GrayG: lol. Not necessary. I know Drew doesn’t really mean it. He’s going through some stuff with his leg being broken. Just. Okay, yeah, it hurt that he took it out on me.

IvyMac: :-( {{{{hugs}}}}

GrayG: Ivy, is it weird that I kind of wish you were home? That I kind of miss you?

IvyMac: No. I wish I were there right now. I miss you too.

IvyMac: Okay. About to go into another tunnel. Txt me later, Cupcake

GrayG: Will do. Thanks for listening, Mac.

Next day…

GrayG: Everything is cool with Drew. He apologized for being a dick. We tossed around the football today. He hadn’t touched one in a while, so that was good.

IvyMac: Good. I’m so glad. I know how much he means to you.

GrayG: I’m going over to hang out with him and his girl, Anna. You’d like her. She’s saucy too. But, you know, not *special* saucy.

IvyMac: You’re risking your nuts, calling me special sauce. Don’t think I won’t make good on my threat whenever we meet.

GrayG: There you go, talking about my nuts again. One day, we gotta address this fascination you have with them.

IvyMac: Sure, we can address it, and then you can limp away.

GrayG: Empty threats, Mac. You know you couldn’t hurt me. You love me too much.

IvyMac: Whatever, Cupcake. Have fun tonight. Helpful party tip: don’t mention your nuts <—basic rules of polite society 101

GrayG: Damn, you’re telling me this now? The topic of my nuts has always been my go-to conversational opening. O.o

IvyMac: The more you know, Gray.

GrayG: What would I do without you to guide me?

IvyMac: Best not to think about that, Cupcake.

GrayG: Yeah, the idea is too terrible to contemplate. Stay safe, Ivy. I’ll txt later. You gonna be up?

IvyMac: Yes. Don’t think I can fall asleep anymore without your nightly text.

GrayG: Miss you.

IvyMac: Miss you too.

A few days and several texts later…

Gray

If life has taught me anything it’s to appreciate what you’ve got. Take something for granted and it could be gone before you even realized what you had. I learned that lesson from my mom, though I wish every day that I hadn’t. One day she was baking me apple cake and reminding me to study after football practice, the next day she’s pulling me into the den to tell me she had cancer. Hell, I remember every word of the conversation. Every fucking word punched into my flesh as if they were nails. But particularly I remember how she ended it: Live every day to the fullest, Gray. Appreciate life to the fullest, promise me that.

And I have. I still do. Enjoy the moment. Revel in it. Soak up life and fuck the rest.

It’s simple, really. I party because it’s fun. Enjoy women because I love them. Love their sweet scent, their musical laughter, and their soft curves. Play football because it’s the greatest fucking game on earth. And it’s worked for the most part. I’ve had fun.

Only now living in the moment is getting harder to do. I find my attention wandering to the future. I find myself wanting that distant future now. Here. Because of Ivy Mackenzie.

It’s strange. I have friends. Some guys on my team I’m so tight with, I’d throw down for them no matter what the cost. Drew? He’s like a brother to me. So why do I feel this intensity in my new-found friendship with Ivy? I’m not sure. It’s only been a little over a week of non-stop texting, but already she’s become essential—a bright spot in my life.

Maybe too bright, because I miss her and want to see her. That’s the truth, as weak as it sounds. I don’t want to be lying on this bench doing endless reps until my pecs burn and my arms feel like thick, wiggling slabs of raw beef. I want to be face-to-face with Mac, actually have a real conversation with her, take her out for a beer and shoot the shit. Mac would love it; she’s like one of the guys, only better. More fun, maybe? I don’t know. I just know I like her. A lot.

I grunt, sweat trickling down my brow and into the corner of my eye, and try to concentrate on now. But it’s hard. The tile ceiling overhead blurs, and I think of my phone in my pocket. The urge to pull it out and text Mac is strong. But I’m supposed to be training, not goofing off. So I push the weight-laden bars up once again and blow out a breath. Shit. I’ve lost count. Doesn’t matter. I know my limit.

And when I’m done, I can text Mac.

As if my thoughts activated it, my phone buzzes against my thigh. I hesitate, weights overhead, my arms quivering. The phone buzzes again. Mac. I let the weights settle into place with a clank and then heave upward, digging in my pocket for the phone. It isn’t a text but an incoming call.

“Yeah?”

“Remind me to work on your social skills, Grayson,” says a gruff voice. “Can’t be answering like that when scouts are actively checking you out.” It’s Sean Mackenzie, Ivy’s dad and the man I’ve decided to sign as my agent as soon as I’m done with my season.

I run a hand through my hair, pushing the sweat-slicked strands off my forehead. “Pretty sure they’ll want me regardless of my phone manners, Big Mac.” I reach for a water and guzzle it down.

“Don’t be too sure of that, kid. Image is everything.”

He’s right, of course. Which is why I know I’m making a good decision in choosing him.

“What’s up?” I ask, wiping my mouth with my forearm. Big mistake—I’m sweaty as fuck. Grimacing, I reach for a towel. “Or is this part of some random, buff-and-polish-the-client initiative you’re testing out on me?”