Page 68 of First Down Promise

“Why was Josh here that day?” he asks sternly.

My face burns. “God, Pete, I don’t really remember.”

Pete scoffs. “That’s interesting because when I saw the guys after I got back from New York, Josh said you needed help with the fire alarm.”

Josh! Why didn’t you tell me you gave Pete an excuse?

“Oh, that’s right. It was driving me nuts!” I say, smacking my forehead, but my skin is prickling under his scrutiny.

“Why was Josh really here?”

“Fine. I didn’t want to tell you,” I start as Pete’s eyes widen. “He was worried about me being alone all week. You know, given why I moved to Nashville.”

It’s awful of me to use my mental health crisis to cover this, but if Pete finds out about us, Josh deserves a warning first. And honestly, I think Pete needs to hear about us from Josh. If it comes from me, Pete may question Josh’s intentions because of his dating history.

His face softens, and he sighs. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. God, he’s such a good fucking guy. I feel like an ass.” Some of the tension leaves my shoulders, but I can’t quite look him in the eye.

“No, it’s okay. I was fine, by the way.”

“Good.” Pete smiles and pats my arm as he stands. “I don’t think I’ll see the end of this movie. I have conditioning at seven and practice after.”

“And you need your beauty sleep?” I tease.

“You know it,” he calls over his shoulder, walking toward the kitchen with his empty plate.

“I have practice, too. Not that we’d see each other,” I reply a little louder.

“The squad seems fun, though. At least you tried it,” Pete replies from the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, at least I tried it,” I repeat to myself.

My phone buzzes on the couch cushion next to me, and I flip it over to see a text from Josh.

Josh: Can you come over?

I pick up my phone and reread those four words over and over. We almost blew our cover.

Me: Doubt it.

Josh: Then I’ll come to you.

Me: Fine, but after Pete goes to bed.

So much for being careful. The second Josh wants to see me, common sense goes out the window.

Fortunately, Pete’s routine is predictable, and he’s very strict about getting a minimum of eight hours of sleep. Plus, when he’s not traveling, his morning routine takes forever, so he gets up a couple of hours before he needs to leave. It’s not long before he’s heading upstairs with his water bottle for the night.

I stay in the living room, throw a blanket over my legs, and open my laptop so it looks like I’m playing a game or something. I glance toward the corner where we usually put the Christmas tree. It won’t be long before we drag it out again. Only a few more home games, too. Then I can finally be done with the squad, and hopefully things with Josh won’t be so damn complicated.

For over an hour, I open and close tabs, scroll my phone, and play solitaire. Around ten, the house is quiet, and once Pete’s in bed, he typically doesn’t move again.

Sighing, I pick up my phone and text that butthead.

Me: Still up?

Josh: Look at you sending the infamous ‘you up’ text.

Despite the lingering annoyance at our mismatched stories, I chuckle at my screen because it’s so accurate.