I snort-laugh. “Yeah, well, that advice was probably written by a guy with Cheetos fingers who still lives in his parents’ basement and spends all his time on Reddit because he can’t hold down a job.”
“Woah.” He throws up his hands, feigning surprise. “Tell me how you really feel, Shorty.”
It’s Friday night and we’re lounging on my bed, practicing for the Sports Stream interview tomorrow. We’ve both done mock interviews at the Career Counseling office as Mac suggested, but there’s no such thing as being too prepared, right?
Neither of us has ever been on a professional interview before and though the counseling office told us what to expect, my stomach is twisted in knots.
Or maybe that has something to do with the big sexy tight end in my bed.
The one who’s driving me to Pittsburgh tomorrow in his roommate’s Jeep so we can vie for the same internship.
My stomach rolls.
Yeah, that’s definitely it.
“I’m too nervous to eat.” I scoop up the carryout container resting on my lap and transfer it to the nightstand. The grilled chicken and kale salad looked amazing when I first opened it, but the mere thought of eating has my gag reflex on high alert. Devin doesn’t seem to suffer the same affliction. He just inhaled the world’s largest burger, and he’s still going strong. “I don’t know how you can eat that crap right now.”
“I’m hungry.” He makes a show of popping a fry in his mouth. “Besides, I plan to work it off before I go to bed tonight.”
“Oh, really?” I roll onto my side so I’m facing him and rest my chin in my hand. “How exactly do you plan to work it off?”
He wiggles his brows, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes. “By sleeping with the enemy, of course.”
His words take me by surprise. I haven’t thought of myself that way in a long time and hearing him say it aloud feels…wrong.
“I’m your competition, not your enemy.”
“It’s about time you figured that out.” He grins. “It took you long enough.”
I’m about to make a 2PumpChump joke for old times’ sake, but I bite it back.
Devin’s more than proven our first night together was a fluke and we’re both stressed, even if he won’t admit it. I’m not about to kick him while he’s down.
Not when there are other, more pleasurable ways we could relieve the tension.
My gaze slides over the length of his hard body.
“What part of the interview process is making you nervous?” he asks, stuffing his trash into the brown paper delivery bag and dropping it on the floor. “Is it the interview, the aptitude test, or the broadcast?”
“All of the above.”
We still don’t know what the aptitude test entails and despite answering what feels like a million standard interview questions, I know it won’t be the same when I’m facing a panel of Sports Stream employees. What if my mind goes blank? Or I forget everything I’ve practiced? Or worse, what if I just don’t click with the interviewers? Devin practically oozes charm. They’re going to love him, and I’m not sure I can compete with that kind of natural charisma.
Which is why I’ve decided to take out my nose ring and wear my hair in a bun. It’s about as conservative as you can get when you’re rocking a shade of blue called After Midnight.
Should’ve dyed it a natural color.
No, screw that. I’m not going to change everything about myself to fit some misogynistic notion of what a female sportscaster should look like.
“You have nothing to worry about.” Devin scoots down on the bed and rolls onto his side so we’re face to face. “You nailed your mock interview. You’re ready, Sutton, even if you don’t feel it.”
“I hope you’re right.” I toy with a loose thread on my comforter. There’s something else that’s been bothering me, but I’m not ready to give it voice. Not yet. “I don’t want to let Mac down.”
“Forget about Mac.” He hooks a finger under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “The only person you need to worry about letting down is yourself. Fuck everyone else.”
If only it were that easy.
“What about you?” I ask, turning the table on him. “What part of the interview process are you most worried about?”
