With my jaw clenched, I march toward my white Corolla, which is parked on the far side of the lot behind the bar.
It was packed when I got here hours ago because there are several restaurants in this quaint shopping area, but now that it’s late and dark, I’m creeped out. Worse, the live oaks around the perimeter form a canopy that blocks out the streetlamps, making it hard to see.
“Ace, come on. I need your help.”
“Don’t call me that.” I never understood that nickname. It had something to do with me getting good grades and helping him with his essays, I suppose.
He juts out his lower lip. “Please.”
Ugh, I hate his effect on me. All he has to do is give me that puppy dog expression, and I cave. Against my better judgment, I pause next to my car. “Make it quick.”
He rubs his hands together and nods. He’s never nervous, but he is right now for some reason. “I probably won’t be drafted next weekend, but my agent says he can get me into some open tryouts. You know how good I can be. You’ve always had my back. Always believed in my talent.”
If he knew that, why did he sleep around? I swallow down my emotions and blink quickly to try to clear my eyes. At least it’s dark, so he can’t tell I’m two seconds away from bawling. “What’s your point?”
“I was hoping I could talk you into coming with me.”
“Go with you… where?”
“To the tryouts. You know, so you could cheer me on.”
He has some nerve. After the way he led me on for years? After how he treated me when I moved here? After the way he stomped all over my heart? “Why don’t you take one of the five thousand girls you banged while we were dating?” I jam my keys into the lock, but I’m too flustered to get it open.
“Ace, don’t be like that. You were so far away, and I was stressed out. I needed a release. It was just sex. It didn’t mean anything.”
So many lies.
Even though we both got accepted to Lone Star State, Ezra didn’t want me to attend with him. He said it would distract him, so I went to a local college in San Antonio. But really, he wanted to sow his wild oats and be a fuckboy. Roxy shared all the promises he made to her and showed me their texts. “Ezra, I can’t with your bullshit anymore.”
The lock finally turns, and I jump in and slam the door shut, but he grabs the handle and flings it open again before I can hit the lock. “Wait. Please.” I glare at him and am surprised by the desperation in his eyes. “Okay, you’re right. I was a dog, but I really need your help. You were always my good luck charm, my lucky ace. If you come, maybe I’ll make a team.”
His good luck charm?
Blood rushes to my ears.
Ezra is the most superstitious person I know. Especially on game days. He wears the same socks for every game, eats the same foods, and does the same warmup.
Then it dawns on me. Why he dated me.
Because that always perplexed me. I’m a straight-up nerd. I love Jane Austen, school, highlighters, color-coded homework, and triple-word Scrabble scores. The library and bookstores are my happy places. I love thrift shopping and bargain hunting. I’m literally the opposite of this man in every way to the point that Ezra dating me in high school was a huge shock to our classmates. Heck, it was a huge shock to me. The gorgeous quarterback who fell for the quiet bookworm? I felt like I was living in one of my romance novels. Or maybe that movie my mother loves, Pretty in Pink. I’m like Andie the geek, someone no one appreciates except other geeks. And really nice people like Roxy.
Ezra and his lies.
The words feel like gravel as I spit them out. “I’m part of your game day routine.” In other words, I’m the reason he thought he won.
He was a third-string quarterback when I started tutoring him. Then, one afternoon, we made out in the library—my first time kissing a boy—and the next day, when the two other QBs got injured in a game, he took the field and won against all odds.
We dated ever since.
Until I broke up with him.
And the day after our breakup, he injured his shoulder—because he got a blow job at some party, stood in front of an open window, leaned back too far and fell. Which meant he couldn’t go for the draft his junior year like he’d planned. Ezra had just won a national championship. He should’ve been a shoo-in. Instead, he struggled during his last year of eligibility until Coach Santos replaced him with Nick Silva, a new transfer at the time.
My vision blurs. “Say it. Tell me I’m right. Admit the only reason we dated is because you thought I had something to do with your winning streak.”
Ezra blinks.
I growl. “Say it!” On game days, he always had me call him exactly two hours before he played, just like that day in high school.
