“For once, could you not be sunshine and rainbows?”
“Wow. Cranky. Clearly, two orgasms last night weren’t enough. Maybe I should’ve gone for three. That always makes things better.”
“No. Please. My body can’t take more than two. My muscles ache, and I’m exhausted. I don’t want to leave this bed for the rest of the day, but I have class in an hour.”
“See, this is why I need you to come to the gym with me. More strength training will increase your stamina.” He takes a slurp of his drink for emphasis.
“My strength isn’t the issue,” I mutter under my breath, just low enough that he won’t be able to hear me.
The real reason for my pain is the terrible bed I’m sleeping on. The bruises on my back prove at least three springs are poking through, and changing the mattress three separate times hasn’t done a damn thing. That can only mean that it’s the bed frame that’s the problem. I’ve already put in a request to replace it, but, shockingly, they still haven’t responded.
Zach’s eyes sparkle, and he shakes his head, tutting as he takes another slurp of his drink.
“How are you even up, dressed, and this peppy by seven a.m.?”
He shrugs. “I went to the gym at five.”
I let out a long groan, remembering the main reason I don’t go to the gym with him. Early mornings are not my thing. “Is that a requirement or something?”
“Nope,” he says, popping the “p.” “I just like being the first one there. All the machines are freshly cleaned, and there’s no one there to film me.”
“Ah, yes. How could I forget how hard it is for you, the King of Quarterbacks, to walk around this campus?” I joke, but we both know there’s a lot of truth to it.
“I’m glad you get it. Jacob suggested the early mornings, and it really gets my day started on the right foot.”
“Jacob?” I tease.
“Yeah, you remember—QB1 before me. Lived with Reese. Showed me around campus when I first got here. You saw his picture, and all you said was ‘wow.’”
“Sorry, still nothing,” I lie. Everyone knows Jacob Miller. He’s hot. Not Zach-level hot of course, but hot enough to land a modeling contract with one of the biggest denim brands in thecountry. He’s the type of player even non-fans recognize. Still, I play dumb.
“Come on. He’s the only teammate you’ve ever found attractive.”
“That’s not true,” I hum, playing innocent. “Dax and Sebi are absolutely adorable, and Mason? Well, he’s got that hard-edged, ‘I need to be humbled’ kind of vibe.”
“Ouch.” Zach presses a hand to his chest, his eyes narrowing in mock pain. “You wound me.”
“Please. You know you’re the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“Damn straight,” he says with a grin.
“I just want to make sure all those thirst traps in your DMs aren’t going to your head.”
“They aren’t,” he says, his voice low and pointed, since we both know it’s not entirely a joke. The attention Zach gets at St. Michael’s is ridiculous. When he walks into a room, people practically stop breathing.
I blame it on the NIL deal he got. My boyfriend is a self-made millionaire at the age of twenty, and it’s been blasted across every media outlet in the country. The gravity of that alone has been enough to grab everyone’s attention.
I’m happy for him. Truly. He’s worked his ass off over the years, and he deserves all the attention he gets. I just sometimes miss the time we had at the end of high school when it was just us. Now I feel like I’m sharing him with the rest of the world. Everyone wants a piece of him, and I’m the one constantly reminding myself that it’s me he wants.
“I don’t manage my socials anymore, remember?”
“I know,” I say quietly as the elephant in the room sits at the foot of my bed. The college and his sponsors require him to be active on social media, which is fine. The thirst traps that slide into his DMs aren’t.
At the last count, he has two hundred accounts dedicated to him. Some are focused on football, but most are borderline unhinged. Those ones are filled with slo-mo clips of my boyfriend throwing passes, lifting weights, or just existing with heart filters slapped over his face like he’s a damn pop star.
If I ever make an appearance, it’s only to be the punchline. The afterthought. The annoying girl ruining their fantasy.
I haven’t had an online presence since the incident with Jamie, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get sent clips by anonymous people who find my number or email.