And once Hendrix starts signing helpful information to me from the sideline, I am unstoppable. He tells me when Kennedy eyes a particular yard line for a lingering moment after the huddle. He tells me when Conroy’s gaze hits Kennedy more than once before the snap. He tells me everything he sees, all by discreetly signing near his waist when no one is looking.
When Hendrix takes the field, he matches my fierce energy. Whereas last week, he was only targeted twice during the game, this week, he is Aleks’ go-to guy. He makes beautiful, solid catches every chance he gets.
He’s on fire. I’m on fire.
I get a pick; he reaches over a hundred receiving yards.
I recover a fumble; he comes on the field to score a touchdown on the very next drive.
It’s like magic.
We lose, but goddamn did we play hard.
✧ ✧ ✧
“Is your friend coming tonight?” Aleks slurs, slinging an arm over my shoulder and leaning heavily on me. “The sour to your gin,” he singsongs with a dopey smile, followed by a burp.
I shrug, which proves difficult to accomplish with a football player hanging on me. “Don’t know. I invited him, though.”
“I need another drink,” Aleks pouts while staring into his empty red cup. When he gets this inebriated, there is no possible way to carry an actual conversation with him, so I simply hold out my hand for his plastic cup. He gives it without question. We have done this enough times over the past years to have a routine.
Excusing myself from the group, I head for Aleks’ kitchen, where all the booze is piled on the counter. Half-assed Halloween decorations are lying about, some stuck on the cabinets, some on the floor after falling off their cheap stickies, and some not even out of the package. That’s Aleks, though. He gets distracted by anything that is the least bit shiny.
I pour myself a soda and then fill his cup with Coke and rum. Just as I pick the drinks up to take them back to Aleks outside, two people appear in front of me. One is dressed in a shimmery white, sexy bunny costume, but I barely pay him any attention as my eyes lock with stormy grey ones. “Hey”—why am I smiling so wide?—“I didn’t think you were gonna make it.”
Hendrix gives me an up-nod in acknowledgment, a far cry from the small quirk of his mouth I usually get in greeting. “Punt Bunny had to get his outfit just right,” he explains their tardiness with a thumb jabbed in Micah’s direction. I can admit Micah looks good in his short shorts, halter top, bunny ears settled on his lavender-colored hair, and drawn-on nose and whiskers. His skin is glittery, and his clothes sparkle with sequins. My eyes, however, are drawn to Hendrix, who is dressed in all black with a pair of red devil horns on a headband in his hair.
“I can’t believe you actually dressed up,” I confess to Hendrix, completely shocked. “I figured you would think it was lame.”
“It is,” he grouses and folds his arms over his chest in a way that has his black long-sleeved shirt pulling tight across his shoulders and biceps. “Micah made me.”
The aforementioned Punt Bunny leans in to tell Hendrix, “I’m gonna go mingle. Okay, byyyeee.” He scurries off without waiting for a response.
Ignoring his friend’s departure, Hendrix eyes me. He has his guard up for some reason, and the way he’s working his jaw makes me think he wants me to ask him what is on his mind.
I lift an eyebrow and tip my head toward him. “You okay?”
He grunts.
Rolling my eyes, I lean my hip against the counter and give him the look. The one that says, “Are you really trying to play this game with me? Boy, I have had you figured out since day one.”
“Rix, seriously.”
Despite most of the partygoers being out back where the DJ and pool are, Hendrix steps in close as if he is in danger of being overheard. Hardly a foot separates us when he says in a low voice, “I saw you putting alcohol in that cup.”
Ohhh. That’s what this is about.
I try not to smirk as I shove my cup in his face, right under his nose. “You smell that?” When he shakes his head with confusion, I press the brim to his lips and tip the cup until soda splashes across his mouth. He makes a muffled noise and ducks away.
“What the—” Hendrix pauses, licking his lips. His shoulders sag a second later when he realizes, “There isn’t any alcohol in that cup, is there?”
“Nope.” I pop the P.
“The other one is for Aleks, isn’t it?”
Yep.” Another pop.
“I am a horrible friend.”
Shaking my head, I nudge his crossed arms with the back of my hand, careful not to spill anything out of Aleks’ cup. “No, you aren’t. It’s important that I be held accountable, but I’m past the point where I needed constant supervision. I can admit to myself when I’m struggling and turn to my support system for help.” I raise the cup. “I can pour my friend a drink and bring it to him. It . . . It gets difficult when someone actually hands me a bottle and tells me to drink it.”
“I’m sor—”
“Rix, it’s okay.” I offer him a small smile. “You know now.” Gesturing for him to follow me, I head for the last place I saw Aleks before he comes looking for me. Well, for his drink, at least.
Hendrix quietly tags along, standing behind me as I exchange words with my best friend before excusing myself. I lead Hendrix down a vacant hallway in Aleks’ house that spills into a second, more intimate living room—more of a personal man cave. I know crowded parties—even if the crowd consists of our teammates and even though he is trying to be more social—aren’t his thing, and I don’t particularly feel like hanging out with a bunch of drunk guys, so I figure he won’t mind.
“What are you supposed to be?” he asks once we’re standing in the middle of the room.
Instead of selecting a video game for us to play—which had been my intention—I turn on him with a look of disbelief. “Seriously?”
He stares back blankly.
“I’m Cupid.” Holding up the small filigree-style bow and arrow, the tip of the arrow in the shape of a heart, I shake it in his direction. There is a thin crown of greenery and pink roses around my head, my torso is covered by a soft pink tank top, and a pair of short pink shorts hang low on my hips. On one side, in the area between my neck and shoulder, Aleks got a little carried away applying lipstick-lined kisses to my bare skin in a glittery pink that shimmers when I move. “This is an amazing costume, dude,” I say, gesturing to all of me. How dare he not appreciate it?
“Hmph,” he hums. Those stormy grey eyes go even darker as he inspects me from head to toe, long lashes shadowing his irises and making it impossible to discern what he is thinking.
I step a little closer as the room begins to feel too small—which doesn’t make any sense; the ten-foot ceilings, open space, and couches pushed back against the long walls leave more than plenty of room. Hell, Aleks’ man cave is practically the size of my living room. We could squeeze our entire team roster in here if we wanted.