“You can stay in the room, Michael.”

“You can fucking go, Michael.” Kyle’s deep voice followed mine.

Michael didn’t argue. He picked up his things and left the room.

The moment the door shut, Kyle walked toward me.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” I said. “But if it’s career suicide that you’re after, congratulations. I think you may have sealed the deal.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said, glancing at my left hand. “I’m getting an interview from my favorite reporter.”

“As long as you know that’s all you’re getting, then we’ll be fine.” I swallowed as he closed the gap between us, as my heart—once again, betrayed me by wildly dancing in my chest.

“Is there any reason why you’re still playing second fiddle to someone else?” he asked.

“I’m the reporter, Kyle,” I said. “I ask the questions.”

“Apparently you’re just an intern.” He narrowed his eyes. “You get the coffee.”

“Careful.” I felt a pang in my chest. “This conversation is starting to sound a bit like our last one …We know how that one turned out.”

Silence.

I cleared my throat. “If you’re here because of my engagement—” My sentence ended against his finger.

“I don’t give a fuck about your engagement,” he said. “But if you’re expecting me to wish you well and hope it lasts, then don’t hold your breath.”

“I think Michael Router is going to be your best bet for this.”

“We’ll meet for the next few Wednesdays in a row, starting after I play the first round in the playoffs on Sunday,” he said. “I’ll fly you to whatever city I’m in, and I’ll answer your questions via email.”

“Why bother flying to you, if you’re just going to answer everything via email?”

“Because I need to get some other things off my chest.”

“I know a great therapist you can see.”

A faint smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t let it stay.

For a moment, it almost felt like we were in college again—like at the start of our friendship, before things took a turn neither of us expected.

“I’ll see you next week, Courtney.” He stepped back.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Don’t marry that guy,” he said, looking as if he wanted to say far more. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

Courtney: Then

 

 

Senior Year

Pittsburgh

* * *

 

Subject: Cheerleader M.I.A. + My Answers

I dropped two catches at my game against Penn State today. I think that’s because my favorite cheerleader wasn’t on the sidelines cheering me on.

Any chance of her making a return to the sidelines?

P.S. I answered the next set of your questions. Attached.

Kyle S.

 

* * *

 

Subject: Re: Cheerleader M.I.A. + My Answers

Kyle, today is a Monday.

There was no game, and there’s not a chance in hell that the cheerleader in question is ever returning. And she wasn’t cheering for you. She was cheering for the team.

P.S. Thank you very much.

Court

 

* * *

 

Subject: Re: Re: Cheerleader M.I.A. + My Answers

Did they let you keep the uniform? If so, any chance I could still see you in it?

This Wednesday would be nice.

Kyle S.

 

* * *

 

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Cheerleader M.I.A. + My Answers

“Friends” don’t ask friends to fulfill fantasies that will never happen, Kyle.

Court

 

* * *

 

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Cheerleader M.I.A. + My Answers

I don’t see why not.

I’m more than willing to fulfill any of yours ...

Kyle S.

Kyle: Then

Senior Year

Pittsburgh

* * *

 

I walked into the private gym that was a few blocks off campus and unlocked the doors.

Coach Whitten would never admit it—since he’d lose everything, but he’d had this place built just for me when I first agreed to play for Pitt.

Since members of the college football-obsessed media were now stalking our team facility every night (and I hadn’t had sex in what felt like a fucking decade), I came here to release all of my stress in private.

As I was setting up weights, my phone buzzed with a phone call.

Courtney.

“Yeah, Court?” I answered.

“Um, hey.” Her raspy voice came over the line. “Sorry to call you so late.”

“Don’t be. What’s up?”

“I have a few follow-up questions to some things you wrote,” she said. “I promise this will only take a minute.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, one, you said that sometimes you wish that the older fans would be more respectful of the team. What do you mean?”

“I think they tend to forget that the players that they’re criticizing are only a few years removed from high school,” I said. “That, and we’re not getting paid, so some of the rude comments aren’t warranted.”

“Do you wish your parents would show up to your games?”

“I wish you would.”

She let out a breath, and I knew that her cheeks were flushed red. “I’ve shown up to enough, I think …”

“Fair enough, Court,” I said, getting back on track. “I don’t wish that my parents would come to my games. I’m not ten anymore, and they have some heavier stuff to deal with these days.”

“Okay, thank you. If I think of something else, I’ll call back.”

“Don’t,” I said. “You could just come for me.”

“What?”

“Come up here and talk.” I smiled. “It’d probably be better that way.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re talking normally or insinuating something sexually …”

“It’s both when it comes to you.” I laughed and put her on speakerphone. “What else are you doing tonight?”

“Picking up the slack from my staff and trying to hold back on murdering my roommate,” I said. “Would you like to hear a rant?”

“Absolutely.” I leaned back on the bench and started lifting weights.

Over the next couple of hours, I listened as she told me the ins-and-outs of the university paper, how she took it far more seriously than anyone else.

I asked her questions like I was the journalist in the relationship, and by the time she’d laid out her last grievance, it was two in the morning.

“You want to know what I think, Court?” I said.

“Only if it’s not about sex.”

Silence.

She laughed louder than she had all night.

“It’s not about sex.” I laughed, too. “I just think that you need to spend your final semesters doing stuff for you instead of for other people. Otherwise, you’ll look back and regret all the time you wasted.”