Page 11 of Praised By the Cornerback

My room is on the fourth floor. I drop my bag and take a quick shower, then change into clean clothes and head back downstairs. The restaurant is attached to the lobby, small and dimly lit, with dark wood tables and soft music playing. I take a seat near the back and order grilled chicken, vegetables, and water. Simple food that won’t sit heavy.

The server brings it out fast, and I eat without really tasting it, my mind still turning over the day.

A couple near the front recognizes me. I catch them glancing over, whispering, but they don’t approach. I appreciate that. Some people have manners.

I finish eating and sign the check to my room, but I’m not ready to go back yet. The walls up there feel too close and quiet. So I move to the bar instead.

It’s attached to the restaurant, just a small space with a polished counter and a row of bottles on the wall. A few guestsare scattered around, conversations low. The bartender nods at me as I sit.

“What can I get you?”

“Whiskey. Neat.”

He pours it and slides the glass across. I take a sip, letting the burn settle in my chest. I’m not supposed to be drinking. Training camp, strict nutrition protocols. But it’s one drink. Just enough to take the edge off.

The couple from the restaurant walks past the bar, and the woman glances at me again. She smiles, tentative, and I nod back. They keep walking.

I nurse the whiskey slowly, making the one drink last. I’m almost finished when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

“What are you doing here?” The words are slurred and loose.

I set my glass down and turn around to find Knox standing in front of me. He looks disheveled. There’s a faint flush in his cheeks, and his eyes are a little glassy.

“I’m staying here,” I say. “Same as you.”

He blinks at me. “You’re staying here?”

“Yes.”

“But—” He frowns, unsteady on his feet. “You didn’t say anything. Earlier, when McKenna asked where we were staying and I said the Marriott, you didn’t say you were here too.”

I pick up my glass and take a slow sip. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Not important?” He laughs, and the bartender glances over. “We’re staying in the same hotel, and you didn’t think that was important?”

I set the glass down. “Are you drunk?”

“Me?” His eyes go wide. “No. I just had a couple glasses of wine. I’m fine.”

He’s not fine. His words are running together at the edges, his balance is off, and he’s talking too loud.

“You’re not supposed to drink during training camp,” I say dryly.

Knox glances at my whiskey, then back at me, raising an eyebrow.

Touché.

He moves closer and drops onto the stool next to me. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt that clings to his frame. His hair is a mess, pushed back off his forehead but already falling forward again.

He gives me a sideways glance, his eyes roaming over my face like he’s trying to figure something out.

“You know what your problem is?” he finally slurs.

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re always so mysterious. Like, all the time. It’s freaky.”

I tilt my head. “Freaky?”