“Babe, it’s not like that,” he says, holding out his hands to her. “Roxy’s just pissed I wouldn’t sleep with her.”
Jesus, he’s really going to make me say it. “Ezra, your dick curves to the left. When you come, you make this little high-pitched noise that’s actually quite unattractive. And you can’t find a girl’s clit if she drew you a map and highlighted the destination.” The only reason I ever got off was if I reached down to rub it myself.
Through her tears, Abigail reluctantly laughs. “Oh my God, I thought it was me.”
Ezra’s cheeks go red, and I almost feel bad for insulting his sexual prowess until I remember all that slut-shaming he’s hurled my way.
“Drop the charges against Billy, and I’ll never sue you for paternity. Make it go away, and you and I will go our separate ways. You’ll head off for the draft, make all that money, and do your thing. Those NFL teams won’t get a whiff of what happened between us even if a private investigator starts sniffing. Come draft day, they’ll still think you’re that golden boy.” Until some unlucky team finds out he’s a grade-A asshole, but that’s not my problem. “Let Billy off the hook, and I swear on all that is holy that you’ll never hear from me again.”
Then I consider Ezra’s family back in San Antonio. Maybe Ezra has a heart deep down and would actually want to know his child. Or perhaps his parents would. “Unless… unless you want to be involved in my baby’s life?”
“Fuck, no.”
That shouldn’t hurt, but it does. I’m in pain, not for myself, but for my daughter, who’s done nothing wrong. I take a deep breath to shake it off. “When people ask why Billy hit you, say it was a prank gone wrong. That you were supposed to duck, but one of the chairs was in the way.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Then make up another excuse, something that doesn’t get Billy in trouble. Say someone was recording a prank for TikTok, but Billy misunderstood when he was supposed topretendto hit you.”
“But I gave my statement to the police last night.”
“Then fucking change it. You’re the star quarterback for the most popular college football team in Texas. They’ll listen to you. Tell them you weren’t thinking clearly. That you were in pain from the punch and had a migraine. That you’ve gotten your bell rung on the field one too many times and it makes you forget things you shouldn’t. I don’t know what you need to say, but you need to retract your original statement.”
I can tell Ezra’s considering my words. He’d better think harder because I have every intention of getting in touch with my inner bad bitch.
His eyes narrow. “How do I know you won’t tell your father, and he’ll go on some kind of smear campaign?”
“Do you think I want Coach to know you’re the father of my child?” I sneer. “Do you think for one minute I want to confess I had an affair with a man who’s practically married? Come on. You know my dad.The Saintwill be so disappointed in me.”
Ezra nods slowly. “That’s true.”
God, he’s an asshole. He’s like one of those old Polaroid photos that keeps developing, and every new detail that emerges is worse than the last. “This offer is good for twenty-four hours. If the charges aren’t dropped by this time tomorrow, get ready for war. And I’m talking a full-out media blitz, the kind that puts your name on the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen on ESPN. I grew up on the sidelines of the NFL, so you’d better believe I know who to call to make this happen.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I throw the Hail Mary. “Think of it this way, Ezra. You’re the only one who stands to lose anything. What will I lose? My reputation? I’ve never given a damn about that. Cheerleading? It’s already over thanks to you knocking me up. My dad’s respect? I’m not sure I have much there to lose.” Sad, but true. “While you stand to lose the numberone draft pick and a hell of a lot of money. I’d think long and hard before turning me down.”
I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts, pausing to show him name after name of NFL coaches and staff. I’m bluffing on most of them. I’ve never met some of these people, but he doesn’t know I programmed a few fake contacts while I was parked outside of his house.
His face pales when he sees the name of the head coach from his dream team. “Just because I tell the cops I don’t want to prosecute doesn’t mean they’ll drop the charges.”
As I march out the door, I yell, “Then you’d better turn on that golden boy charm and make them listen to you. Twenty-four hours, Ezra!”
If he thinks I’m bluffing about telling the media, he has another thing coming. And while I was fibbing about most of those contacts, that doesn’t mean I don’t know people who do know them.
He’s messing with the wrong girl.
35
BILLY
Still groggy andsore from sleeping on a bench and running a million stadium stairs yesterday, I stare at Officer Hardy’s cup of Dunkin’ Donuts. The smell makes me want to hurl.
I know the score. I might not have gone to law school like my brothers, but our father drilled in a few things in case we ever got in trouble. Not because he loved us, but because he was considering a run for Congress at the time.
One, I need to keep my big fucking mouth shut.
Two, I should secure an attorney as soon as possible to negotiate with the district attorney and potentially present evidence on my behalf. He might be able to prevent formal charges from being filed.
And three, if my father doesn’t send his guy and no one shows up, I’ll get stuck with some court-appointed attorney, and that’ll suck.
