“Let’s do this,” I tell him, the confidence in my voice matching what’s in my head. My heart.
No more doubting myself. I’m Grady fucking Ryan and I was born to be on the football field, to lead this team to continue to be the champions they already are.
“There he is.” He claps me on the shoulder, opens the door and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel an instant peace.
I have this.
I’m going to rock the shit out of coaching the top tier of athletes at the D1 school I’ve loved since before I could walk.
It might not be what I envisioned for my future when I was growing up, but fuck the past. And everyone who tossed me aside.
Because I’m about to be the youngest head coach in this university’s history, and I did it all without her by my side.
Just like she wanted.
Bri
“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” I shift in my seat, uncross my legs, and look up from the notebook I was about to scribble on. I gather my long, dark hair in my hand and drape it over my shoulder, fighting against the desire to throw it up in a messy bun.
Simon, the editor for the division of Sports Illuminated magazine I work for, leans over, resting his arms on his desk.
He’s also my best friend Ava’s husband, a match I successfully made shortly after I got my job here.
“We have been given the opportunity to follow the Ryan story. The Warriors Athletic Director knew that it would be talked about by every platform given Grady’s age, and they wanted the real story out there so they contacted us.”
“Wow. That’s… amazing,” I tell him, praying my voice doesn’t betray me from the shaking I feel at hearing him mention Grady’s name. Ever since the story broke about Grady getting the head coaching position, my stomach has been in knots. Excitement for him, nervousness knowing he’s going to be in the spotlight for the next several months, something I won’t be able to ignore.
He nods his head, looking down at the papers in front of him. “It is. And it’s yours.”
I choke on the sip of water I’d just taken. “Say again?” I wipe the dribble on my chin and discreetly wipe my hands on my pants.
He looks up at me with confusion in his eyes like he didn’t turn my world on its side. “You’ve been assigned an exclusive. This is huge, Bri. Every sports reporter across the nation is going to be clamoring for this opportunity, and it’s yours.”
“But, why? I’m no one.”
He shakes his head and leans back in his seat. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve never seen anyone work harder than you. At twenty-six, you’ve put in more time than most fifty-year-olds. But it’s more than that. You know more about Southern Michigan football than anyone I know. You know their program and you also understand what this move means for them. Grady Ryan is the youngest coach in the university’s history. It’s a D1 school. This is completely unheard of. Other coaches are pissed they weren’t even considered, and conspiracies about why he was offered the job are popping up everywhere you turn. Everyone in our industry is talking about it, rightfully so.”
He doesn’t need to tell me the things I already know.
He doesn’t realize, though, the entire reason I know so much about Southern Michigan State football is because of the person of interest himself.
“You also went to high school with him, if I remember correctly.”
My boss’s research is definitely correct.
I went to high school with Grady Ryan all right.
“Isn’t it a conflict of interest?”
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.
I know it is, for reasons I haven’t been fully honest with him, or anyone else on the Sports Illuminated staff, about.
Grady Ryan was my first love.
My first everything.
“If we never allowed people to report on someone they once knew or have met along the way, we’d have a hard time finding good journalists. This business is smaller than you’d think.”
I should tell him Grady and I were far more than simple high school classmates. That I still dream of him at night and never fell out of love with him.
Not even Ava knows everything about my past with Grady. I only told her we were once friends.
“Six weeks. You’ll start in two weeks when pre-season practices begin and continue through the first two regular season games. Of course, you’ll still have a few other assignments to keep up with while you’re doing this story. You’re going to be the voice of the team. By our recommendation because of your vast knowledge of the Warriors’ program, their PR department wants you to tell his story. Get to know him on a personal level. Interview the athletes and rest of the staff. Show the world Grady Ryan is the perfect choice to replace Coach Bales, their words.”
My brain trips over the words get to know him on a personal level and my palms start sweating.
What he doesn’t know is, I do know Grady on a personal level.
I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale because he’s right. This is huge. But I know I need to be honest with him and let him know when I broke up with Grady, I not only broke his heart, but mine as well. But I can’t let the words escape my mouth even though I know it’s wrong, I want this. I want to be placed in Grady’s life again.
“The university will provide you with accommodations in Lanphier so you’ll have easier access to the team.”
“What? That’s not… normal, is it?” No way does a university pay for a place for a reporter to live!
“They’re very serious about this story being done as tasteful as possible. It’s not as if they’re buying you a house, Bri. From my understanding, it’s only a townhome one of the board members owns that’s recently been vacated. You’ll be staying in it until the next renter takes over. You’ve said several times you aren’t committed to staying in Chicago right now. I assume you weren’t lying.”
“No, it wasn’t a lie. I can temporarily relocate. I…”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “You, what?
“My mom lives close to Lanphier. I don’t need to stay there, do I?”
“Whatever is easiest for you, I suppose. You understand this isn’t an 8 – 5 job. It will be easier if you’re within a few minutes of the stadium.”
I have my doubts this is typical, someone as young as me getting an exclusive interview—one that will be coveted by every sports reporter in the nation, not only our magazine.
“When you married Ava, I told you I didn’t want special treatment.”
He doesn’t even try to hide the fact he’s annoyed by my mentioning it. “And I’m not giving it to you. This assignment is yours, if you want it.”
An exclusive on one of the biggest stories in college football of the past decade? I’d be an idiot not to take it. I can be professional.
Hopefully Grady is willing to set our past aside.
“I won’t let you down,” I tell him with all the false bravado I have in me.
The last time I talked to Grady, I told him I didn’t want to be with him anymore. That I couldn’t trust love because even my dad couldn’t stay loyal to my mom. I knew I had overstepped when I told him high school loves weren’t meant to last, knowing his own parents were also high school sweethearts and were obviously still deeply in love. But I knew I broke him when I told him one day he’d look back on this and be grateful I gave him an out so he had the chance to see what else was out there without cheating on me.
Which meant I couldn’t trust him.
That was the day I lost my best friend.
And now I’m being asked to follow him around for six weeks.
To be his shadow.
“I know you won’t.”
He turns his attention back to his computer, officially dismissing me.
I stand and make my way toward the door, gripping the handle.
I hesitate and he notices.
Of course, he notices.
“What, Bri?”
he says in a voice that reminds me when we’re in the office I’m not his friend. I’m not the one who introduced him to his wife.
“You’re sure this isn’t…” I trail off, knowing I’ll piss him off if I say something about special treatment again.
He narrows his dark eyes at me and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t go there,” he says in a hard voice. “You know I would never give you an assignment you didn’t deserve. When Southern Michigan State approached us about this story, they had a few requests. One was the reporter needed to have a deep understanding of their program so there wouldn’t be a learning period to get him or her up to speed. That’s you. The second was the reporter should be someone they could trust not to exploit the program. Not to create drama to make the story more interesting. Again, you. Everyone else is too hungry for the story that will get them on the front page. I know you’ll do it with pride in your team and write an article worthy of how incredible this opportunity really is. Don’t second guess my decision, or make me do the same. Just like Ryan being offered the position as head coach, this is a huge break for you. Don’t waste it.”
I absorb his final words.
Don’t waste it.
Little does he know, I spent the last six years wasting time.
“Trust me, Simon. I have absolutely no intention of wasting this opportunity.
Grady
“Stay close to me tonight, yeah?”
I glance over the cab of my dimly lit pickup in time to see Bri roll her bright green eyes. I still remember the first time I noticed them. It was around the same time I realized Bri was a girl. Not just my best friend who happened to be a girl. Her silky hair is such a deep shade of brown it’s almost black. Not having the right to run my fingers through it is seriously testing my patience.
“Don’t roll your eyes. You heard my dad,” I try for a joke, hoping to get the smile that will show me her dimples in each cheek. It doesn’t work.
“Right. Your dad.”
“What’s wrong with you tonight? You’ve been off lately.”
I turn down the gravel road, the tires of my pickup kicking up dust.
She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, and I do my best not to look to see if the movement causes her breasts to push up. “I don’t know, Grady. What do you think is off lately?”
I feel like this is a trap so I stay silent.
How the hell am I supposed to know what’s wrong with her? She’s a girl.
And not at all forthcoming.
She may be my best friend and the one person I know better than anyone—and who knows me better than anyone, too. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t confuse the hell out of me.
“Just… figure it out, okay?”
“Bri. Figure what out? I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“But you know something’s wrong?”
I resist the urge to scoff. “Uh. Yeah. I figured that shit out weeks ago.”
“Weeks, huh? But yet, you have no idea?”
“Shit, B. I don’t know! How else can I say it? Did I do something?”
“Oh no. You did nothing,” she deadpans, uncrossing her arms and throwing them out in front of her.
I don’t even know what she means.
“So I didn’t do anything. But you’re pissed at me?” I guess.
“I’m not pissed. I’m annoyed.”
“Annoyed with what?” I ask as I park beside another pickup. It’s a familiar scene around us, it’s been our go-to party spot for a few years. The large bonfire in the middle of an open field cocooned by trees for privacy. A small group of guys is gathered around a keg set up behind a black pickup.
We had a great game tonight. I had a kick-ass touchdown. And just like I’ve done after every single touchdown since I started playing football, I celebrated by pointing to the stands in the exact direction I knew Bri was sitting.
Because I always know. It’s a sixth sense.
Bri.
My Bri.
But yet—not mine.
Not officially.
All the guys in school know she’s mine even though we’re technically only friends.
Best friends.
Since we were in fourth grade.
Friend-zoned for eight years.
At my own doing.
“Stop acting like a dumb ass and figure it out already. I won’t wait much longer,” she says then hops out of my pickup and slams the door behind her.
I actually am not a total dumbass because I know exactly what she’s referring to. She’s been dropping hints for the last six months. But I’m too chicken shit to do anything about it.
I watch as she runs to where her group of friends are all huddled. A few of them with red plastic cups in their hands.
I blow out a breath and hit the back of my head against my headrest a few times before unfolding myself from my seat as well.
My other best friend Blake is standing by the bonfire, cup in hand, probably telling another story, the thing he loves to do most. Half of them I’m pretty sure he pulls directly out of his ass and the other half are glorified truths. He loves an audience so if he needs to exaggerate to get everyone’s attention, he will.
I sidle up next to him and he stops talking only for a moment, briefly looking around the party, likely for Bri since where one of us goes, the other follows. I find her easily, her long dark ponytail impossible to miss even in the night sky.
I nod my head in her direction and his eyes follow.
“Damn. She looks fucking hot tonight, yeah?”
“She always looks hot,” I correct him, not at all bothered that he mentions it. I trust him, and he, more than anyone, knows my true feelings for Bri. He would never pursue anything with her.
“Truth.”
“Her in your jersey, man? I bet you jerk it to that image every night.”
I punch him in the shoulder, laughing at the idiot.
But I don’t deny it.
She has this exotic look to her with her olive skin, dark hair, and bright green eyes. But it’s not only about how she looks on the outside. Her inner beauty is what drew me to her from the beginning. There’s this light that lives in her. She smiles easily, is kind to everyone around her, and is genuinely a nice person. Hard to come by in high school.
For the next hour, I watch as my friends and teammates laugh and joke, exchanging stories while a few of them even get into a friendly wrestling match.
Never removing an eye completely from Bri. I always know where she is.
Dawson, one of the biggest douchebags this town has ever known, saunters over, a wicked gleam in his eye. History tells me whatever is on his mind tonight, I’m not going to like.
He’s been after Bri for the past two years and is relentless. No matter how often she turns him down, he keeps asking. And he’s getting bolder in his attempts to get her attention. Not that it’s working. He’s a sleezeball, even to the guys. Whether Bri and I were together or not, she wouldn’t want a thing to do with him.
“What’s up, motherfuckers?!” he shouts, his arms spreading out wide, beer sloshing out of the side of his cup before he takes a big swig and belches obnoxiously.
He reminds me of Stiffler from the American Pie movies, except not even remotely a decent friend, or person in general. Everyone groans and shifts around uncomfortably, none of us really seeking out his presence.
A few guys actually walk away.
My first mistake?
Not following them.
“What’s wrong?” He punches me in the gut. “You still fighting off the blue balls since you can’t seem to close the deal with Bri?”
“Fuck off, Dawson.”
He chuckles. “Nice comeback, Grady. You’re such a pussy. And if you don’t step up, you’ll never get into Bri’s. At least, not until I’m done with it. I bet it’s hot and wet. So tight just waiting for a real man.” He reaches down with his hand, gripping his dick over his jeans and jerking a few times.
<
br /> “Holy shit,” I hear one of our friends cough out.
“Whoa, dude,” I hear someone else say in a warning tone.
“What did you say?” I ask, my voice low and full of the rage I immediately feel. My body coils tight and I step into his space, standing toe to toe with the fuckwit.
I’ve had to watch him peacock around Bri for too long now, desperately trying to get her attention, and I’ve had enough.
I’m not one to fight. Especially not with someone who is less than pond scum, but he makes Bri uncomfortable.
I protect what’s mine.
And she’s mine.
“You heard me,” he challenges back, alcohol heavy on his breath, feeling ten-foot-tall and bulletproof, no doubt.
I’m 6’2” and 230 pounds.
And not that it matters, or I’m bragging, but it’s muscle.
I work my ass off for it, even had my dad help me build, in his words, a torture chamber, in our backyard. It looks like a grownup version of a swing set, but instead of swings and a slide, I have pull up bars, a rock wall, ropes, and boxes.
Dawson, on the other hand, is a joke and crappy excuse for a human being.
“Dawson. You seriously don’t want to go there,” Blake warns him, the back of his hand pressing against Dawson’s chest to get him to back away. “My suggestion? Back the fuck off, man.”
Although I appreciate Blake sending a warning on my behalf, my eyes don’t stray from Dawson’s.
He stares at me for as long as he thinks is intimidating before he realizes I’m not backing down then scoffs, throws back the rest of his beer and saunters off.
Once he’s out of earshot, my friends don’t give him a second thought, all of them going back to joking around like he never interrupted us to begin with. That’s what happens with shitheads like Dawson.
Waiting for Her Page 2
