughed. “Thank you for your opinion, as always, Kyle.”

“You’re more than welcome,” he said. “One last thing, though. Do me a favor when you meet up with her.”

“Name it.”

“Ask her why she never called you once.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN

Seven years ago

Pittsburgh

“I HATE SEAFOOD PLACES." I rolled over on my bed and held the phone against my ear. "Especially the ones where they let you pick your crab and cook it for you on the spot."

Grayson’s deep laughter came over the line. “So, you’ve never actually tried seafood?”

"No," I admitted. "But I've walked out of plenty of restaurants that serve it, so I'm going to trust my instincts and accept that it's terrible."

He laughed again. “You should let me take you to one this weekend. I think I can change your mind.”

“I’ll consider it.” I blushed. I was about to ask him which seafood restaurant he thought was the best, but my alarm clock rang.

It’s six o’clock already? “Um. I have to go,” I said, sitting up. “I need to get ready for my morning class.”

“You have a class that starts at seven?”

“No, eight.” I stood up and slammed the snooze button. “But I have a ritual, remember? Hot shower, latte, newsstand stop, then class. If I don’t do those things in the exact order, my entire day falls apart.”

“You left out your need to grab an overpriced bagel at Einstein’s,” he said.

“That was implied.” I laughed. “So, I’ll talk to you later?”

“You’ll see me. Today is a Tuesday.” His voice over the phone was beyond sexy. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later.” I ended the call and looked at the total time we’d talked. Seven hours for the eighth day in a row. The longest I’d ever talked to any guy on the phone.

Smiling, I undressed and headed to the shower room. Turning on the cold water, I leaned back against the tile to make sure I was fully awake and sane. That I was not wishing that I could stay on the phone with Grayson for the rest of the day instead of going to class.

I decided to make a list of ten reasons why he needed to remain in the friend zone, but by the time I finished my shower, I could only think of five. And the top three were “Because he’s Grayson Connors.”