“It looks by the syllabus, you’re only studying four of them.”

That cheers him up considerably. “Thanks, Ellie. That helps a lot. I don’t feel as helpless as I did before.”

“So your grade is a midterm?” I ask, pretending I don’t know.

“An ungraded one, a few assignments we can do outside of class by logging into our student account, and then a final paper. Five thousand words on one of these models applied to the passage of a National Marriage Act.”

“I’ll proof whatever you need me to proof.” I’m dreading the paper myself. I don’t fully grasp game theory and I foresee a lot outside-of-class reading in order to manage two extra papers—one for Jack and one for me.

“Thanks.” He leans back and looks at the ceiling. “Maybe Dad is right, and I am a dumb fuck.”

“You’re not.” I squeeze his arm. “This sort of thing is tough for everyone. You should see these kids at my grant center—”

“Oh fuck, what time is it?” He glances at his phone. “Sorry. I have to go. I’m going to miss a team meeting.” Jack jumps to his feet and throws his book into his gym bag. He refuses to meet my eyes. I hate that he’s down on himself because of this class. Jack has always hated dumb jock jokes because they hit too close to home. But he’s not dumb. On the field and with his team he doesn’t feel that way. It’s only in the classroom.

“Dinner later?” I ask hesitantly.

“Maybe.” But by the despondent tones in his voice, I’m guessing that’s a no.

20 Ellie

“You were right. The book was good.” Masters’ eyes are heavy lidded, but it probably has more to do with tiredness than any sexiness on my part. We’re eating ribs, for crying out loud. When I okayed this place, I forget that ribs is the messiest meal around. Right up there with slurping spaghetti noodles.

Like everything Masters does, he manages to consume a full rack with ease and physical grace. One rib goes in his mouth and the bone comes out clean.

I struggle for about five minutes to cut the meat off, and then think fuck it, because I’m hungry, and start gnawing on it like the rest of the patrons. Masters smiles at me so I guess I don’t look too disgusting.

“Did you stay up all night reading it?” I shove the basket of mostly eaten ribs aside and start wiping up. It takes three paper towels and a wet wipe before I feel human again. I pop two peppermints in my mouth and watch as Masters does the same.

“Most of it. I read a lot on the plane to the game. Fell asleep on the way home.” He stretches, and I try not to pant too much as the worn blue of his T-shirt stretches across his defined pectorals.

“Your roommate didn’t mind, or do you, Knox Masters, get your own room?” I tease.

“I don’t think Johnny Football got his own room on the road.” He grins and I swear I hear panties drop three tables over. “Matty was, ah, occupied and I sat in the executive lounge. They have food up there. Free.” The smile on his face turns conspiratorial. “I ate a shit ton of olives.”

His confessional tone makes me laugh. A silence settles between us—the kind that happens right before someone ends a call—but I don’t want to hang up. So I ask him something that’s bothered me since we met in the stadium. “Why didn’t you ever tell me to keep your draft plans a secret?”

“I knew you wouldn’t tell,” he replies. The surety in his voice sounds obvious.

“How?” I shake my head.

“I just knew and you haven’t, so I’m right.” He leans forward and pins me with those turf green eyes of his. “Sometimes I know things in my gut immediately. Like in the game against Wisconsin my freshman year. I knew that they would run a trick play when I saw the tight end drop back off the line of scrimmage. I watched the tight end the whole time, and when he got the ball and flicked it back to the quarterback—

“You were there. You intercepted the ball and ran it in for a touchdown. Your first one as defensive end for the Warriors.”

“That’s right.” This time his voice is a tiny bit smug. He has every right to be. I’m here, rattling off his game plays like he’s a rock star, and I’m a groupie who knows every lyric to every song, even the ones on the B-side of the album.

“Anyone else up there?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Ace. He looked over at me a lot, hoping I’d leave.”

“Why?” I know the defense and offense like to hang separately, but that seems extreme.

“He’s banging the coach’s daughter, but thinks we don’t know. Everyone but Coach knows.”

I blanch. “I’m guessing that this is a problem for Coach?”

“Yeah.” Masters shrugs as if this is no big deal.

“He could cause problems for Ace.”

“No.”

“He could,” I insist. Why can’t he see this? It’s like Jack and high school all over again. “Ace could get benched or worse.”

Masters is so smart about the game. I can tell the way he acts on the sidelines, constantly in communication, that he’s clued into his teammates. There’s not a moment I’ve been with him in public that someone hasn’t stopped to say hi to him, and he’s always greeted those people with an easy smile and a word of gratitude. Thanks for watching the game. Thanks for cheering for us. We need your support. Sixth man! High five.

But about a potentially season wrecking affair between his starting quarterback and the coach’s daughter, he’s blind. Can I chalk this up to his sexual inexperience?

A big warm hand reaches across the table and tugs. “You done?”

I look down and see I’ve shredded a paper towel. “Yeah.”

With a concerted effort, I loosen my grip and let Masters pull the towel out of my hands. He stands up, throws a few bills on the table, and hustles me out of the restaurant.

The September night is warm, but I feel chilled inside. Jack’s poli sci class and the trouble with the team quarterback make me uneasy.

“I wondered why Jack went to juco. He’s too good of a player not to get a D1 scholarship.”

I lick my very dry lips. Maybe if I tell Masters it will put him on notice—at least alert him to potential trouble.

“I once dated the quarterback for Ward High School—the punk ass bitch as Jack likes to refer to him. Travis was pressuring me into having sex and I refused. He told me it was fine and that he wanted to wait too, but went off and slept with as many girls as possible behind my back. Someone finally told me and I dumped him. I was humiliated and angry that he’d cheated so obviously on me but I wasn’t sorry to see the ass end of him.” As I tell him the rest of it, Masters face grows dark. “Jack found him the next day and roughed him up.”

“Good for Jack.” Masters nods with approval.

I sigh. That was Jack’s response too. I didn’t agree. “Jack got a one game suspension. Next year rolls around and Travis decides that Jack doesn’t need to be thrown the ball. Ever. Maybe in another school Travis would be yelled at or even benched, but Travis’ father was the coach. So Jack got about ten passes his junior year and less than that his senior year. Jack didn’t have the game film to convince a quality school to give him a scholarship,” I finish.

“I’m sorry that happened,” he says gruffly.

I peek at him under my lashes and his jaw looks tight.

“Jack says it worked out for the best because he’s with the Warriors now.”

“He’s right. Still doesn’t mean it didn’t suck.” We exchange grim smiles. “What happened to the QB?”

“He flunked out of his first semester at USC because he drank too much.”

“Sounds like it couldn’t have happened to a better person.” Masters stops outside my apartment building and pulls me around to face him. “Jack’ll be fine here. The team will be fine. Coach wants to win more than anything, and he won’t crater his own chances because one of his players is sleeping with his daughter. Trust me on this.” He strokes a bit of my hair behind my face and tips my head up. “Everything is will be fine here. For both of you.”