LOGINCole
I always get the girl. It’s not something I usually say out loud because it sounds like something an asshole would say. But it doesn’t make it any less true. Girls have always been easy. Not because I think I’m God’s gift to women. Not because I spend my time chasing them. It’s just… simple. A smile. A little confidence. A conversation. The ending usually writes itself. That’s part of being Cole Ryder. Part of being the football captain. Part of being the guy everyone assumes has life figured out. People look at me and think everything comes easy. Football. Friends. Women. The truth? Most of it does. Or at least it used to. Because right now, I’m standing in my own hallway watching Maya walk away. And I hate it. The worst part? I don’t even think she’s doing it on purpose. Maya isn’t playing games. She isn’t trying to make me chase her. She genuinely thinks leaving is the reasonable thing to do. Which somehow makes it worse. “Come on, lady in red.” Bree hooks her arm through Maya’s and starts pulling her toward the stairs. Maya glances back once. Just once. And that tiny look hits harder than it should. Then she’s gone. The sound of the front door opening reaches me a few seconds later. Then it closes. Silence. I stare at the empty hallway. The same hallway that felt way too small five minutes ago suddenly feels way too big. “Well.” I don’t even have to turn around. I know that voice. Parker. One of my teammates. Professional pain in my ass. I close my eyes. Slowly. “What?” “Damn.” I turn around. Parker is leaning against the wall. Two other teammates stand beside him. All three of them are grinning. Which means I’m about to hate this conversation. “Damn what?” He gestures toward the front door. “That was brutal.” My jaw tightens. “Nothing happened.” “Exactly.” The idiots start laughing. I immediately regret not running extra conditioning drills during practice. If I’d worked them harder, they might not have enough energy for this. Parker points toward the stairs. “Did the great Rogue Ryder just get left standing in his own hallway?” “No.” “Looked like it.” “She went home.” “Without kissing you.” I hate all of them. Every single one. A second teammate whistles. “Wow.” “Shut up.” “No, seriously.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen that before.” “Seen what?” “You trying.” The words hit harder than they should. Because he’s right. Usually I don’t try. I don’t have to. Girls flirt. Girls approach me. Girls make things easy. Maya… Maya showed up to mess with me and somehow ended up completely wrecking my evening. Parker studies me. Then he starts smiling. A slow smile. The kind that means trouble. “Oh no.” “What?” “You like her.” I laugh. Immediately. Too quickly. The wrong answer. Three sets of eyebrows shoot up. Damn it. “No.” “Ryder.” “No.” “Buddy.” “No.” Parker folds his arms. “Your coach just threatened your future. You sprinted upstairs the second he left.” I don’t respond. “To find her.” Still nothing. “Then you stood in a hallway looking like someone stole your puppy.” “I did not.” “You absolutely did.” The guys lose it. Laughing. Pointing. Being generally useless. I drag a hand through my hair. “Can you all leave?” Parker ignores me. “What’s her name?” “You know her name.” “Maya.” He nods thoughtfully. “The pizza girl.” I point at him. “Don’t call her that.” The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake. A huge mistake. The hallway goes silent. Parker’s grin grows. “Oh my God.” “No.” “Oh my God.” “It’s not like that.” “It’s exactly like that.” One of the guys looks genuinely concerned. “For your sake, I hope she’s not a psychology major.” “What?” “They’re terrifying.” “She’s not.” Parker looks at me. “You know her major?” I swear under my breath. The idiots start laughing again. This is a disaster. An absolute disaster. And somehow it’s still better than watching Maya leave. Which is a problem. A massive problem. Because now I’m standing here thinking about whether she made it home safely. Whether she’s laughing with Bree right now. Whether she’s talking about me. Whether she’ll show up tomorrow. Whether she’ll avoid me. Whether— Yeah. Definitely a problem. Parker bumps my shoulder. “You’re smiling.” I immediately stop smiling. “I wasn’t smiling.” “You were.” “No.” “You looked happy.” I glare at him. He grins right back. “Rogue Ryder is cooked.” “Nobody says cooked.” “We do now.” The guys start heading downstairs, still laughing. Still throwing comments over their shoulders. “Night, Romeo.” “Don’t text her too fast.” “Try not to stare out the window waiting for her.” I flip them off. Maturely. Professionally. As a team captain should. Their laughter echoes through the house. Eventually, I’m alone again. The hallway is quiet. The party is over. The night should be over too. Instead, I find myself walking toward the window overlooking the yard. And there she is. Across the lawn. Standing under the porch light next door. Bree is talking with her about something. Maya laughs. Even from here, I recognize it. Then, like she can somehow feel me watching, her head turns. For half a second, our eyes meet across the darkness. Neither of us moves. Then she shakes her head. Almost like she’s annoyed with herself. And disappears inside. The porch light shuts off. I stand there for another second. Maybe two. Then I laugh quietly to myself. Because this is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. I’ve known her for what? A week? And somehow she’s already the most interesting thing in my life. I shove my hands into my pockets and head downstairs. But one thought follows me the entire way. I always get the girl. That’s the story everybody tells. The story everybody expects. The story I’ve never questioned before. But Maya? Maya isn’t a trophy. She isn’t a game. And for the first time in a long time… I don’t think I want to win. I think I want the chance to earn it.MayaThree Years Later“Cole, if that football hits my flowers, I swear to God I’m divorcing you before we’re even married.”The backyard goes quiet.Seven grown men stare at me.Cole slowly lowers the football.“We’re not married yet.”“I know. Imagine how embarrassing that’ll be for you.”Jake nearly falls out of his chair laughing.“Holy shit. She’s still mean to him.”“Still?” Bree asks from beside me. “She’s gotten worse.”“I have not.”“You threatened to cancel a wedding over hydrangeas.”“They’re new hydrangeas.”“That somehow makes it reasonable,” Logan says.“Thank you.”Cole points at him. “Why are you still on her side?”Logan takes a drink. “Three years of consistency.”Some things never change.Apparently, neither do these people.Our backyard is full of them. Jake and Markus flew in yesterday. Bree arrived this morning with enough luggage to suggest she plans on moving in. Logan came down between games, and several of Cole’s current teammates are scattered around the poo
MayaThe football lands three feet from my chair.I stare at it.Then I stare at the house next door.No fucking way.For several seconds, nothing happens. I’m sitting on our back patio with my laptop open, trying to finish an assignment before my shift tomorrow, and there is now a football resting in the grass like the universe has developed a very specific sense of humor.The back door of the football house opens.Cole steps outside.He sees me.Then the ball.Then me again.A grin slowly spreads across his face.“Don’t.”“I didn’t say anything.”“You’re thinking it.”“Pretty loudly.”I close my laptop.Months ago, a football coming into this yard started an actual war.I hated the guys next door. Their parties were too loud, their friends parked everywhere, and their quarterback was an arrogant pain in my ass who seemed personally offended that I wasn’t impressed by him.Now the same quarterback walks across the yard like he owns it.Technically, he does not.Emotionally?Debatable
MayaNobody tells you when you start college that eventually there will be a last version of everything.Not necessarily the actual last time, because technically we still have classes, football games, work shifts, and enough assignments left to destroy several forests. But lately there’s this strange feeling hanging over everything, like we’ve all suddenly realized this ridiculous life isn’t permanent.Which is probably why there are fourteen people in the football house kitchen on a Thursday night arguing about pizza.“I said pepperoni.”“You ordered three pepperoni.”“Exactly.”Jake stares at Bree like she’s mentally deficient.Bree stares back.“There are vegetables on exactly one pizza.”“Football players don’t eat vegetables.”Markus looks up from his phone. “I eat vegetables.”Jake points at him. “Potatoes don’t count.”“They absolutely count.”“They’re starch.”“Who the fuck invited the nutritionist?”I’m laughing when Cole walks up behind me and hooks an arm around my waist.
ColeI’ve played football in front of twenty thousand screaming people without throwing up.Apparently sitting in a conference room with three men in suits is where my body draws the fucking line.“You look nervous, Ryder.”I glance at Coach. “I’m not nervous.”“You’ve bounced your knee for ten straight minutes.”I immediately stop.Asshole.Patterson sits across from me with two men I met approximately thirty seconds ago and whose names I’ve already forgotten because one of them started the conversation with several organizations have requested additional film on you.Several.Organizations.As in NFL teams.This shit is actually happening.Patterson closes the folder in front of him. “Nobody can promise where you’ll go. You understand that?”“Yeah.”“Or when.”“I know.”“You could have teams interested today that go another direction tomorrow. Somebody who hasn’t called yet could become your strongest possibility.”Coach has explained all of this before.It sounded different then.H
ColeThere are seven NFL scouts sitting somewhere behind our bench.I know this because Jake has counted them four fucking times.“Seven.”“I heard you the first three times.”He adjusts his gloves. “Could be eight.”“Jake.”“What?”“Stop looking.”“I’m not nervous.”“You’ve counted professional scouts four times.”He stares toward the stands again.“Definitely seven.”I shove his helmet.“Get your head in the game.”Easy advice considering my own stomach feels like somebody tied it into a knot.This is it.Not the draft. Not some guaranteed million-dollar contract. Nothing that dramatic.But Coach made it pretty damn clear yesterday that tonight matters.Win this game and we’re playing for the conference championship.Play well in front of the men sitting behind us and my name moves higher on some very important lists.No pressure.The stadium is packed, the student section already losing its mind while music pounds through the speakers. I jog toward the sideline after warmups and gl
MayaThere are five people on the other side of this door deciding whether I get to stop checking my bank account before buying shampoo.That probably isn’t the inspirational thought I’m supposed to have before the most important interview of my college career, but it’s the truth.I sit outside the conference room with my résumé balanced on my knee, wearing the nicest black pants I own and a blouse Bree insisted made me look professional but not like I sell insurance. My palms are sweating, my stomach is trying to digest itself, and somewhere inside my bag my phone has buzzed three times in the last ten minutes.I don’t need to look.Cole.He started at seven this morning.Cole: You’ve got this.Then at eight-thirty:Cole: Remember they’d be lucky to have you.And twenty minutes ago:Cole: Also don’t picture them naked. Apparently that advice upset you.Idiot.I’m smiling when the door opens.“Maya Bennet?”My smile disappears.Oh, fuck.“That’s me.”Here we go.⸻The first question i







