Page 1 of End Game

Prologue

The little blue and grey house is unassuming. My stomach swirls with dread. I double check the address. Yes, 2703, this is it. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Finally, after nearly being friends for two thirds of our lifetime, we’re in the same place at the same time.

When I was sixteen, I had a crush on my best friend. He was cute and charming and so totally not interested in me. So I got over it. Over him. I went out with other guys. I lost my virginity to a guy who didn’t know my last name and who didn’t want a repeat experience. Every guy I’ve hooked up with has been a meaningless fling.

I’ve never had it mean something. I want it to mean something. Barrett… he’s my everything.

Knocking on the door, I’m surprised when it swings open almost immediately. I come face to face with a pretty blonde woman. She’s wearing a Newton Football sweatshirt that falls to her knees, fuzzy socks, and not much else.

“You’re not the pizza guy,” she says.

There’s a lump in my throat I can’t explain. I thought I’d be okay with this, but confronted with the reality, I realize I’m totally unprepared for this next leap. It’s always been the two of us, and now there are other people involved. What if he’s not the same guy I knew? What if he’s entirely different now? What if he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? What if coming here is a mistake?

“No, I’m not.” I cross my arms over my chest, more from the cold than any defensiveness, and her eyes narrow.

“Can I help you?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shake my head. “I have the wrong house. I should go.”

There’s a shout from inside the house that catches both of our attention.

“That’s only Barrett,” she says, waving her hand like she’s dismissing me. Like I’m a pesky bug in her way.

Dread pools in my belly. He never mentions any girls with specifics. I know he sleeps around. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that he finally found a girlfriend.

“Barrett’s here?” I take in her outfit again. I know he’s not number 14. Is she with one of his teammates?

“Baby, close the door. You’re letting all the heat out.”

“Calm your tits, Gregory,” the blonde calls over her shoulder. She turns back to me. “Are you lost, honey?”

“I’m, um, I’m looking for Barrett. Barrett Zhang.”

Her eyes narrow as she takes me in. The coat I got on the clearance rack at Macy’s, the boots I found at Goodwill three seasons ago. She catalogs everything about me in the blink of an eye. I’m bargain basement, and he’s the wealthy scion of one of the most influential families in Boston. I’m sure she’s wondering how I know him—if I know him.

“Just a minute.” She closes the door in my face.

I shove my hands into my pockets. There’s a chill to the air that even three layers and a down coat can’t prevent from seeping into my bones. I forgot how cold winters get here. After a lifetime of snow and sleet, the last two and a half years in sunny California have spoiled me.

The door swings open, and suddenly I’m face to face with my best friend, all six foot five and three hundred pounds of him.

“Dee!” He calls me by my childhood nickname, tugging me into a hug. That’s new. “I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow.”

“Surprise!” I manage weakly.

I wrap my arms around him. He’s grown at least two inches and put on at least a dozen pounds of muscle since I’ve seen him last. He looks good. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a faded gray Newton Football t-shirt that stretches tightly across his broad chest and belly. His feet are covered by dingy white socks. He’s never looked better.

“Come on in, you must be freezing.” He pulls me into the house and closes the door behind me.

From our conversations and the recruiting video, I know all the houses in Athlete’s Village are laid out the same. Six bedrooms, three bathrooms, a small kitchen, and a living room. Their main room is decked out with an enormous flat-screen TV—definitely not standard issue. On the couch and surrounding armchairs are four other guys, all equally as enormous as my best friend. His fellow defensive linemen.

“Shut up, everyone,” Barrett says, and the room falls silent as all eyes turn to us. “This is Diana.”

The guy on the right, with a caveman beard and a man bun, grins and checks me out. “So this is the famous Diana.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “You’ve talked about me?”

“Only every other sentence that comes out of his mouth is about you,” Man Bun says.