On A Tuesday – Whitney G.

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ON A TUESDAY (Charlotte & Grayson)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2017 by Whitney Gracia Williams All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. Cover designed by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs Model: Andrea Denver Author’s Therapist: Nicole London

Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page ABOUT THE BOOK ON A TUESDAY | SYNOPSIS GRAYSON: NOW CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN GRAYSON: THEN GRAYSON: THEN CHARLOTTE: NOW GRAYSON: NOW CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN GRAYSON: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN CHARLOTTE: NOW GRAYSON: NOW

CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN GRAYSON: NOW CHARLOTTE: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN CHARLOTTE: NOW CHARLOTTE: NOW CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN GRAYSON: NOW CHARLOTTE: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN GRAYSON: THEN GRAYSON: NOW CHARLOTTE: THEN CHARLOTTE: THEN

CHARLOTTE: NOW GRAYSON: NOW GRAYSON: ON A TUESDAY CHARLOTTE: ON A TUESDAY GRAYSON: ON A TUESDAY CHARLOTTE: ON A TUESDAY A Letter to the Reader THIRTY DAY BOYFRIEND SNEAK PEEK: | SINCERELY, CARTER Prologue Fourth Grade ALSO BY WHITNEY G.

ABOUT THE BOOK The “One Week” Series is a series of short, standalone novels that are inspired by a day of the week, an Adele song, and a steamy romance trope. The first book in the series is On a Tuesday and it is a second chance romance inspired by Adele’s “When We Were Young.” The next book in the series is On a Wednesday and it’s inspired by Adele’s “Someone Like You.”

This story is dedicated to all the friends I made in college. I wish we were all back in that space and time, and I wish things were as they once were.

ON A TUESDAY SYNOPSIS We met on a Tuesday. Became best friends, then lovers, on a Tuesday. And everything fell apart on a Tuesday ... Charlotte Taylor has three automatic strikes in my book: 1) She hates me. She also claims that I'm a "domineering jerk with a huge, overbearing ego." (I do have something huge. It's not my ego, though.) 2) She takes our mandatory tutoring sessions way too seriously. 3) She's sexy as hell ... And a virgin. At least, those were her strikes before our study sessions started lasting longer than they were supposed to. Until one innocent kiss became a hundred dirty ones, and until she became the first woman I ever fell hard for. Our future together after graduation was supposed to be set: Professional football for me. Law school for her. But she left me at the end of the semester with no explanation, and then she completely disappeared from my life. Until tonight. We met on a Tuesday. Became everything, then nothing, on a Tuesday.

And now it's seven years later, on a Tuesday ...

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day New York City GRAYSON CONNORS WINS SUPER BOWL MVP, AGAIN GRAYSON CONNORS LEADS NEW YORK TO CONSECUTIVE SUPER BOWL WIN CONNORS’ LATE TOUCHDOWN LIFTS NEW YORK OVER NEW ENGLAND

I read this morning’s headlines for the hundredth time and forced myself to smile. I tried to feel something—anything, but it was no use. This wasn’t what “winning” was supposed to feel like, and I would know because— well, I almost always won. As a heavy snow fell over Manhattan, I walked over to my balcony and watched a construction crew adjust a new billboard that read, "Go, Grayson Connors!" Last year, I’d celebrated the championship by joining my teammates in a reckless five-day party in Las Vegas. We’d drenched our team plane in thousanddollar champagne, demanded over the top accommodations for the Super Bowl parade, and basked in the never-ending attention from women who wanted to know “what it felt like to sleep with a champion.” But this year, when the game clock struck zero, and the score was in my team's favor, I felt no excitement at all. I coasted through the ensuing media interviews with a fake smile plastered on my face, and I didn't bother flying with the team to Vegas. I came straight home and called the police to report the flock of groupies who were waiting outside my condo. I decided to host my own private celebration, but when I scrolled through the five hundred contacts in my phone, I realized that there were only two people worth calling: My mother and my best friend, Kyle. Then again, my mother didn’t believe in leaving her house for non-emergencies when it snowed, and asking Kyle to celebrate days after defeating his team in the game was a bit egotistical. Even for me. I’ll ask him about it next weekend...

I scrolled through my contacts again, hoping I’d missed someone, but the results were the same. Frustrated, I tossed my phone at the wall and turned on the TV. As the announcers walked through their favorite moments of Sunday’s game, a knock came to my door. Confused as to why my doorman would let anyone up to my floor without asking me for permission first, I walked over and looked through the peephole. Anna? “We’ve talked about this, Anna,” I said, opening the door and letting her inside. “You’re supposed to call and ask me if you can come up here first.” “I’m your agent.” She scoffed and held up her phone. “I called several times because you just bolted after the game. Since you didn’t answer, I was worried.” She looked around the room. “Am I interrupting a celebratory orgy or something?” “No.” I groaned. “What do you want?” “I wanted to personally congratulate you on winning your second Super Bowl.” She handed me a bright pink envelope. “I’m so proud of you, that I actually wrote inside of this card.” “You came all the way over here just to give me a card?” "Of course not." She smiled and pulled a manila envelope from her purse. "I have a few things I need you to sign, and a few time-sensitive deals we need to negotiate." “That sounds like it can wait until next week.” “It could, but what if one of us dies before next week? What if you hurt your throwing arm between tonight and this weekend and suddenly, you realize that no one wants to endorse an injured athlete?” I gave her a blank stare. This woman was the most anxious person I’d ever met. She was undoubtedly the best when it came to doing her job, but her anxiety made her incapable of relaxing, so she never took a day off. She used the word “time sensitive” for everything, and I knew just by looking at her, that none of what she had to say to me today was that crucial. “You’ve got twenty minutes,” I said. “I’m not spending my entire day on paperwork.” “Fair enough.” She carried her envelope to my living room, turned on the fireplace, and hit mute on the television like this was her house. Then she slipped off her heels and plopped onto my sofa, rearranging the ESPN and Sports Illustrated magazines on my coffee table. “Would you mind making me a cup of coffee, Grayson?” she asked. “I’m thirsty.” Okay. Now, you’ve got five minutes.

I filled two of my “Yes, I’m That Good” mugs with coffee and took a seat across from her, bracing myself for bullshit. “Let’s start with the simple things first,” she said, sliding her phone to me. “The gossip blogs caught a picture of you dining with a mystery woman inside of a Tribeca restaurant a few nights ago. I know how annoyed you get about your privacy, so if you want to kill the speculation, would you like to confirm that you have a new girlfriend or tell them that this is just a fling?” “I would like to tell them to go fuck themselves.” I rolled my eyes. “I was treating my mother to a private dinner. It was her birthday.” “Oh.” She tapped her fingers against her phone. “Okay, well that’s now handled. Second thing, you’ll need to read over these contract amendments and sign off on them by tomorrow. Speaking of amendments, the last time we spoke ...” I tuned out her voice and sipped my coffee as she spoke a mile a minute. Without giving her my full attention, I knew that every other phrase that fell from her lips was “speaking of that contract,” “I need you to sign this” or “Oh! Now, this one is really time sensitive.” By the time she finally stopped talking, an entire hour had passed. “You went over by forty minutes,” I said, standing. “Whatever we haven’t discussed will have to wait. Hopefully, both of us will still be alive by then.” She laughed. “Fine. Just make sure you’re all packed for your class reunion at The University of Pittsburgh. You’ll need three suits at most, something to wear on a golf course, and your old college jersey, of course. Delta Airlines has promised to leave two first class seats open on all their NYC to Pitt flights for tomorrow, so no need to feel rushed.” “What?” I raised my eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about your class reunion. It’s this Tuesday night.” “Since when do college classes have seven-year reunions?” I asked. “When your class is full of achievers, I guess.” She handed me an ivory envelope. I opened the invitation and instantly remembered when she’d first given it to me months ago, when I agreed to “do whatever they needed me to do.” I clearly wasn’t thinking straight. “They want you to give two speeches,” she said. “One before the fireworks, and one at the farewell ceremony. I’ve made a draft of both speeches, a list of additional things you may want to touch on, and a photo collage of your college memories that you may want to look over while we fly. You’re welcome.” “I don’t recall saying thank you.” I shook my head and returned the invitation. “I’m not going to this. Get me out of it now.”

“Grayson.” Her face paled. “Surely, you know how terrible it will look if you back out of this the day before. You’re the surprise, special guest speaker.” “I don’t care.” I walked away from her. There was only one person who would make me consider going to that reunion, and since she never came to any alumni events I’d attended over the years, I didn’t need to waste my time. “Tell them something came up. You can also tell them that I’m more than willing to address the crowd via Skype.” “Grayson, listen.” “I didn’t stutter.” I kept my voice firm. “End of discussion.” "Okay." She stood to her feet. "Well, now that you're not going to the reunion, I guess we can get your contract renewal with Nike out of the way. I'm having lunch with a few of their team members tomorrow, and I can make that happen, if so." “Sure.” I officially gave up on the idea of her ever knowing and accepting when a meeting was ‘over.’ “Great! I’ll let myself out.” She slipped into her heels and headed toward the door. I walked over to the spot where I’d thrown my phone and picked it up, somewhat surprised it was still in one piece. Before I could call my doorman and tell him that Anna was not an exception to my “call me first” rule, I heard her clearing her throat. “Yes, Anna?” “I wanted to ask you one last thing,” she said. “Did you see the note about Charlotte Taylor?” “What?” I turned around. “What did you just say?” “Charlotte Taylor.” She shrugged and held up the invitation. “There was a little note on the back about her. Did you see it?” I didn't answer. I rushed over and took the card from her hands. Flipping it over, I spotted a handwritten note in faint purple ink: Grayson, I hope all is well with you. I know we haven't spoken in quite a while, but between you and me ... Charlotte Taylor RSVP’d for this reunion a few weeks ago. I thought you would want to know. —Nadira I stared at the note for several seconds, feeling my blood boil with each written word. I hadn’t heard from Charlotte since I graduated college. I’d spent thousands of dollars looking for her the first year she left me, and all I ever found were

confirmations that she’d moved overseas, started a new life, and married someone who wasn’t me. Just the mere mention of her name was bringing back all the memories of what we once had. What we once swore would never come to an end. To this day, I’d never loved anyone the way I loved her. Hell, I honestly hadn’t “loved” anyone since her because no other woman ever compared, and it still made me angry whenever I remembered that she never had the decency to give me a damn goodbye. "Well, I guess that's that," Anna said. "But you know, now I think we can kill two birds with one stone during the lunch with Nike, if you don’t mind. In addition to meeting your reps, we can finally film two of those short—” “I won’t be joining you for lunch tomorrow.” I looked over the handwritten note one last time, knowing I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day. “I’m going to the reunion.” “Okay. Well, it’s not until Tuesday evening, Grayson. You can still join us for lunch Monday, sign your name on a few papers, and fly out to Pittsburgh in the afternoon.” “I’m flying there tonight.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh THERE HAD TO BE A SPECIAL place reserved in hell for advisors who steered you on the wrong path during your college career. At least, I was hoping that was the case so my clueless advisor would know what it felt like to have his future in the wrong hands. “Well, this is quite a problem, Charlotte.” He tapped his fingers against the desk. “Even with all the advanced classes you’ve taken, you’re still missing six of the credits you need for your Political Science degree. I can’t believe that you, of all people, didn’t catch this before now. You’re supposed to be one of my smartest students.” “Are you seriously blaming me for this?” "I'm not blaming you, per se," he said. "I'm just saying that for someone who cares so much about your education, you should've known that you hadn’t taken all of your Ethics courses. Hell, I was a Poli-Sci major decades ago, and even I know Ethics III and IV are necessary." I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to scream. “On the plus side,” he said, smiling, “You’ve completed everything you need for your Art major, so you’ll at least get that. Who needs two degrees anyway?” "Mr. Henderson." I took a deep breath. "With all due respect, if I'm only six credits short, it doesn't make sense if I don't graduate with two degrees. Are you sure there aren't any alternative courses I could take in place of Ethics III and IV?" "Dr. Bradshaw is offering an internship at her firm this year. You're a perfect candidate, and I'm sure she'd love to sign off on having you there." "I can't." I shook my head. "I'm already taking eighteen credits this semester, and I'm a resident assistant at a freshman dorm. An internship like that would be complete and utter suicide.” “Well, there’s always the summer semester.” He smiled. “You’ll still walk with your class. You’ll just take those six credits, then.”

“Ten seconds ago, you said that Ethics courses are never offered in the summer. You literally just said that.” “Oh, right.” He blew out a breath and looked at his screen. “Okay, look. I need you to give me a few minutes alone so I can figure this out.” “You want me to leave?” “Yes.” He pointed to the door. “Step outside so I can be alone with my thoughts. And while you’re out there, go get me a coffee.” Ugh! I grabbed my backpack and stepped outside his office, walking over to the study room. As I poured him a cup of coffee, I overheard him saying, “Shit, shit, shit!” and calling for his secretary. I was tempted to add salt to his drink instead of sugar, but I decided to wait until he came up with an actual action plan. It never ceased to amaze me how nonchalant he was about being an advisor, how there was always a “minor problem” at the start of every semester. If it wasn’t for the fact that one of the university’s deans had encouraged me to double major in Art, I might not have a completed degree at all. I leaned against one of the bay windows and looked down at the campus below. No matter how many times I attempted to describe it to my friends back home or paint it on my canvases, it still managed to look different every time. The “campus” at the University of Pittsburgh wasn’t anything like other college campuses. Instead of acres of lush green lawns with complementing blond brick buildings and dining halls, Pitt was more like a miniature city with university and dorm buildings artfully placed wherever a corporate business, restaurant, or hospital couldn’t fit. The Cathedral of Learning, the massive beige monolith that towered over the skyscraper dorms and student unions, was the only building that made it clear that the twenty blocks that stretched across the Oakland neighborhood were part of a school. In every promotional booklet, the university captured at least twenty pictures of students studying beneath the sun on the Soldiers and Sailors lawn or throwing frisbees across the student union park. They just conveniently failed to mention the fact that those places were only usable for two months out of the year because Pittsburgh was second only to Seattle when it came to dreary gray skies. As I was watching a child run across the street with a balloon, I felt my phone buzzing against my pocket. A phone call from my best friend, Nadira. “Hello?” I answered, whispering. “Hey! Where are you?” “I’m at the Honors College with my advisor. Can I call you back?” “This will only take five seconds,” she said. “I just want to make sure that you’re coming to the ice cream social later tonight.”

“I can’t. Tonight’s the night we’re throwing the welcome party for our dorm, remember?” “No, no, no. We are not throwing anything. We're setting up the snacks, and then we are going to the ice cream social because no one ever comes to university-sponsored dorm parties, Charlotte. You know this." “People will come because I’m hosting,” I said. “I hand-made the invitations and I even painted a new banner.” “Jesus." She groaned. "Look, I'm your best friend and your co-RA, and even I'm not going. I told you that last week." “You told me it was because you had a date.” “I lied.” She laughed. "I'm not taking no for an answer on this. It's your senior year, and you're finally going to enjoy the social part of college. You're partying every weekend, going to at least four football games with me, and in addition to all the random and reckless shit you'll never get the chance to do again in your life, you're going to this ice cream social tonight." “The only point of going to the ice cream social is to stare at the football players while they take their shirts off and run around the lawn.” “Okay, and? I’ll see you there.” She ended the call, and I sent her a text message. ME: I’ll go, but I’m only staying for thirty minutes. (Are we really starting our senior year off like this? O_o) NADIRA: You’re staying the whole time. (What better way to start the year than seeing Grayson Connors with his shirt off? :-) ) #GoPanthersGO I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to respond to that. "You can come back into my office now, Charlotte!" Mr. Henderson called my name a few minutes later, and I returned to his office, handing him his coffee before taking a seat. "I made a few calls around, and you're in luck." He slid a sheet of paper toward me. "The dean is going to allow you to earn those credits over the next two semesters via a peer-tutoring program." “So, it’s like another job?” "A super easy job," he said. "You'll only have to tutor someone once a week. You'll do it on your own schedule, —and you’ll receive credit for doing so. I personally think this is a pretty sweet alternative to taking two ethics courses. This coffee is a bit tart, by the way. You should probably remake me a cup on your way out later.” Please let there be a space in hell for him. “The tutoring thing would be ‘pretty sweet’ if I wasn’t worried about getting a good score on the LSAT.”

“You’re joking, right?” He laughed. “You almost made a perfect score on your first try. Getting a few extra points on it won’t change the fact that you can get into any law school you want.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, once the dean realized I was talking about you, he insisted that we come up with something simple so you could try to enjoy your senior year. You’ll be fine.” Right ... “Well, which subject will I need to tutor?” “English Literature,” he said, handing me another sheet. “I’ll call the dean again to make sure I’m not missing anything, but I’ll forward you more information later this week so you can go ahead and set up a meeting time with the other student.” “Thank you, Mr. Henderson.” “You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” “Not at all.” I stood to my feet. “Okay, great! Well, if you wouldn’t mind remaking my coffee before you—” I left his office before he could finish that sentence, heading straight for the elevators. The second the doors glided open, I stepped inside and punched the button for the ground floor. The only other things I needed to do this afternoon were buy a new set of paint brushes and attempt to get through the rest of the day without hearing the words, “Go, Panthers! Go!” The elevator stopped on the second floor, and a group of girls piled on with bouquets of blue and gold balloons. “Hey, there!” One of them handed me a balloon. “Go, Panthers! Go!” I sighed. “Thank you.” “No, no, no! You’re supposed to say, ‘Go, Panthers! Go!’ right back to me!” She smiled. I blinked. “Go, Panthers! Go!” She repeated it, as if that would make me say it. “Go, Panthers! Go!” Then, like the contagious virus that school spirit was, the rest of the girls in the elevator began chanting the words louder and louder. The elevator doors sprung open at the lobby level and I quickly stepped off, finding myself in a glittering sea of blue and gold decorations. Every column, counter, and wall was draped in Pitt’s trademark colors, primed and ready for the number one thing that everyone cared about this time of year: Football. Saturdays were game days, and every other day of the week was simply a warm up to game-day. The frenzy was established right before my freshman year, right when they landed a cocky, high school phenom named Grayson Connors. A

phenom who’d now led them to three national titles in a row, and made it so that the football team was all there was to talk about in this city. Well, it was for everyone except me. Even though I loved the game of football itself, I avoided their games like the plague—giving up my discounted season passes to my mom and dad instead. I never went to their larger than life parties and I did my best not to buy into the hype. My Saturdays were reserved for art, coffee, and endless reruns of Friends. And regardless of what Nadira said, I was going to make sure that most of my Saturdays this year were spent the exact same way. LATER THAT NIGHT, I took my time walking to the student union for the ice cream social. It only took my freshman year to realize that this was the first place where upperclassmen preyed upon the freshmen girls, and my sophomore year to realize that it was best attended in transit: Grab the ice cream, say hello to the people I know, leave. As long as I was gone before the football players arrived to take off their shirts and challenge each other to chug the remaining vats of ice cream, I was in the clear. “Charlotte!” Nadira waved at me from the line. “Over here!” I cut in front of a few people, ignoring their groans, and she handed me a cup of cherry ice cream. “Well, don’t you look stunning today.” She smiled and tugged at my bright blue summer dress. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. You don’t deserve your fashion sense. It’s just not fair.” “Thank you.” I laughed. “I was checking our final dorm numbers earlier and there are going to be twenty more freshmen on our floor this year. That’s a good thing, right?” “That’s a terrible thing,” she said. “That means more rooms to check for random alcohol violations and more guys sneaking up to our floor after hours. On the plus side, since the room next to us is going to remain empty, whenever I need to get laid, it’ll be nice to have a room to use instead of asking you to leave.” “How convenient for you.” I laughed and slipped my matching shades over my face. I started to ask her which shift she preferred this week, but the telltale sound of the football team arriving interrupted my thoughts. Everyone was suddenly clapping and chanting—calling out ‘Hail to Pitt!’ and that other slogan I’d escaped earlier. And then, as usual, the “OMG! OMG!” screaming began. As if we were at a real game and these football players wouldn’t be sitting right next to us in some of our classes tomorrow.

“Well, that’s my cue,” I said, looking at one of the servers. “I’ll take two peanut fudge scoops to go.” “Oh, come on!” Nadira grabbed my ice cream cup and pulled me onto the lawn. “One hour. Stay for me.” “Fine.” I took my cup back and shook my head as our star quarterback, Mr. Cocky himself, took off his shirt and tossed a football made of ice cream to one of his friends. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I couldn’t deny that Grayson Connors was sexy as hell. He was honestly beyond that, and he turned heads everywhere he went. His eyes were a stunning shade of ocean blue. His pearly, white smile with complementing dimples was the type that could make any woman’s panties wet, and everything about his body—his six-pack of rock-hard abs, his black-ink tattoos that snaked up his left arm, and his rumored "huge cock" were enough to make any girl do a double-take. His reputation, though, was the complete opposite. In all my years here, I’d only had one encounter with him, a brief “Hey” while we were on a late night Safe-Rider bus, but I’d heard plenty of stories that made me want to keep my distance. Everything from, “He fucks a different girl after every game,” “He’s been inside more pussies than the doctors at the campus women’s health department,” and my personal favorite, “He’s nine inches and he knows it.” “God, he makes my ovaries burst every time I look at him!” Nadira fawned over him. “Like how can one guy be so perfect?” “He’s not perfect.” I stuffed a spoonful of sprinkles into my mouth. “He’s a man-whore.” “No, he’s rumored to be man-whore. He’s probably the ‘walk you to your car,’ ‘kiss you on your cheek,’ and ‘soft making love’ type of guy.” I gave her a blank stare. “I’m kidding!” She laughed. “Well, if it wasn’t for his reputation, would you ever sleep with him if you knew no one else would find out? Be honest.” “I can be more than honest.” I scoffed. “No, I would never sleep with him.” “Charlotte will never sleep with anyone.” Our mutual guy friend, Eric, stepped between us. “She’ll die with cobwebs in her pussy and I’m willing to bet a thousand on it.” Nadira burst into laughter and I punched him in the shoulder. “So, Eric,” I said. “Would you like to be a mature senior, unlike Nadira, and join me at the freshmen dorm party that I’m throwing tonight?” He looked at me as if I was speaking another language. “You’re not coming either?”

“Charlotte ...” He sighed and placed his hands on my shoulders. “No one is coming to your freshman dorm party—not even the freshmen. Please join the rest of us normal college students in the real world. Everyone is going partying tonight. You included." “Well, could we at least—” My sentence was cut short as something hit me right in my face. Something cold, yet soft. I felt Eric’s hands wrap around my waist and hold me steady, felt him adjusting my sunglasses. Then I looked down and realized what had assaulted me: An ice cream football. What the hell? I stooped down to pick it up and was instantly met with the sight of Grayson Connor’s stunning blue eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said, looking genuine as he took it from my hands. “Are you okay?” “I’d be a lot better if you actually learned how to throw.” “That’s a joke, right?” “Does it look like I’m laughing?” “I’ve got it!” He yelled over to his teammates, and then smiled at me, extending his hand. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious with me since you’re wearing shades, but I’m glad you’re not hurt. I’m Grayson Connors.” “I’m unimpressed.” He laughed and took a step back. “Well, you’re clearly just a freshman, so by the end of this semester, I think you’ll be more than impressed with me.” “I doubt it.” “Oh, really?” Before I could respond to that, one of his teammates ran behind him and snatched the ball from his hands. “You’re taking too long, Connors!” The guy returned to the middle of the lawn, but Grayson kept his eyes on me. He looked me up and down, but he didn’t say anything else. He simply winked at me and walked away. “I swear that I hate you sometimes,” Nadira said, lowering her voice. “Like, only you would find a way to mess that up.” “Was I supposed to kiss up to him because everyone else does?” “No, you were supposed to introduce me to him, so that way, I could do it.” She laughed. “You could’ve at least looked like you were attracted to him or flirted back. He was clearly flirting with you.” He flirts with everyone. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time.” “You should.” She looked at her phone and groaned. “Looks like there’s only going to be valet parking at the club tonight. You two want to head back and get

ready?” “Absolutely,” me and Eric said in unison. We stepped off the lawn and onto the sidewalk that lined Fifth Avenue, and while the two of them debated who was going to drive later, I pinched myself twice to make sure that I was still standing firmly in reality. That I hadn’t felt my heart beating a little faster when Grayson looked at me, and that I didn’t almost say, “Yes, I’d sleep with him in that scenario,” when Nadira asked me. It must be the heat.

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh THE SOUND OF LAUGHTER and locker slams surrounded me as I watched the replay of a game from last season. I tapped my phone-screen to zoom in on my arm, watching it move forward in slow motion. I was trying my best to get mentally prepared for this season, but I didn’t feel the same adrenaline rushing through my veins like I usually did this time of year. There was far too much pressure and expectations. Too many questions surrounding my future and whether I was going to declare for the NFL draft, and lingering rumors about a certain situation I wanted to forget. “How many times are you going to watch that footage, Grayson?” My best friend, Kyle, sat on the bench next to me. “You know how that game ends. Spoiler alert: We win.” “There’s still a few things I could’ve done better.” I rewound the video by a few seconds and hit play once more. “There are also some things you could have done better.” “I highly doubt it.” He laughed. “There’s a house party on Dawson Street tonight. You coming?” “I’ll pass,” I said, hitting pause on the tape. “I don’t think I’m going to that many parties this year. Last year was good enough.” “Yeah, I don’t know if junior year will ever be topped. Dawson Street parties are always the best, though. You could at least show up near the end and get a freshman to start your year off right.” “What?” I looked at him. “You heard me.” “What is it with you and freshmen girls?” “Please don’t make me answer that question.” “Trust me, I won’t,” I said. “I honestly think I’m done with women this year, too.”

“Does that mean you’ll be pursuing guys?” He looked concerned. “I mean, no judgment from me at all if this is your way of finally coming out of the closet, but I would’ve never thought that you were—” “Shut up, Kyle.” I tossed him my phone. “Read the last five messages I got this morning.” He tapped my screen and his eyes widened. “Okay, look. These dumbass messages are all from unknown contacts. They’re being bold and rude because they know you don’t know who they are. Don’t worry about it.” “This is the second time I’m going to have to change my number,” I said, clenching my jaw. “All over some bullshit.” “You’re going to have to find a way to not let this get to you anymore. The summer is long over, and you were cleared of everything.” “Then why are some people still acting like I wasn’t?” “Who cares? That’s on them.” He returned my phone. “There’s no need to give up your social life for people who are going to talk shit anyway. Hell, if my name was Grayson Connors and every girl on this campus wanted me, I wouldn’t retreat into the shadows over something like that at all. I would pick the top four girls I wanted and keep them on a steady rotation.” “Why does every topic turn into sex with you?” “Because it’s my top priority. This type of prioritization is the exact reason why I’m an Economics major.” “You’re a Communications major.” “It’s the same thing. Less math and graphs, but it’s the same thing.” I rolled my eyes at him and shut my locker. Kyle was the absolute last person I would take advice from these days. Still, he was the only person who remained on my side through the entire summer, and I’d learned the hard way that he was my only true friend. “Okay, everybody! Listen up!” Our coach entered the locker room and blew his whistle, forcing every conversation to a complete stop. “I don’t have to tell you that what we’re trying to achieve this season is something that’s never been done before.” He moved to the center of the room, tapping his fingers against his clipboard. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be done, but we’re not going to be passive or act entitled to the shit just because we’ve done it three times before.” Our offensive coordinator stepped into the room and began passing out his personal critiques from this morning’s practice drills. When he handed me mine, I flipped it over expecting to see tips on how I could improve, but there were only three words: You were perfect. “I need you all to be focused and I need you all to be sharp,” Coach continued. “I know a lot of you are seniors and you’re trying to enjoy the last of your so-

called glory days before you graduate or pursue other things. I also know that some of you need to be reminded that certain activities don’t ever need to come before football, and that there’s a time and place for everything.” He stepped directly in front of Kyle and glared at him. “Is there something you’re trying to imply right now, Coach?” Kyle smiled. “You can’t assume that I’ll always catch your not-so-subtle messages.” “You’re lucky you’re so goddamn talented, son,” Coach stepped away from him and walked to the other side of the room. “We need you all to look at our comments on your morning performances and take them very seriously,” Coach said. “For those of you who scored a four or less on the conditioning regimen, you can head out to the field now to see if you can impress me and get into the seven range. The rest of you, I’ll see you on the field in an hour!” There were a few groans, but he ignored them, as usual. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Connors?” He motioned for me to follow him into the hallway. “Sure.” He waited until he was sure no one was following us. “So, look. I know what happened this summer was painful and difficult, but I want you to know that I never, for one second—” “Can we not talk about it?” I interrupted him. The sooner I could erase it from my memory, the better. “Oh, thank fuck.” He let out a breath and crossed something off his clipboard. “Check on Grayson Connors’ emotional well-being and try to sound like a parent instead of a coach. Glad we’re all done with that.” “Is that all you wanted with me, Coach?” “Not so fast.” He shook his head. “I received an email from the registrar this morning. Something about you missing some core credits you need to graduate, I think. Or maybe it was about you having a low GPA.” “That’s impossible,” I said. “I have all A’s.” “Really? With what I’ve heard about your reputation, when do you find the time to study?” I gave him a blank stare. “I mean, I’m very impressed to hear that. Good for you, son.” He cleared his throat. “You’re excused from practice this afternoon so you can talk to your advisor. Go get that sorted ASAP, will you? And if you need any more emotional support from me about any lingering feelings you have from the summer—” He paused. Then he shrugged and returned to the locker room, not even bothering to finish that sentence.

Thankful that he’d dropped it, I grabbed my bag and left the practice facility, taking a shuttle back to campus. I’d known all along that my avoidance of Literature classes would eventually catch up to me, but I thought it could’ve waited until the spring semester instead of this one. I walked into the Cathedral of Learning and took the elevator up to the Honors College, knocking on my advisor’s door. “Come in,” a soft voice said. “The door’s open.” “Hey.” I stepped inside and crossed my arms. The woman behind the desk was not my advisor. She was his secretary and ever since my freshman year, she’d made it more than clear that she hated me because she thought I was ‘taking up someone else’s deserving spot’ in the Honors College. “Where’s Mr. Henderson?” I asked. “Well, hello to you, too, Mr. Connors.” She pursed her lips. “Good to see you in person for a change.” “Where’s Mr. Henderson?” I repeated. I could feel contempt rolling off her in waves and I didn’t have time for her bullshit today. “He went down to the English Department to meet with someone.” She motioned for me to take a seat. “Is there anything I can help you with?” “I’ll wait for him to get back.” “Oh, come on,” she said, motioning for me to take a seat. “I can totally help you. I’ll be nice.” “Fine.” I remained standing. “I’m missing some Literature credits, but first I want to make sure that I’m on track to graduate on time.” “You waited all the way until your senior year to check on that?” “I’ve been busy winning championships.” She ignored my comment and tapped away at her keyboard. “Well, let’s have a look. This can’t be right, can it?” She squinted at the screen. “Your grades are so not what I was expecting.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing, I’m just—Wow.” She was staring at the screen in disbelief. “There’s nothing but A’s here. Not a single C or D, and you've made Dean's list repeatedly. What exactly is your worry?” “I purposely put off all the Literature requirements until now, and the system finally caught it. I need to find a way to do some type of alternative.” “Ah.” She started typing again. “Well, that’s a big problem. There are no alternatives allowed for Literature—especially for someone who wants to earn a minor in English Writing. You’ll need to take three advanced lit courses per term to catch up, and the easiest ones are on the freshman and sophomore level so they wouldn’t count towards your graduation anyway.”

“Is there any good news?” “I could pair you with a peer tutor, if you like.” I groaned at the thought. We had plenty of peer tutors at our mandatory team study halls and except for a few, most of them were more interested in hooking up with me and my teammates than helping us with our studies. If it weren't for the fact that I’d made my mom a promise about keeping all A’s in college, I wouldn’t have even bothered trying to fix this. “Are you sure there aren’t any alternative courses?” I asked. “Maybe I could talk to the dean?” “Now, Grayson, I think he’s pulled his fair share of favors for you, don’t you think? I know there’s no way you got these grades in honors classes and played football. I heard about the mess he got you out of this summer. Come on now.” “Excuse me?” “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks turned bright red. “That didn’t come out the right way. I can schedule a meeting with the dean, if you like. What day works best for you?” “That’s okay.” I gritted my teeth. “I’ll get a tutor on my own.” I heard her calling after me as I turned away, but I didn’t look back. I slammed the door on my way out of the office and headed down to the fifth floor to find my real advisor. I shook off whatever the hell her “his share of favors” implied and walked right through the doors of the English Department. “Well, hello there!” Mr. Henderson waved at me from the copy machine. “Nice to see you, Mr. Connors!” “Nice to see you, too.” “I was on my way back to my office, but I guess I was taking too long.” He laughed and picked up his papers. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you personally last year, but congratulations on winning the Heisman Trophy.” “Thank you, sir.” “Just so you know, me and my son are huge fans and we’re crossing our fingers that you’ll make history with a fourth championship this year. No pressure, though.” He walked over to me. “What can I do for you today?” “I need to be placed into three advanced literature classes this fall,” I said, then I hesitated. “I also think I need a private peer tutor.” “Not a problem.” He snapped his fingers. “I actually have a person in need of someone to tutor, so you’re in luck. Let’s pull you up in the system first, and then we’ll call the registrar to make sure everything lines up. You won’t mind having a female tutor, will you?” “No.” I tried not to smile. “Not at all.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh I GLANCED OUTSIDE THE massive windows of Highland Coffee and tapped my watch. The girl I was assigned to tutor was now fifteen minutes late, and I was wondering if I should've picked a coffee shop that was easier to find. I'd looked her up in the student directory earlier and noticed that she was an honors student, so I figured these tutoring sessions wouldn't take up much of my time this semester. A girl with raven black hair suddenly rushed into the café and headed toward me, but she made an abrupt left and joined the guy across from me instead. I knew I should’ve suggested Starbucks. I looked outside the windows again and noticed Grayson Connors crossing the street. Looking devastatingly sexy as usual, he was wearing a light blue shirt that clung to his muscles in all the right places and dark jeans that hung low enough to expose his body’s perfect V line. Looking confused, he looked up at the sign above the cafe before pushing the door open. He walked over to the counter and every girl in the room followed his every step, as if he was a living, breathing God. “I’m rooting for championship number four this season, Grayson!” Someone yelled. “Congratulations on your Heisman!” someone else said. “Go, Panthers! Go!” A table of friends near the back shouted. Ugh. He walked over to each of the people who’d sold their souls and said, “I appreciate your support.” When he walked by my table, I picked up my headphones. “Are you Charlotte Taylor?” he asked, his voice deep. What? “Um. What did you just say?” “Charlotte Taylor,” he said, pointing to his phone. “I'm supposed to meet my tutor here, unless there's another Highland Coffee around somewhere. So, are you Charlotte Taylor?”

“I’m not sure yet.” “Your necklace says Charlotte.” He glanced at it, smirking. “Are you sure now?” “No.” My mind was blown. There was no way he was assigned to me for this semester. “My advisor would know better than to do this to me.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means that the university must have made a mistake.” I pulled out my phone to check my email, making damn sure I’d read my advisor’s pairing as “Elizabeth Woods, English Writing” and not Grayson Connors. The second I opened my inbox, I saw that my advisor had sent me an email half an hour earlier. Subject: Peer Assignment Error Good afternoon, Charlotte, Just letting you know that your previous pairing, Elizabeth Woods, was made in error. She was supposed to be paired with a biochemistry major. I’ve now paired you with Grayson Connors since he'll need help with his final Advanced Literature courses. (Make sure he gets an A. We need him to win off the field, too! :) ) —Charles I resisted the urge to scream and set down my phone. I looked up at Grayson and noticed he was staring at me intently. “Yes,” I said. “Unfortunately, my name is Charlotte Taylor.” “I'd already assumed that.” He set down his bag. “I’m wondering why I’ve never seen you around before.” “Probably because there are over twenty thousand students on this campus.” “You’ve seen me before, haven’t you?” “Not at all,” I said. “What’s your name?” “Funny.” He sat down and looked around the cafe. “Is this where you want me to meet you on Tuesdays?” I nodded. “Is that going to be a problem for you?” “Not at all.” He smiled. “I think Tuesdays are going to be my new favorite day of the week.” I bit my tongue to prevent myself from cursing my advisor again. “You know, I don't think you're going to be a good tutor for me, if you're going to be this hostile each time we meet.” Grayson looked amused. “Have I done something to you previously?” “Something like that.” “Explain it to me.”

“Well, for one, you’re full of yourself, cocky, and you tend to play women like pawns on a chessboard. That, and I’m pretty sure that you think you're God’s gift to women. So, yes. You have offended me previously. Now, which Literature courses are you taking this semester?” “Not so fast,” he said, locking his blue eyes onto mine. “I think I deserve a chance to respond to that.” I tried to think of something sarcastic to say and beat him to it, but he continued before I could speak. “First of all," he said, “I am full of myself, but I have every reason to be.” He pointed to the bright blue and gold championship banners that were hanging above the bar. “I’ve earned this university one of those every year and I believe I won the Heisman Trophy last year, correct?” “I wouldn’t know.” “You would.” He leaned closer. “Second of all, I’m not sure I’d agree with me being 'cocky' but if your definition means that I’m well aware of how fucking good I am—both on and off the field—” He paused, looking me up and down. “Then feel free to call me that whenever you want.” “You know what?” I felt my cheeks betraying me with a blush. “Let’s just get to work.” “Third of all,” he continued, ignoring me. “I’m not even sure what type of metaphor you were going for with that chessboard line, but I’ve never used girls like pawns on a chessboard. I've just never believed in dating or girlfriends, and I make it perfectly clear what someone is getting when they're with me.” “How romantic.” “And lastly,” he said, as that familiar smirk returned to his lips. “I don’t think I’m God’s gift to women. I know that for a fact.” “Please tell me you’re joking right now.” “We both know I’m not.” He winked at me, and I was certain I was having an out of body experience, because I felt my cheeks reddening again. “Anyway,” I said, finally. “Which Literature courses are you taking this semester?” "As of today, these." He handed me a printout of his schedule and I looked at it. He had Creative Writing Appreciation, Modern Expressionism: Women’s Words in Post-Modern Literature, & Hidden Feminist Themes in Contemporary Works. So he’s a feminist? Perfect. “Okay, well ...” I uncapped my highlighter. “If you give me ten minutes, I can go over what I think our best course of action will be between now and next week.”

“What year are you?” he asked. I ignored his question, looking up his first course and pulling up the syllabus online. I was scrolling through the required books, when he pushed the screen of my laptop forward—forcing me to look up at him. “Yes?” “What year are you?” he repeated. “I’m a senior,” I said. “Why?” “No reason.” He returned my screen to its place and leaned back in his seat. I tried my best to ignore the fact that he was eyeing my every move, that his smile was even more alluring up close. I pulled up all three of his course syllabi —making sure that no major components were due during the next few weeks. “Okay,” I said, handing his schedule back to him. “Next week, you need to make sure you’ve bought all the required books and read the first of three essays for the Creative Writing Appreciation course. The other two courses can’t be addressed until you have the books. Do you have any questions for me?” “Several.” “I’m listening.” “When did you transfer to Pitt?” He looked genuinely confused. “There’s no way you’ve been here since your freshman year.” “I was referring to questions about your courses. Those are the only questions I’m obligated to answer, Mr. Connors.” “I see, Miss Taylor.” He smiled as if he wasn’t fazed by my rudeness at all. “So, the only thing I need to do between today and next Tuesday is buy the course books?” “Yes.” “And we’re meeting here at the exact same time?” “Yes.” “Can I have your phone number?” “Never.” He laughed and stood to his feet. “Okay, Charlotte. I’ll see you on Tuesday.” “See you on Tuesday.” HOURS LATER, I RUSHED down Forbes Avenue as my skirt fluttered against the wind. Thanks to the freshman who’d taken it upon herself to “accidentally” ring the fire alarm in our dorm, I’d spent the last two hours filling out paperwork with an angry fire chief, and I was now five minutes late for my date. A hot Californian guy from my Humanities class, Peter Davidson was everything that most guys at this university weren’t: Kind, thoughtful,

compassionate, and capable of having long and thought-provoking conversations. I stopped in front of Kiva Han and smoothed my hair before walking inside. I looked around for Peter and spotted him waiting in a corner booth. “Sorry I’m late,” I said, sitting down. “Freshman dorm drama.” “No worries.” He slid a cup of coffee toward me. “You look pretty today.” “Thank you. Were we still going to the art gallery tonight?” “No, actually,” he said, pulling out two silver tickets from his wallet. “I got us last minute tickets to tonight’s football bonfire.” “The bonfire was yesterday.” “This is the unofficial one that’s hosted by the team, off campus.” “Is that even legal?” "No." He laughed. "It'll probably get shut down like all their other parties, but I figured we can go to my place afterward since it’s right down the street.” “Okay. So, we can go to the art gallery this weekend, then?” “Um. Well, I guess it depends on how tonight goes.” “Are you planning to grade me on how loudly I cheer for the team?” I smiled. “If that’s the case, you can go ahead and give me an ‘F’ because that’s not happening.” “No.” He laughed. “It’s regarding something else happening.” I brought my coffee to my lips, taking a slow sip. “I’m confused.” “This is like our tenth date, Charlotte.” “It’s only our sixth.” “Well, it feels like our eighth because we went out a few times this summer,” he said. “I’ve spent like sixty dollars on you so far—not including today’s coffee and the bonfire tickets, and I feel like I’m not seeing any type of return on my investment. Most girls let me hit it on at least date four or five, and you’re holding out past the rule.” What the fuck? “I’m sorry. What did you just say?” “That came out the wrong way.” He reached across the table and clasped my hand, but I jerked back. “I do really like you, Charlotte, that’s a fact. But if I’m going to spend my entire senior year dating one person, I need to make sure it’s more than worth my while. There are tons of other girls on this campus who won’t hold out past the rule.” I downed the rest of my coffee in one gulp and stood to my feet. “Wait,” he said, grabbing my hand again. “I mean, maybe we can go on a few more dates, but we’ll have to fuck at some point. It’s not like either of us is a virgin or something, so I just don’t get why it’s too much to ask. I did say that I really liked you.”

“Go fuck yourself, Peter.” I snatched the bonfire tickets off the table and left the café, heading straight for the Engineering Building. Straight for Nadira’s workstudy office. “You know my supervisor hates you, right?” She looked up at me as soon as I shut the door. “She claims you’re a bad influence on my work.” “No, that’s what my supervisor says about you.” “Same thing.” She laughed. “Did Peter cancel on you or something?” “No, he revealed that he’s a douchebag, just like every other guy I’ve dated here.” I slumped into a chair. “Maybe I should start all my introductions with something different next time. How about, ‘Hey, my name is Charlotte. I grew up in a small town with strict parents who refused to let me date until my last semester of high school. I haven’t found anyone worthy of losing my virginity to, and it probably won’t be you’.” “I think that’s a great idea.” Eric’s voice suddenly came over her phone’s speakers. “It would save a lot of these guys some time!” “You’re being dramatic,” Nadira said. “Being a virgin isn’t that big of a deal, but we’ve already told you that not too many guys are looking for long-term relationships in college. Especially without sex. So, just focus on yourself and make it clear that you’re not interested in being more than friends.” “I walked all the way across campus for some advice and this is what you’re giving me?” I pouted like a child. “Would you prefer if I said, Oh my god! Run after him right now and promise to sleep with him ASAP before he leaves your life forever?” She shook her head. “If you want to have meaningless sex, which we both know you don’t, I’m sure Eric would love to give you a hand.” “I will happily give you a hand, Charlotte.” His voice came over the speakers again. “I’ll even throw in some of my best dirty talk for free. Do you prefer the word cunt, warm-box, or pussy?” Nadira immediately hung up on him and we both laughed. “Peter was going to take me to the illegal bonfire tonight, but—” I pulled the tickets out of my pocket. “Being the good friend that I am, I figured that you and I should go in his place. I also figured that I should be drunk out of my mind so I can quickly forget all about him.” “I’m in!” She smiled. “But don’t you dare think that this gets you out of going bar-crawling with me this weekend.” “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” I held the tickets up high. “What’s it going to be?” “Ugh. You’re the worst.” She laughed and grabbed one from me. “I’ll finish my reports and I’ll pick you up in front of Lothrop at eight.”

“I thought it was my turn to drive.” “No offense,” she said, looking as if she couldn’t believe I offered. “I’m never getting in a car with you behind the wheel again. Not until you go one full year without getting a speeding ticket.” “I can’t remember the last time I got a speeding ticket.” “You got two last week, Charlotte. Last. Week.” “Fine.” I laughed and headed toward the door. “Wait,” Nadira called before I stepped out. “For what it’s worth, I meant what I said about you just being friends with guys this year. The last few guys you’ve dated honestly didn’t deserve you, Peter included.” “Thank you.” “Now, if your current tutor-boy ever offers to go out with you, I personally think you should make an exception for the hell of it. You’ll be doing it more-so for me than for yourself.” “Goodbye, Nadira.” I stepped out and shut the door. “See you at eight!”

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh SUBJECT: NEXT TIME You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire ... How about making sure that you won’t burn down the grounds in the process?! How about ASKING your neighbors if they’ll mind having five hundred students in their streets until three in the morning? I know damn well that this was not a “team” idea and whenever KYLE and GRAYSON want to own up to this shit, I’ll reduce the extra five daily miles you all now owe me, to three miles. I’m waiting. —Coach Whitten SUBJECT: RE: NEXT TIME You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire ... It was me, Coach. Grayson had nothing to do with it this time. He didn’t even show up. Speaking of which— Dude, where were you? I fucked like three girls from this bonfire. You probably could’ve hooked up with at least five. I don’t think I’ll need another blowjob for a month after how amazing these were. PS—Are you back at our apartment yet? I need to tell you these stories in person when Coach isn’t acting like this shit is a big deal. —Kyle SUBJECT: RE: RE: NEXT Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire ... Kyle, Meet me in my office at the complex NOW. —Coach Whitten

SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire ... I meant to send that last part to just Grayson. Not to you, Coach. Can I come in a few hours? I mean, now that you’ve read what I said, surely you understand how exhausted I am. Three girls, Coach. THREE. —Kyle. SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire ... Right. Fucking. NOW. —Coach Whitten I LAUGHED AS I READ over this morning’s emails, now glad I’d spent half of my weekend studying last season’s game footage instead of co-hosting the bonfire with Kyle. The other half was spent searching for whatever I could find about my sexy, smart-mouthed tutor. I was hoping to find something new by today, our second Tuesday, but my search was futile. I’d only found her private Facebook page, which featured an “I Love Pitt” picture instead of her face, and a few art reviews she’d written when she was a staff writer for The Pitt News. Other than the fact that she was listed as a fellow honors student in the directory, there wasn’t much else I found about her. I hated to admit it, but during the entire fifteen minutes that we'd talked last week, I couldn't help but stare. My advisor's "Charlotte Taylor is a complete sweetheart," description hadn't prepared me for the hazel-eyed vixen I encountered that day. Her coffee colored hair, bright pink lips, and the way her dress clung to her hips were now playing in a never-ending loop in my mind. In all my years here, I couldn’t believe we’d never crossed paths. I was more than certain that I would’ve remembered seeing her—even if it was only for a few seconds. In fact, I’m sure I would’ve approached her the second I saw her. Then again, something told me that saying, “I think you’re sexy as fuck” wouldn’t have earned me anything from her but more sarcasm. When I arrived at Highland Café for our second session, Charlotte was sitting at a table in the back, her head buried in a book. Just like last week, she had a stack of colorful folders and notebooks set in the center of the table, and I was willing to bet that she had some type of OCD about needing to have twenty different types of pens and pencils.

“You’re late, again,” she said, when I approached the table. “How shocking.” “If I had your phone number, I would’ve been able to tell you that my afternoon fitness session was running late.” She looked up at me, her hazel eyes showing me she was unconvinced. “You have my email address. You could’ve sent me a message.” “Fair enough.” I took a seat across from her. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. What do you want to start with today?” “The Bach pieces.” She furrowed her brow. “Wait a minute. Where is your notebook?” “At home.” I pulled one of hers from the stack. “I figured you would have enough for me to borrow one.” “I’m going to charge you for that.” “I’m sure I can afford it.” I smiled. “My advisor mentioned that you’re a prelaw and art major, but you strike me as the teacher-type. Your smart-ass mouth and hostility aside, you seem like you might be good at it.” “Did you bring anything?” Her eyes widened, as I picked up one of her pens, and she looked like this was some type of life or death matter. “Where are your literature books? The ones we discussed you getting last week?” “I haven’t had the time to buy them yet.” “We’re two whole weeks into the semester. Are you planning to buy them after finals?” “Okay, I take back what I just said about you being a teacher. You clearly don’t know how to construct a compelling metaphor.” “Grayson Connors.” “You can call me Grayson.” “Grayson Connors,” she said my name even harsher and pressed her red coated lips together, turning me on even more. “Let’s get a few things straight. Since you clearly have a love for numbering things, let me help you out. One, you need me more than I need you. Way more than I need you.” I smiled. “Two, if I’m expected to be a professional tutor, I’m going to need you to treat me like one and take these sessions and everything that I put into them seriously.” She let out a breath and leaned back against her seat. “Is there a third reason coming?” I asked. “There’s no point in making a list if there are only two things.” “Yes, there is a third thing.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You need to make sure you show up on time, or else I’m leaving after the ten-minute mark.” “I’ll be early from now on,” I said. “But to make things even straighter between us, your credits for this are tied to how well you tutor me, so I’d say we

need each other equally. That, and I’ll take you seriously once you agree to stop being overly hostile with me. You said that I haven’t done anything to you personally.” “Besides being a domineering jerk with a huge ego,” she muttered. “What did you say?” “I said, fine,” She tapped her pencil against the table. “You’re right. I’ll stop treating you like an enemy.” “So, we’re friends now?” She ignored that question. “I take it you’ll be buying your books after the adddrop period?” “Yes.” “And you’re not going to write any essays until all the professors give you the updated syllabi, since they usually change something at the last minute?” She looked as if she couldn’t believe the words that were falling out of her mouth. “Yes, to that question as well.” “Okay, well ...” She shrugged. “Is there any reason why the two of us need to continue sitting here today?” “I can think of quite a few things I’d like to discuss.” “Are they related to your work?” “They’re related to you.” “Oh, okay.” She smiled. “Give me five seconds and we can definitely talk about that.” She picked up all her supplies and tossed them into her bag. Then she stood up and rushed out of the café and across the street. Is this a rejection?

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh “WAIT A MINUTE.” I LOOKED over my shoulder at Kyle as we lifted weights the next morning. Coach gave you what as a punishment for the bonfire?” “He said I have to attend three showings of The Vagina Monologues play— one for every woman I ‘disrespected’ at the bonfire, and I owe him twenty written apologies to all our neighbors.” He dropped his barbells to the floor. “He wants five miles from me every Sunday morning and three extra miles after every practice until the end of the season. He also said he doesn’t want to hear anything else about my partying after this weekend, which is quite perfect because that means I get to bring in my last college birthday exactly how I’ve always dreamed it.” “Please don’t tell me anything about your plans,” I said. “One of us has to be able to truly play dumb when the cops come.” “The cops won’t have any reason to come this time.” He laughed. “I’m having it on the North Shore Saturday night, so can I trust that you’ll be my designated driver and bring me and whoever’s willing back to our place?” “Of course. I’ll come after I get done studying.” “Figures.” He stepped closer to the mirror. “I really don’t understand why you think you need to make all A’s. We’re not in high school anymore.” “Yet you still insist on acting like it.” “Funny.” He laughed. “I’m just saying that they don’t print our grades on transcripts and since you’re definitely going to the league after graduation, it really doesn’t matter what grades you make.” “Nothing is guaranteed,” I said, remembering the last words my dad said to me before he passed away. “Nothing is guaranteed except for you being drafted into the NFL within the top five, and me being drafted within the top ten.”

I shook my head and knew Kyle more than understood what my father told me, but I couldn't argue with him on his prediction. Even if the two of us gave halfway decent performances this year, our performances from the past three seasons were warranting interest from the NFL teams and our names were mentioned in ESPN's "Best College Player" rankings every week. “Do you know a girl here named Charlotte?” I asked, changing the subject. “I know plenty of girls here named Charlotte. You’re going to have to be way more specific than that.” “She’s a senior, has hazel eyes, and a smart-ass mouth.” “Does she have red hair or black hair?” “Neither. It’s dark brown.” “Wait.” He turned around to face me. “Is the Charlotte you’re talking about sexy as hell?” “Yes.” “Ugh. Yeah.” He groaned. “I know that Charlotte. What about her?” “I—” I held back. I didn’t want to say too much yet, and I didn’t want to admit that I was struggling to keep her off my mind. “I have peer tutoring sessions with her this year for my literature classes.” “Well, just so you know, that’s all you’ll be getting with her.” He shook his head. “My friend Mike from Carnegie Mellon told me about her a while ago. She’s on my personal blacklist, so you might as well blacklist her, too.” “You’ve dated her before?” “Hell, no.” He looked offended. “Look. My friend Mike walked her home from a frat party super late one night last year, and then she invited him up to her room. So, quite naturally, he thought that meant they were about to fuck, right?” “Not necessarily.” “Yes, necessarily.” He crossed his arms. “Can you please find a way to be my so-called best friend named Grayson or just pretend to be him today?” I laughed. “I can try.” “Anyway, so she invites him up to her room, but instead of taking her clothes off, she makes some coffee. Then she takes him down to her dorm’s lounge where she proceeds to tell him about her favorite books. Her favorite books. Until five in the morning.” “That’s why she’s blacklisted? “I’m not even done yet,” he continued. “When she finally walks him out to the exit around seven in the morning—with not even a hint of an ‘I’ll show my appreciation to you for walking me home later’ line, he asks for her phone number. You know, to kind of maybe seal the deal for next time, but she says no. Then she says he’s more than welcome to join her at some type of art gallery on Sunday.”

“Did your friend ever meet her at the art gallery?” “Are you shitting me?” He rolled his eyes. “No. He never talked to her again and he told me about her so I wouldn’t waste my time. Now, I’m telling you, so you’ll never waste yours.” “Thank you for your story-time.” “You’re more than welcome.” He took a long swig of water. “I also heard she has a boyfriend who she’s super loyal to at another college, so sexy as hell or not, she’s not worth anyone’s time here.” Maybe she does have a boyfriend. That would explain her attitude toward me. “Anyway,” Kyle said, “Speaking of girls who are worth my time, let me finally tell you about the three girls from the bonfire.” I halfway listened as he gave me a play by play of his sex-filled weekend, as he gave me excessive details I could’ve done without. I was far more interested in unraveling the mystery of Charlotte and how the hell she’d flown under my radar for so long. All I knew for sure was that I’d never been more attracted to someone after only a few encounters in my life, and her being my tutor for this semester was going to be a serious problem.

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh THE NIGHT OF KYLE’S birthday, I pulled up to the designated house on the North Shore, hoping his claim about it being a “tame” event this year was true. I walked into the house and abandoned all hope in five seconds. There were inflatable hot tubs set up in every corner of the living room, a beer keg competition was taking place in the kitchen, and the smell of marijuana and sour liquor was hanging in the air. “Grayson!” Kyle called out to me from the staircase as two girls grinded against him. “Grayson, come over! Come over!” I helped a girl steady herself onto the couch and walked over. “Yes, Kyle?” “It’s my birthday tonight!” His eyes were tight, a tell-tale sign that he was going to pass out any minute now. “It’s my fucking birthday and ... I’m going to get good sex and cake, on my cock, on my birthday. Just watch.” “How many drinks have you had tonight?” “Two.” He held up five fingers and laughed. One of the girls who was dancing on him mouthed, “Twenty.” I mouthed “Thank you” in return and walked over to the guy who was mixing drinks on the TV stand. “Do me a favor,” I said to him. “Yeah?” “Don’t serve Kyle any more alcohol.” I pointed to the liters of orange juice behind him. “Go ahead and prefill a few beer bottles and red cups with juice just in case he comes over and asks for more.” “He’ll know it’s juice.” “He’ll also know it’s his best friend who is making you do this, so he won’t die tonight.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do it. Now.” He groaned, but he grabbed a carton of orange juice and began filling the bottles.

I pushed my way through the bodies on the dance floor, smiling at a few of the girls I knew as I made my way to the crowded kitchen. A few of my teammates were sitting at the bar with girls in their laps. “Hey there, stranger.” Penelope, a girl I once hooked up with, handed me a beer. “How are you feeling these days?” Betrayed. “I’m decent. Yourself?” “Good.” She sipped her beer and looked up at me. “You didn’t call me at all this summer. I was feeling quite neglected.” “I was busy.” “You weren’t that busy. I heard you haven’t been around much lately. You must have gone out and got a girlfriend. Is that true?” “I think you know me better than that.” “I would if you called me sometime.” She rubbed my shoulder and batted her eyes. “Call me so we can catch up in my room. Sooner, rather than later.” She looked me up and down before walking away. I was never going to call her, but I smiled at her anyway and watched as she disappeared into the crowd. To prevent myself from ever giving in and calling her on a lonely night, I pulled out my phone and deleted her number. Then I scrolled through the rest of my contacts, deleting everyone who wasn’t a teammate, coach, or close associate. I opened my email inbox to do the same thing and noticed a new email from Charlotte. Subject: Peer Assignment Tutor (Change) Dear Grayson, I hope your weekend is going well. I’m emailing you because I just met up with a friend of mine who recently took all three of the Lit classes you’re taking this semester. He is more than willing to tutor you on Tuesdays and I think he would be a much better fit for you. Let me know what you think, —Charlotte I smiled and typed a response. Subject: Re: Peer Assignment (Change) Dear Charlotte, I have no interest in being tutored by your friend (I don’t give a damn when he took the courses). I’m more than willing to act like this email didn’t happen instead of forwarding it to your advisor, and I’ll see you alone, on Tuesday. PS—I think you’ll “fit me” just fine. —Grayson Her response was immediate. Subject: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)

There’s no need to bring my advisor into this. Since you want to deal with someone who may be less “hostile,” I was only trying to help. PS—Is this your attempt at a sexual innuendo? —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change) You were trying to get out of seeing me. For whatever reason that is, it’s not going to work. Ever. PS—Depends. Is it working? —Grayson Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change) This sounds like a threat. PS—NO. —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change) It’s a guarantee. PS—I personally think this conversation would be better over the phone. You should give me your number. —Grayson She didn’t respond. Half an hour passed and she never sent me another email. Before I could email her about something else, I felt someone tapping on my shoulder. “Yeah?” I turned around to see one of the girls who had been dancing with Kyle. “What’s up?” “Um, Kyle just passed out in one of the hot tubs. Should we call 911, get your coach, or just let him lay there until tomorrow?” Jesus Christ.

CHARLOTTE: NOW Present Day Pittsburgh “WHERE ARE YOU HEADED again?” The police officer shone a light on my license. “Try to keep your story straight this time.” “The University of Pittsburgh,” I said, forcing a smile, as he narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you aware that the speed limit on this stretch of highway is only sixtyfive miles an hour?” No shit. “Yes, officer.” “Really?” He crossed his arms. “So, can you explain to me why you were going ninety? And not only were you going ninety, can you explain to me why you were driving in the emergency lane?” I didn’t really have a good reason for driving in the emergency lane. Well, minus the fact that the emergency lane was freshly salted, and the regular lanes were still coated in a light layer of snow and ice. “Miss?” He handed me my license. “I need you to answer me. Now.” “I’m just really late and I don’t want to miss my college-class reunion. Or the fireworks. They promised fireworks.” He gave me a blank stare. Then he looked up at the sky. “Fireworks?” He took his ticket pad from his back pocket and shook his head. “In the snow? And a college-class reunion on a Tuesday? Okay, Miss.” “No, please.” I couldn’t afford another speeding ticket right now. I still owed the State of New York one thousand on a ticket I’d received last month. I leaned over and opened my glove compartment, pulling out a blue and gold envelope that I’d received months ago. “I’m not making the reunion up,” I said, handing the invitation to him. He mumbled the printed words out loud to himself, and I realized that I’d memorized every word on that page within minutes of it arriving in my mailbox.

Hail to Pitt! As a member of the BEST class that has ever graduated from the University of Pittsburgh, we cordially invite you to a Night to Remember! Our seven-year class reunion! (Yes, ‘seven,' because it didn't take us ten to net four Pulitzer prize winners, twenty-eight Fulton Scholars, fifteen Olympic athletes, and hundreds of other distinguished honors that set our class far apart from the rest!) The official date & time, ticket & fireworks information, & location are inside! We hope to see you there, Charlotte! And as always, Hail to Pitt! HE SIGHED AND RETURNED the invitation to me. “Tell you what, Miss Charlotte. I’m going to let you off with a severe warning today, but only because I went to Pitt, too.” He placed his ticket pad in his back pocket once more. “But because I don’t trust you to drive the speed limit the rest of the way, I’ll follow you.” I didn't get a chance to say, "Oh, that's okay," or "That's not really necessary" before he stepped away. And I knew telling him the truth—that I wasn't planning on going to this reunion at all, that I was planning to get off at the next exit and drive back to New York City, wasn't the best thing to do now. Sighing, I tossed the invitation onto the seat and turned on my radio. “Start driving!” He called out over his car’s speakers. “And move to the actual highway lanes!” I steered my car onto the real part of the highway and set the cruise control to exactly sixty-five miles an hour. My heart was pounding against my chest and my palms were sweating against the steering wheel. Just go in, take a few pictures, and leave right after the cop goes away. I’d gone back and forth about this reunion for a long time—writing out the pros and cons, even making spreadsheets for all the possible scenarios that could happen. Each time the pros outnumbered the cons, but I was never happy with that result, so I always tried another tracking method, hoping for a negative. I also wasn’t sure whose bright idea it was to host the reunion on a Tuesday, but that counted as strike one in my book. Strike two was the one-hundred-dollar ticket fee for a ‘gourmet’ menu of popcorn and local chocolates. Strike three should’ve been the “seven-year” time-stamp instead of the usual, ten-year one, but even I knew that our class was full of overachievers and record-setters the second my freshman year began.

I didn’t even know who would be attending tonight, since all the “close friends” I’d once made had drifted away long ago. Every now and then I’d catch glimpses of their lives through my Facebook newsfeed—clicking “like” or “love” in exchange for a phone call or a “How have you been?” text message. Occasionally, I’d even comment: “Your kids are adorable!” “Merry Christmas!” “Happy New Year! PS—Your kids are adorable!” There was only one person I knew I couldn’t bear to see again, and I was hoping like hell he wouldn’t be there tonight. Please don’t be there tonight. Ten minutes later, I pulled my car through the university's campus—noticing that it looked completely different from seven years ago. Everything was more modern, and where there was once a block full of student unions, there was now a series of gray, steel cafés. The only thing that seemed to be the same was the Cathedral of Learning—the massive beige monolith that towered over every building on campus. I circled the parking lot a few times, passing by a few empty spots in hopes that the officer would stop following me and I could bypass this thing after all. “Park your car!” He yelled over the speakers and I pulled my car into a space right out front. Is he really going to watch me go inside? I turned off my engine and grabbed my nude heels from the backseat. I slipped them onto my feet and pulled out my compact to re-check my make-up. As I added a new coat of red gloss to my lips, I spotted the officer in my rearview mirror. He was tapping his watch and daring me to take any more time. I secured the top buttons of my navy-blue coat and stepped out of the car, giving him a short wave and a smile. He pointed to the cathedral and I turned around, walking slowly to the door. Just go in, take a few pictures, and leave. Fifteen minutes at most, Charlotte. Fifteen minutes. I pushed the doors open and was immediately greeted with thousands of blue and gold balloons that lined the deserted hallway. There were several shiny golden banners with the words, “Hail to Pitt! Class of 2010!” and “Go, Panthers! Go!” hanging high from the ceiling. The only sign of life was a red-haired woman at a table in the middle of the hall. Confused, I walked over to her. “Is this where the reunion is?” “Yep!” She looked up at me and smiled. “What’s your name?” “Charlotte Taylor,” I said. I started to ask if I was the only person who’d bothered to show up, but the sound of loud laughter and cheers suddenly came from the far end, and I realized everyone was in the ballroom.

“Oh, here you are!” The woman handed me a folder and a name badge. “Charlotte Taylor. So, you’ve kind of missed the meet and greet social part, but you’re just in time for the class presentation and special speech. There’s an open bar at the back of the room with a few chocolates left, if you’re interested. And make sure you sign the ‘I Was Here’ book. UPMC is donating one hundred dollars per signature to the university’s new health research center, and we would all greatly appreciate that.” “I’ll be sure to sign it.” I placed my name badge on my coat and set a fifteenminute timer on my phone. Then I headed straight into the ballroom. Decorated in even more of Pitt’s trademark navy blue and gold, the room was filled with people dressed in suits and designer dresses. Waiters waded through them with champagne trays held high, and there was a band dressed in all-white onstage. A band I remembered watching every Saturday night as a sophomore. “Is that you, Charlotte?” A brunette walked up to me and touched my shoulder. “Charlotte Taylor, right?” “Yes.” I smiled. She didn’t look familiar. “You wouldn’t remember me, I’m sure.” She laughed. “I used to intern at Heinz Stadium, and I handled all the specialty tickets for the players and the skybox seats.” She winked at me. “I’m sure you can remember that, though.” “I do.” I was leaving in five minutes. Timer be damned. “Where’s the ‘I Was Here’ Book?” “Over there under the golden balloon arches.” She pointed to a corner. “You can’t miss it. I’ll see you at the fireworks?” "Absolutely." I walked away and headed straight for the arches, taking my spot in line behind three other people I faintly recognized. I considered striking up a conversation or asking them what I'd missed, but I didn't want to be lured into staying longer than I needed. “May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” A woman stepped onto the stage, waving at the crowd. “We still have quite a few things to get through tonight, but we did promise you a special speech from one of your very own.” The loud talking and laughter slowly dissipated into soft murmurs. Then silence. "I would normally take the time to say a long, drawn-out introduction, but we can all agree that this man needs no introduction, and his name is enough. Ladies and gentlemen, from the special class of 2010, I’m honored to present to you, Grayson Connors!” I dropped my pen to the floor as the room erupted into applause, as the stunningly gorgeous man I fell for years ago walked onto the stage.

His sapphire blue eyes gleamed beneath the bright spotlights, and his trademark dimple in his right cheek deepened as he smiled at the audience. The dark gray suit he was wearing accentuated his muscles, and the mere sight of his full lips was still capable of making my heart skip a beat. Smiling a set of pearly whites, he shook the woman’s hand and took his place behind the podium. “Good evening, Class of 2010,” he said, his voice deep. “Good evening.” The crowd responded, and the only sounds in the room were now the light clinks of champagne flutes and murmurs of “Wow,” “Whoa, ” and “Awesome.” “All these years.” A brunette in front of me nudged her friend, whispering. “He’s still sexy as hell.” “Tonight, I’m honored to present our class with one of the most distinguished honors the university has ever bestowed upon a group.” He held up a golden plaque. “Out of all the classes that have ever graduated from the University of Pittsburgh, our class holds the highest number of accomplished students in every single field. Every. Single. Field.” There was a loud and raucous applause, and he nodded at the crowd— clapping right along with them. He stepped in front of the podium to high-five one of his old teammates, and then he smiled his infectious smile once more before returning to his notes. “Speaking of accomplishments, our amazing class of 2010 also has the honor of—” His gorgeous eyes suddenly met mine and he stopped talking. He blinked a few times, then squinted—as if he was trying to determine if what he was seeing was real. Several seconds passed, and he still didn’t say a word. He simply clenched his jaw. He picked up a glass of water and took a slow sip, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time. Keeping me pinned to my spot. Clearing his throat, he let out a short breath. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I just realized that this is only our seven-year reunion. Does this mean we don’t have to put up with the ten-year one?” The crowd laughed, and he continued his speech. “We also have the honor of being the class that has somehow kept in contact the most. I’m not sure how they keep up with that type of thing, but I can honestly say that some of my best friends and memories—” He clenched his jaw again. “Those were all made right here on this campus.” I tried my hardest to look away from him, to slip some place into the crowd where his eyes wouldn’t find mine but I couldn’t get my feet to move. All these

years and he still had the ability to make my world stop with a single syllable. To make my heart race with a single glance in my direction. The second he finished his speech, he finally looked away from me and the room gave him a well-deserved standing ovation. I immediately took my chance. I made sure my name and phone number were legible in the book, and then I pushed my way through the crowd, rushing toward the exit. My heels clacked against the floor as I raced through the hallway, but before I could reach the doors, a familiar hand grabbed my elbow from behind and spun me around. With my heart racing a mile a minute, I looked directly into Grayson’s eyes, unsure of what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words fell from his lips. Then he looked me up and down, taking a slight step forward. “Okay,” he finally said, his voice strained. “Where the hell have you been?” “You look nice tonight.” I changed the subject. “Life seems to be treating you well. I mean, I figured it would be, since you have the career of your dreams now, but wow. I really liked your speech, too. Our class was really great, huh?” “Charlotte ...” He pulled me close and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest at the familiar feel of his hands against my body. “I’m not going to play games with you, so here’s an easier question: Why are you here?” “Because just like you, I believe I graduated from this school and was invited to the reunion.” “You know what I mean.” He lowered his voice. “Why are you here when you’ve never made it out to anywhere I was? Did someone have to force you to come?” “Don’t flatter yourself,” I said. “I didn’t even know you were going to be here tonight. And trust me, if I’d known that was the case, I would’ve never come here.” “So, you were forced.” He looked as if he was torn between dropping me to the floor or kissing me, but he held back. “At least, I’m sure that’s part of what you’re telling yourself so you can feel better about ruining what we had.” I didn’t ruin anything. YOU did. “Look, Grayson.” I hesitated. “What we had in college, all those years ago was honestly—” “Fucking perfect.” He interrupted, daring me to deny it. I didn’t respond to that. “Fucking Perfect” was the only thing that could be said about that.

“I’m honestly just happy to see you again.” He sighed and slowly let me go. “You feel like catching up?” “Right now?” “Right now.” “I ...” This was a bad idea. “What if I say no?” “Then it’ll just confirm that you still can’t lie worth a damn.” He smiled. “Have you gotten pulled over by any police lately, or have you finally learned how to drive?” “No.” I stepped back. “No, I haven’t been pulled over by any police lately, and you know what? I’ve changed a lot over the years, Grayson. I’m not the girl you once knew and I’m sure you, Mr. Professional Football Player, are not the guy I once knew. So, as wonderful as a night of walking down memory lane sounds, I’m going to have to pass.” I started to walk away, but he blocked me. “You want to do this at Eat’n Park or Highland Coffee?” “Highland Coffee. But only for one hour.” “Two.” “Fine.” I relented. “But wait. Don’t you have to give another speech before the fireworks?” “Not anymore.” He clasped my hand and my body went warm at the contact. My mind immediately raced with our memories as we walked right out of the cathedral, down the icy sidewalks like we’d done too many times before. As he pulled me closer, I warned myself that no matter what he said to me tonight, our past was long gone and it was never coming back. All of our former ‘Tuesdays’ and hell even this Tuesday were no more and I wasn’t going to fall for it. “You’re not going to fall for what?” He opened the door to Highland Coffee. “Huh?” “You were talking to yourself about not falling for something. What do you mean?” “Nothing.” “I’m sure.” He waited for me to walk inside, and then he led me over to the same table we used to share years ago. “For the record, and just in case I never get to tell you again, you look beyond beautiful and sexy as hell tonight.” “Thank you. You look good, too. As always, though.” He smiled, but it quickly faded. “Did you really move overseas?” I didn’t answer. “Did you?” “Grayson, I—” I sighed. “No.” “Good to finally know the truth about that, then. Where do you live now?”

“New York.” “What?” His face turned red. “Tell me you’re fucking joking right now.” I felt a pang in my chest. “I’m not joking.” A world of hurt crossed his face and he leaned back. “You know what? You were right. Let’s not do this.” “I couldn’t agree more.” I stood up and rushed toward the door, leaving him behind without another word. I knew I should’ve never shown up tonight, should’ve never accepted his offer to “catch up,” and should’ve never given into the slightest hope that things could ever be anything like they once were.

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day Pittsburgh ALL THIS TIME. ALL this goddamn time. I was told that she’d moved overseas, gotten married to some sweater vest wearing stiff, and moved on with her life. I would’ve never guessed that she was so close, and the fact that she lived in New York City was pissing me off more with each minute that passed. Not only that, but she was even more of a vision now than she was in undergrad, and the only thing that was significantly different about her were the two extra piercings in her right ear, the tattoo on her left wrist, and the auburn highlights in her hair. The only reason I didn’t run after her when she left me in the café last night was because I knew it wouldn’t lead to any good answers. It was also because she still couldn’t run for shit, and I didn’t want her to break her neck trying to get away from me in heels, on the ice. As I sat on the plane the next morning, I stared out the window and wondered if we'd ever crossed paths in New York without me knowing it. If she'd ever thought about me the way I still thought about her. I always imagined that I would have to swallow my pride as I watched another man pull her close to his side, or compliment how "beautiful" her kids were to prevent myself from saying, "Those kids are supposed to be mine." But it was far harder to handle the fact that she was still single and so near. “Okay,” Anna said as she buckled her seatbelt. “Now that we’ve got your class reunion off your plate, we can focus on the new merchandise deal with Nike. They’re willing to offer more than what they said initially, but they want to meet with you in person this week.” “That’s not happening.” “What?” She damn near choked on her drink. “Why not? You’ve been begging me to do this for you for months and I’ve finally got them begging.” “Something came up last night.” I looked at her. “Something important I need to address before I go anywhere else.”

“Um, okay.” She looked confused. “I take it that whatever it is, it’s personal?” “Yes.” I sent a text message to my contact at the New York Police Department, asking him to give me Charlotte’s address. “Very personal.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh MY ASSIGNED PARTNER in Criminal Courts and Judicial Processes was making me question Pitt’s admissions process. The son of a retired sheriff, he’d spent our first week bragging about how easy Pre-Law was thus far, and how he’d skated through all the required courses without ever completing any of the summer reading. He told me that he was going to “totally wing” his part of our project that was due at the end of the semester, and when I asked him what type of law he wanted to pursue after college, he said, “the courtroom kind.” Dressed in his pajamas, he stood at the front of the classroom and attempted to bullshit his way through a mock trial with our professor. With each answer that dropped from his lips, I was thanking the universe that his grade on this wasn’t tied to mine. “Given all the evidence against me,” he said, “I would like to plead the fifth.” “For the umpteenth time, this is a mock arraignment, Mr. Brandon.” My professor sighed. “You can only plead guilty, not guilty, or no contest. We won’t get to the mock trial part until later this semester. So, now that we’ve covered Courtroom Rules:101 again—how would you like to plead?” He didn’t answer. “Mr. Brandon, can you please enter your plea so we can move on?” “This is a trick question, isn’t it?” He smiled, and then he cleared his throat. “Your Honor, I would now like to call my first witness to the stand.” Jesus ... I couldn’t listen to this anymore. I held my phone under the desk, ready to scroll through my Facebook newsfeed, but I noticed a new email from Grayson. Subject: A Question. I need to ask you something. —Grayson Subject: Re: A Question.

My answer will probably be no. Does that help? —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: A Question. This question isn’t about you. I’m looking over my description for a sorority’s charity dating auction. One of the lines on my bio says I have a “smile that can make any woman’s panties wet.” So, my question is: Do you think that’s accurate? (More specifically, have I ever made you wet?) —Grayson Oh my god. I could feel my cheeks heating and I looked up to make sure no one was paying attention. Subject: Re: Re: Re: A Question. Answers: Hell no. Hell no. —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Question. Your first “hell no” is quite interesting, seeing as though the president of the sorority said you personally helped her write my description last week. (I don’t think I believe your second “hell no” either.) —Grayson Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Question. Stop emailing me before I block you. —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Question. :-) —Grayson “I know my rights, Professor Turner!” Brandon’s sudden shouting made me look up. “I know my rights!” The professor shook his head and closed his book. “You know what? I think I’m done with this case for now,” he said. “I don’t even care that we’ve only met for twenty minutes today. Class is dismissed.” Everyone in the room quickly packed up their books and rushed toward the exit. “I told you I would win my case.” Brandon winked at me as he picked up his backpack. “I should charge you a fee for being my partner since you're guaranteed to get an A." I rolled my eyes and stood to my feet. “Can I talk to you outside for a second, Miss Taylor?” My professor called. “Sure, Mr. Turner.”

He waited until all the other students left the room, and then he shut the door. “Look. I’m starting to get requests for letters of recommendation from other students who are—” He paused. “How can I put this? Stupid. Some are even stupider than your group partner, believe it or not.” I nearly choked on my gum. “So, I realized it’s that unfortunate time of year again when I have to waste my precious paper and ink by pretending that I’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of teaching students who will become ineffective lawyers and run our criminal justice system into the ground. Nonetheless, you weren’t a disappointment at all, so will you be asking me to write a letter on your behalf?” “I was considering it.” “Good,” he said. “Which law schools are you considering?” "Stanford, Harvard, Brown, and a few others," I said, repeating what I told my parents. "But I may take a few years off after graduation and go to art school. I may pursue my master's in that and then go to law school afterward." “Art school?” He gave me a pointed look. “Charlotte, getting a master’s degree in art is like telling the universe that you want to be homeless and broke for the rest of your life. That’s not the life you want, trust me. You should go to law school first.” I nodded, not sure of what to say to that. “Your LSAT score is impeccable, your essays on criminal reform were the highlight of my year last term, and every professor who’s been lucky enough to have you in their class agrees that you’ll make one hell of a lawyer.” He looked proud. “I happen to know the admissions team at each of the schools you mentioned. Although I highly doubt you’ll have any issues getting in, I’ll be sure to make sure I proofread your recommendation letter.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t do that for the stupid students.” “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” “You’re more than welcome, Miss Taylor.” He opened the door. “See you next week.” LATER THAT EVENING, I woke up to the sound of screaming and yelling. Groaning, I rolled out of bed and slipped into my flats, hoping this was all a dream. I opened my door and spotted a group of freshmen and a stack of mattresses by the emergency exit. What the hell? “Um.” I cleared my throat. “What are you all doing?”

“Hey, there, Char!” Nina, the girl on our floor who had yet to grasp the concept of ‘No smoking in the dorm,’ turned around and blocked me from getting any closer. “I can call you, Char, right?” “Charlotte works better.” “Okay!” She shrugged. “Well, how are you feeling tonight?” “Just tell me what you’re up to, Nina, so I’ll know when I’ll be able to go back to sleep.” “We’re just doing mattress rides.” “Mattress ride coming down!” The girls in the stairwell shouted, and I caught sight of long, sandy hair flying wild as a girl rode her mattress down the steps. Then I realized that girl was Nadira. “I see.” I tried to keep a straight face. “What’s the occasion?” “You haven’t heard? Pitt has the top two players in the country, again!” She gushed. “But it’s really because Nadira said we went a whole week without an alcohol violation. She’s proud of us and she promised she wouldn’t snitch on anything we did tonight. That means you can’t snitch on us either.” “I wasn’t going to snitch on you for this.” I was honestly tempted to join them. “How do you know Pitt has the top two players already? ESPN’s official rankings don’t come out until next week.” “We’re not using their rankings.” She bent down and picked up a magazine, handing it to me. “Be right back. It’s my turn!” She ventured into the stairwell and I flipped the magazine over on its front. It was a copy of Sports Illustrated—the college football edition, and Grayson was staring straight at me with an all-American smile. Dressed in his navy-blue #4 jersey and golden pads, he was holding his Heisman Trophy in one hand and his matching helmet in the other. The top headline read “Number One, Again: Grayson Connors,” and the smaller cover lines read, “Believe the Hype,” and “Why Grayson Connors and Teammate Kyle Stanton (Number Two) are Playing the Best Football We’ve Seen in a Long Time.” I flipped through the pages, reading what the nation’s top journalists and sportscasters were writing about him. I noticed that there weren’t any direct quotes from him, though. I remembered a sophomore-year rumor about him refusing to speak to any journalists outside of game days, but as huge as his ego was, I found the idea of him resisting the extra attention hard to believe. Then again, my dad had told me that the second he watched Grayson’s first game, that he was a “once in a generation” type of player but he “seemed uncomfortable with the media.” That’s probably changed by now.

“What are you doing?” Nadira panted, taking the magazine away from me. “You can masturbate to your boyfriend’s face later.” “What did you just say?” “It’s the alcohol talking.” She pushed me toward the stairwell. “You can help me get sober by celebrating with one mattress ride for me, and two for Grayson!”

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh I WOKE UP TO THE FAMILIAR and annoying sound of sports analysts’ voices and stumbled out of bed. Walking into the living room, I spotted Kyle lounging on the couch in nothing but a pair of bright yellow briefs. “You told me you were out of your SpongeBob phase,” I said. “I guess not.” He immediately jumped up and turned off the TV. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come out of your room. Did you ice your wrist?” “Yeah.” “Coach couldn’t get ahold of you, but he wants you to make sure you have the trainers look at it this afternoon.” He bent down and picked up a magazine, then he tossed it to me. “Sports Illustrated dumped a bunch of early copies of it off last night after our game. I think they used a good picture of you for that cover and they didn’t twist any of the words in my interview. You excited about being number one again?” I didn’t answer him. He only talked this fast and asked this many questions when he was hiding something. I glanced back and forth between him and the television. “Turn the TV back on,” I said. “Let me see what you were watching.” “It was cartoons.” “It wasn’t.” “Okay, it wasn’t.” He looked away from me. “I don’t think now is a good time for you see this though.” “Now, Kyle.” He let out a sigh and clicked the remote. The screen came to life, giving view to a blue tabled press conference and I immediately regretted my request. “Let’s make sure we’re hearing this correctly,” a reporter in a purple dress said, clutching her mic. “You’re admitting that you lied about Grayson Connors sexually assaulting you over the summer?”

"Yes," Satan's reincarnate, i.e., a girl I'd never touched, responded. She looked at the camera with fake tears falling down her face. She smoothed the sleeves of her creamy colored grandma sweater for a failed innocent effect. "My representatives have asked me to read a prepared statement and I would like to do that at this time." My blood boiled when she pulled out a set of reading glasses and wiped away more tears. “My name is Mia Ryan, and this past summer I filed fake and baseless allegations against Grayson Connors,” she said. “On the night of July fifteenth, I went to the Pitt Police Station and claimed that he sexually assaulted me at a private party. I made this claim at the request of a friend who’d previously dated Mr. Connors, a friend who was upset that he was not willing to make her his girlfriend.” She paused to wipe away more tears. “I had no idea that the university would spend weeks and countless resources investigating the matter. I also had no idea that my lies almost damaged Mr. Connors’ reputation and his academic standing on campus. I stand before you to say that I am sorry for what I’ve done, and I hope that you all will forgive me. I also hope that Grayson is watching and that he knows that I am sorry, and that my friend in question was simply misguided in her intense feelings for—” I turned off the TV. I couldn’t take anymore, and the words, “Sorry, I falsely accused you of rape” were never going to earn any sympathy from me. Her apology would never erase the unnecessary stares and cruel text messages I received over the summer, and it would never bring back the “friends” I thought I had. The only thing I gained from this incident was clarity and the lack of a desire to deal with any other girls on this campus. Except one, but she didn't count. “Well,” Kyle said. “At least they finally made her apologize in public to make sure that no one else has any doubts about what didn’t happen, right?” I didn’t answer. “Are you okay?” “No.” I stepped back, still feeling anger running through my veins. “I’m going for a run.” I didn’t bother changing into my sweats. I grabbed my phone, put on my running shoes by the door, and ran in the direction of lower campus. I ran down Forbes Avenue, past Pitt’s campus and onto Carnegie Mellon’s grassier estate. I ran until my mind was clear, and by the time I stopped, I was in the middle of Shadyside. Jogging back toward campus, I stopped when I saw Charlotte lounging on one of CMU’s lawns. She was holding a paintbrush in one hand and a small canvas in the other.

The attractive girl who was sitting right next to her looked familiar, so I stepped a bit closer and squinted. Her sandy brown hair was waving in the wind, and she was painting pink letters on top of her caramel colored skin. Nadira? I pulled out my phone to see if I still had her number from the sophomore classes we took together, but it was deleted. Shit. I wasn’t sure why one glance at Charlotte was making me think about ways I could attempt to talk to her outside of study sessions, but I stood there thinking about it for at least ten minutes. I sent her an email and started to head home when I figured out an offer she probably wouldn’t refuse. Subject: Tuesday Can we meet somewhere else instead of the café this Tuesday? —Grayson Subject: Re: Tuesday Your room is completely out of the question. —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: Tuesday Then, what about your room? (Don’t answer that.) How about the study room at the Rose Art Gallery?” —Grayson Subject: Re: Re: Re: Tuesday That would be great, but are you sure they have a study room there? If they do, you might want to check to make sure there isn’t a fee. —Charlotte I did. It’s one hundred dollars an hour... Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tuesday It’s free. Is that a yes? —Grayson Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tuesday Yes. PS—Try not to be late this time. Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tuesday Good. PS—I won’t be. Trust me. —Grayson

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh ON TUESDAY, I RETRIEVED the study room key from the art gallery’s front desk and ordered a carafe of coffee from their café. Charlotte arrived ten minutes later and gave me a smile instead of her usual sexy scowl. She also gave me an instant hard-on. Her gray dress was hugging her curves in all the right places, and I couldn’t help but envision her red heels being wrapped around my waist. “I used to come here every week for inspiration during my freshman year,” she said, interrupting my thoughts. “I wish I’d known they had a study room back then. I could’ve used a quieter place to paint.” “Where do usually paint now?” “A few places.” Her eyes lit up with excitement. “There’s a studio downtown that lets me paint for free on Thursdays if I bring the owner coffee and breakfast. There are also two bridges with empty toll booths that I like. Oh, and since I'm an RA, I get roof access at my dorm. I'm only supposed to use it for fire drills, but I can't help but take advantage of the view from up there." “So, you are capable of talking about something other than studying.” “Not really.” She blushed and pulled out her blue box of pens and pencils. “Are you hiding your books somewhere?” “No. I still haven’t bought them yet.” “Why the—” She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “Okay. I guess you don’t technically need to read from them until two weeks from now, so which Bach essay do you want to discuss first?” “The contemporary one.” “Good choice.” She bit her bottom lip. “Okay, so, applying what you already know about feminist criticism—” “You’re fucking gorgeous.” I interrupted her, and her cheeks turned bright pink. “I’m disappointed in myself for not meeting you sooner.”

She was still blushing, but she narrowed her eyes at me. “Grayson Connors ...” “It’s just Grayson.” “That’s what I said.” She crossed her arms. “I know these Tuesdays may seem like a strange concept to you, but I’m here to tutor you.” “I’m aware, unfortunately.” “Good. Because just for the record, I need you to know that you have zero— and I mean zero, chances of getting anything else from me.” “Are you implying that I want sex?” I smiled. “I’m not implying that you want anything. I’m confirming that you should stop with the unnecessary compliments, as they won’t get you any closer to what you’re after.” “I’m not after anything,” I said. “Yet.” She shut her book. “You’re never going to see me as your tutor, are you?” “Very much so.” I leaned over and opened her book. “Tucker’s analysis fails to adequately address all of the issues with the post-modern society.” She raised her eyebrow. “This is the part when you ask me why I feel that way,” I said. “Unless you’re the one not taking me seriously.” She shook her head before asking, and for the next hour, I did my best to stay on topic—to not get distracted by how fucking sexy she was, how she blushed every few minutes, and how she bit her bottom lip whenever she was contemplating a thought. “I think your analysis is good enough for you to get an A on your first paper,” she said over an hour later. “Do you have any final questions?” “Are you seeing someone here?” I asked. “If not, who’s my competition? She blinked. Then, just like she did the last time I tried to ask her something personal, she simply stood up, pushed all her things into her bag, and left the gallery. This is strike one. No, strike two. If she were any other girl, I would've immediately emailed my advisor and demanded that she be replaced with someone else, but I was beyond intrigued for some reason. I shut my notebook and went after her, catching her at the light. “Charlotte, wait. Can we start over?” “Can you buy your books?” “Under a few conditions." I extended my hand. "I'm Grayson Connors, the number one college quarterback in the country and the sexiest guy you'll ever meet in your life." “This is you starting over?”

“I listed all my other accolades the first time we met, and you didn’t seem too impressed with those.” Her lips curved into a slow smile and she shook my hand. “I’m Charlotte Taylor, your tutor who is beyond fed up with you.” “Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I think you should come with me to get my books right now. That’s what the new version of you in our relationship would do.” I expected her to reject the idea, but she crossed the street with me. “I have to pick up a few new books, too,” she said. We walked the rest of the way in silence, and when we arrived at the bookstore, she followed me to the literature section. “Do you not trust me to get them on my own?” I asked. “Given your track record, no." She laughed and headed down the feminist aisle. "I'm assuming you didn't pick your courses this semester anyway.” “What makes you think that?” “I don’t know too many guys who would pick one feminist course, let alone three.” She picked up one of the books I needed and handed it to me. “Why not? It’s the perfect way to meet new women and potentially knowing them a bit more intimately outside of the classroom.” Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.” “I’m not.” I stepped in front of her. “I would’ve never met you if I didn’t take these classes.” “I’m going to email my advisor right now and tell him that I don’t want to tutor you anymore.” “Prove it.” She pulled out her phone, but I could tell she wasn’t going to do anything by the blush that crossed her cheeks. I picked up one of the other books I needed and noticed she had a tattoo on the back of her left leg. It was far too small for me to make out from where I was standing, so I made a mental note to get a closer look at it later. “Good first game, man.” A guy walked down the aisle and tilted his hat at me. “Wishing you guys another good season this year.” “Thank you.” “Oh, yeah.” Charlotte looked over her shoulder. “I heard you guys won over the weekend. Congratulations.” What? “What did you just say?” “Congratulations?” “No, before that.” I was certain I didn’t hear that right. “Um. I heard you guys won over the weekend?” “You heard?”

“Yeah.” She looked confused. “Was I misinformed?” “You didn’t go to the game?” “No, I gave my dad my ticket. I’ll watch the replay later this week since I’m not that big on college games.” Strike three. She picked up a book from an endcap, and I followed her to the register. “Will this be together?” The cashier asked. "Yes," I answered before Charlotte could and took out my wallet. "You can pay me back with your phone number." “In that case, it’ll be separate.” She started to take out her credit card, but the cashier swiped mine. I handed Charlotte her books and we left the store. “So,” she said, looking up at me, “You promise to take the next Tuesday seriously?” “Only if you promise to treat me like someone who is just trying to be your friend.” “I will. Just my friend.” “Good.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll need your phone number now, or a damn good reason why I still can’t have it.” “It’s because I don’t think we have anything to talk about.” “Why don’t you give it to me and find out?” “I’ll pass.” Her cheeks were bright red again as she took a step back. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Grayson.” “See you on Tuesday, Charlotte.” For the next couple Tuesdays, I tried to be on my best behavior. I was on time or early and I stayed on topic. I only got distracted by the sight of her sexy, pouty red lips twenty times instead of fifty, and I only lost my train of thought whenever she took off her sweater and exposed what had to be C cup breasts. I also managed to discover that she had two tattoos: One of a pair of swallows on the back of her shoulder, and one of an infinity symbol and a rose on the back of her ankle. And for some reason, I found myself not caring that we always spent an extra two hours talking at the end of each session. WEEKS LATER, I STEPPED inside the Engineering Building and headed straight for the Physics Department. I needed to put an end to this chase sooner rather than later.

“Um, hi.” Nadira looked up at me as I stepped into her student lab. “May I help you with something?” “You and I took a few classes together our junior year.” “Okay, and?” She closed her book and smiled. “I sold my notes to someone else already.” “I’m not here for your notes,” I said. “I’m here because I need your help with something.” “Something?” “Someone. Someone we have in common.” She gave me a blank stare. “You’re best friends with Charlotte Taylor,” I said. “I saw it on your Facebook page.” “Why were you trolling my Facebook page?” "That's not the point." I stepped closer to her desk. "I have questions, and they need to be answered." “Do I look like Charlotte to you?” She laughed. “Why don’t you just ask her?” “She only wants to talk to me about studying.” “Well, she is your tutor, so that makes perfect sense.” “I need to know what my chances are of seeing her on a personal level.” “Well, in that case, I would probably guess zero.” She laughed again. “Wasn’t it you who told her, you make it ‘perfectly clear’ what someone is getting when they're with you? Oh, and you also specifically said you don’t do close relationships or girlfriends.” “So, she does talk about me with you?” “No, never.” The sudden blush on her cheeks gave that lie away. “Between you and me, she's way too good for you and out of your league. Don't get me wrong, you have that whole smoldering, super sexy James Dean going on, but I think you should save yourself some wasted time and stick to the girls you're used to." I ignored that last comment. “Can you at least tell me a few things she likes?” “She likes when guys who don’t have her best interest at heart leave her the hell alone.” She slid her reading glasses over her eyes. “That’s her favorite thing.” “Anything else?” “She also likes when people show up to their tutoring sessions on time and don’t stare at her lips for several minutes at a time.” She shrugged. “I think that’s pretty much it.” “Thank you.” I headed toward the door. “You were more helpful than I thought you were going to be.”

“Wait,” she said before I stepped out into the hallway. She let out a breath and walked over to me. “Her favorite color is blue, even though she tells everyone it’s orange. She looks for every excuse possible to get out of going to football games, but she knows the sport pretty well, thanks to her dad. She claims she’s allergic to seafood, but I’m willing to bet that she’s never tried it. And just in case you’re not exactly who we both think you are ... She goes to Highland Coffee every morning for an eight-dollar caramel latte that she really can’t afford, but it makes her happy because it reminds her of the lattes she used to buy in her hometown.” I smiled. “Thank you, Nadira.” “You’re not welcome.” She smiled back. “This conversation never happened.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh “HAIL TO PITT!” NADIRA tossed back two shots of vodka and cleared her throat. “Hmmm. This is pretty smooth for a vintage vodka.” I looked at the bottle she was holding, the one that looked a little too similar to the bottle we’d confiscated on our floor last night. “You’re supposed to pour the alcohol down the sink whenever you find them drinking it, Dira. Not keep it for yourself.” “Really?” She walked over to her dresser and pulled the bottom drawer open, revealing at least twenty bottles of confiscated liquor. “I had no idea that was the rule. Are you going to report me?” “Absolutely.” I tossed a pillow at her. "Do you want me to bring you back anything from the game today? Some school spirit, perhaps?" “I’ll take a caramel apple.” She laughed and grabbed her sweater, offering me one final chance to go to the game with her and the other RAs, but I turned her down. Half an hour later, I walked down to the lower campus and watched the start of a typical game day unfold. Tons of yellow buses lined the street, ready to head to Heinz Field. Cars honked at each other for a space in the congested city traffic and the smell of tailgating BBQ filled the air. I slipped inside one of my favorite bars and took a seat in the back. As the waiter set down a menu in front of me, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. An email from Grayson. SUBJECT: TODAY’S GAME. Are you coming? —Grayson

SUBJECT: RE: TODAY’S game. No, but good luck. I’ll be rooting for you to win. —Charlotte SUBJECT: RE: RE: TODAY’S Game. “Friends” go to each other’s games, Charlotte. Do you need a ticket? —Grayson SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Today’s game. Well, since I don’t play a sport and I don’t recall ever asking you to show up to anything, I think we’re even on that point. (Tickets are sold out, as usual) I really will be rooting for you. —Charlotte SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Re: Today’s Game. I show up every Tuesday while you continuously play hard to get. Same concept. (I just left a ticket in your name at the ‘will call’ window.) You should come root for me in person. —Grayson I STARED AT HIS EMAIL, trying to think of a viable excuse to get out of going, but I couldn’t think of one. Wait. I don’t have my car today. Before I could tell him that Nadira was using my car, so I didn’t have a ride to the game, he sent me another message. SUBJECT: RIDE. Just in case you’re thinking of an excuse not to show up, my friend Seth is willing to pick you up. He’ll be at your dorm in twenty minutes and he’ll be driving a red SUV. Does this work for you? —Grayson

SUBJECT: RE: RIDE. Yes. Thank you. —Charlotte SUBJECT: RE: RE: RIDE. You’re welcome. By the way, I think now is the right time for you to finally give me your phone number. —Grayson SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Ride. I’ll think about it. —Charlotte I SMILED AND HEADED back to my dorm, changing into a pair of jeans and a navy-blue Pitt hoodie. I grabbed my camera and waited in the lobby for his friend to show. Five minutes later, a red SUV honked its horn and I made my way outside. “Seth, right?” I slipped into the passenger seat, trying to ignore all the crumpled McDonald’s bags that were on the floor. “Yes, I’m Seth.” He extended his hand to me. “Nice to meet you.” “I’m Charlotte.” “I know who you are.” He pulled his car onto the street. “Trust me.” “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” “It’s a huge compliment,” he said, speeding through a yellow light. “It’s not too often that Grayson begs me to leave the stadium so I can go back to campus and pick someone up. And by ‘not too often,’ I mean never, so I’m assuming you two must be really good friends.” “I just met him this semester.” “Bullshit,” he said. “The most I’ve ever gotten him to do for me is give me gas money, and I’ve known him since freshman year.” I didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. He quickly steered our conversation toward music and movies for the rest of the ride. When we arrived at the stadium, he walked with me to the will-call window, and then he disappeared to be with his other friends. Confused, I stared at the VIP ticket in my hands and read the blue directions that were printed on the back. As I made my way through another round of

security, I wondered why everyone else was heading in the opposite direction for their seats, why mine called for me to stand in front of an elevator and enter a code. I pressed 4-4-4-4 and the doors immediately sprang open. There were no buttons on the inside, and the cart rose to the stadium’s top floor. An older man in a bright gold varsity jacket smiled at me the second I stepped off. “Are you Charlotte Taylor?” “Yes.” “Okay, good.” He handed me a glittering “VIP” lanyard. “I was beginning to think Grayson made you up, or even worse, left his tickets unclaimed again.” He led me into a massive glass skybox that faced the field, a private room that was filled with executives and alumni. Everyone was wearing Pitt's colors, and there were waiters carrying trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The tables that lined the room were full of gourmet chocolates and sweets, and I didn't even want to know how much it cost to be in this room. “Would you like something to drink?” A brunette suddenly stepped in front of me with a tray of glasses. “Water, please.” “Right away.” She took a bottle off her tray and handed it to me. “I’ve never seen you up here before. Whose name are you under?” “Grayson Connors.” "Oh?" She smiled. "Well, that's different.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing.” She shrugged. “Just that my granddad has ownership in the stadium and he makes me work the games to earn money, and I’ve never missed one. Not since I was in high school.” I gave her a blank stare. I had no idea what the hell her grandad owning this stadium had to do with Grayson or her “different” comment. Apparently understanding the confused look on my face, she laughed. "It means that except for his mother, Grayson has never offered anyone else his skybox seats." Right ... “I’m sure he’s invited other girls up here. You probably just don’t remember.” “Nope.” She shook her head and stepped back. “Never. He doesn’t even let his guy friends use his passes.” I didn’t get a chance to say anything else before she turned away to help someone else with drinks. Unsure of where to sit, I moved to the row of seats

closest to the window and took a seat on the end. I could see the back of Grayson's jersey—the brightly emblazoned number four shining brightly as he stepped onto the field. And the moment his opening pass to Kyle Stanton became a touchdown within the first ten seconds, I knew this game was over. THREE HOURS LATER, when the last of the celebratory confetti had fallen over the field, I set down my wine glass and stepped out of the skybox. I called Nadira, to ask her to wait for me in the parking lot, but Grayson’s name popped onto my screen before the call went through. Subject: You. Are you still here? —Grayson Subject: Re: You. Yes. —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: You. Good. Wait for me. —Grayson Subject: Re: Re: Re: You. Where? —Charlotte Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: You. The Pitt-Favs concession stand on Level 2. I'll meet you there after my coach gets done talking. —Grayson I TOOK THE ELEVATOR down to the second level, making my way through the exiting crowds. As the vendors shut down their windows, I sat on a bench and watched as fan after fan gushed about the win. Twenty minutes later, Grayson walked through the hallway, stopping to take a few pictures with a few young kids. Still dressed in his football uniform, he took a seat across from me and smiled. “Did you enjoy the game?” he asked. “Not at all,” I said. “I was bored out of my mind. Did you get to play?” “I’ll take that as a yes. Do you have plans for tonight?” “Yes and no.”

“Well, there’s an after-party on the North Shore at nine. Will that time fall under the ‘yes’ or ‘no’’ part of your plans?” “I have a date at eight thirty.” “A what?” His eyes widened. “A date,” I said. “You know, those things that a guy asks you on when he’s interested in getting to know you better.” “I know what a date is.” He clenched his jaw. “How could you possibly—I mean, when did he ask you out?” "Last week," I admitted. "He's in my Anthropology class." He stared at me, not saying anything for several seconds. He gently tugged at my VIP lanyard and sighed. “You’re making this very difficult.” “I’m not trying to make anything difficult.” “You don’t have a boyfriend, but you won’t give me your phone number.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “And you’re willing to go out with other guys who are not trying as hard as me, so what do they have that I don’t?” “It’s not what you don’t have.” I took off the VIP lanyard and handed it to him. “It’s what you do have.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Grayson! Oh my God, Grayson!” A group of women across the hall suddenly made my point far better than I ever could. “Come over here and take a picture with us! Come on!” He looked over at them and then at me. “You’re saying you won’t go out with me because you honestly think groupies and shit matter to me?” “I’m saying thank you for the skybox ticket.” I stood up and smiled at him. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”

CHARLOTTE: NOW Present Day New York City “LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT, Charlotte.” My latest ex-boyfriend yelled at me over the phone. “I give you an extra month to consider moving in with me, and you dump me instead?” “I’m very sorry, Craig,” I said. “I just don’t think this is going to work out, and I think I should be honest with myself and do it sooner rather than later.” “You could have at least given me the news in person, preferably on a different day that wasn’t my birthday. Today is my birthday! I now see exactly why you never get past the six-month mark with your boyfriends. It’s not because you don’t trust easily, or because you’ve been hurt so badly before. It’s because you’re a fucking cunt.” I ended the call and he sent me a new thread of text messages. CRAIG: C-U-N-T. CUNT! You. Are. A. Cunt. CRAIG: I was going to ask you to marry me. Glad I found out you’re a heartless bitch first ... CRAIG: Please disregard my last two messages. They were out of anger, and I think you’re just being wishy-washy because you’re afraid of commitment. I know deep down you love me and I love you, too. Call me when you’ve thought everything through. I blocked his number and looked outside the backseat windows of my cab. Today was the fourth day in a row that I couldn’t bring myself to drive to and from work. Ever since I saw Grayson in Pittsburgh, I’d had trouble sleeping. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw him sitting across from me in that café. Tears fell down my face as I remembered the way he looked when I told him where I lived. I was trying to convince myself that was exactly what I needed for closure. That maybe after seeing him looking as hurt as he’d once hurt me, that I would finally be able to let him go.

Over the past seven years, I did my best to give other men a chance, but they all paled in comparison. The standard Grayson set was impossibly high, and no matter how many times I tried to let go and ‘fall’ for someone else, nothing more than a faint feeling ever came. “Okay, we’re here.” The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror. “That’ll be thirty-five dollars and seventy-four cents, Miss.” “Thank you.” I handed him two twenties and held a newspaper over my head before stepping out and rushing up the steps of my brownstone. Rushing right into my parlor room, I did what I always did to make myself feel better: Paint. I unpacked my bag of brushes and filled a few cups with water. I took out my easel, but before I could set it up, there was a knock on my door. Craig? I walked over to the door, prepared to say, "I am sorry about dumping you over the phone. Oh, and Happy Birthday," but when I opened it, I found myself face to face with a red-faced Grayson. Dressed in jeans and a drenched gray shirt that was clinging to his muscles. My heart jumped out of my chest at the sight of him, and I lost my train of thought. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice low. “Stalking is a crime, Mr. Connors.” I stepped under my brownstone’s awning and shut the door behind me. “Don’t make me call the police.” “You’re not going to call the police.” He clenched his jaw. “Is now a good time?” “Never would be better.” “Charlotte.” “Grayson.” A loud round of thunder roared in the distance, but we didn’t move. We continued staring at each other as the rain fell harder. “I’m going to give you five seconds to invite me inside your house,” he said. “I can hear you just fine from right here.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the door. “What do you want?” He didn’t answer. He waited for exactly five seconds, and then he stepped forward and grabbed me by my waist, picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder. He opened the door and carried me inside, quickly setting me down in the hallway before locking the door behind us. “Where’s your living room?” he asked. “Breaking and entering is also a crime,” I said. “You’re two for two.” “So, you still have a smart-ass mouth.” His eyes were on mine. “Good to know something I liked about you hasn’t changed.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same for you.” Silence. “Can we try to talk again?” he said. “No, I’ll pass on that. That went terribly wrong last time, but I wonder why.” “Probably because the woman I’ve been looking for, for years, has been in the same goddamn city as me this whole time and never said a fucking thing about it.” “Don’t come in my house and curse at me like that.” I glared at him, hating that he was capable of making me feel so many different emotions at once. “You have ten minutes to say whatever the hell you have to say and then I want you to leave.” I walked into the living room, feeling him close behind me. I stood by my windows, waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t say a word. He stared at me for several seconds and looked around. Then he walked into my kitchen and opened my cabinets one by one. Without asking for permission, he made two cups of coffee. He added caramel syrup, sugar, whipped cream, and then one final drizzle of caramel on top—the exact way I liked it, before handing one of the mugs to me. “Thank you,” I said softly.” Now you have six minutes.” “Okay, look.” He set down his coffee, keeping his eyes on mine. “I haven’t been able to sleep since I saw you in Pittsburgh. Have you?” “I have. My sleep has never been better.” He ignored my lies. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and I think you owe it to me, to tell me why you left me senior year without any explanation.” He pressed his finger against my lips before I could interrupt. “You owe it to us. I’m spending my offseason here in New York and I would like it if we could meet up a few times to go over some things. Can you give me that?” “No.” I pushed his hand away from my mouth and shook my head. “No, I can’t do that for you.” “And why is that?” “Because I don’t owe you anything, and you can’t walk back into my life and think that things can go back to how they used to be when you’re the one who messed them up in the first place. You, Grayson. Not me. I guess now that you’re tired of screwing A-list actresses and supermodels, you want to go on a selfredemption tour? Can you hear how insane you sound right now?” My chest heaved up and down and hot tears fell down my cheeks. He stepped closer and wiped them away with his fingertips. “Since when do you believe what people write in the tabloids?” “Two minutes.” I looked away from him. “I hope whatever else you have to say is short because I’ve heard enough.”

He gently cupped my face and tilted my chin so I was facing him again. “We both know I’m not going to stop pursuing you, so even if I leave today, I’ll be right back here tomorrow.” I let out a breath, remembering just how long he pursued me our senior year. "What do you want from me, Grayson?" “To see you again, maybe just for a few times this week so I can—” He paused. “I would prefer not to let you go again, but if that’s not possible, I would like to finally know what I did to you so I can have definite answers about why we ended. I’m sure you would like some final closure, too.” I would. “I can’t meet you multiple times in one week.” “Is it because of your job?” He looked around my living room. “Did you end up going into art or law?” “None of your business.” My heart ached. “It’s not because of my job, though. It’s because I don’t think I can handle seeing you that often. How about once every six months?” “How about, I don’t think so.” He narrowed his eyes at me, but his expression slowly softened. “Once a week.” “Once a month.” I felt my heart begging me to accept ‘once a week’ but she’d failed me in the past when it came to Grayson and I wasn’t going to let her steer me down a path of pain again. “I can do once a month.” “For how many months?” “Four.” “Fine.” He looked upset, but he didn’t push it any further. “Can I trust you not to stand me up?” “If I do, you know where I live.” A faint smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t let it stay. “Where would you prefer to meet?” “Rosy-gan Café near Central Park. The first week of every month.” “In the morning?” “Evening,” I said. “The owner will let us pay in advance to keep it open late if need be.” “Okay.” He stepped back. “Is my time up now?” I hesitated to answer. By the way he was looking at me, I almost gave in and told him that I was having problems sleeping as well. That we should just catch up right here, right now. But the second I remembered how wounded and raw he left me at the end of our relationship, I couldn’t bring myself to say that. I opened the front door. “So, we’ll meet once a month, four months only, and we'll both get the much-needed closure and leave each other alone?" He didn’t answer that.

“That’s the agreement, right, Grayson?” I repeated, but he still didn’t answer. I stepped back so he could walk past me. “Wait,” I touched his arm before he walked into the rain. “On what day are we meeting?” He tilted his head to the side, and the sexy smile that still invaded my dreams at night spread across his face. “I’m sure you already know the answer to that.”

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day New York City OUR FIRST NEW TUESDAY came weeks later, and I wasn't the slightest bit surprised that Charlotte never showed.

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh THREE THINGS SET HIGHLAND Coffee apart from all the other coffee shops on campus. For one, they allowed customers to have unlimited mochas on their slower days. Two, they made all their famous sweets from scratch. And three, they had a second level that they opened on rainy days like today so we could take advantage of the view. I arrived right when they opened their doors this morning, right after I saw the gray clouds outside my window. Armed with a comfortable hoodie and two of my favorite books, I was hoping to make the most of my only class-free day. “Here you are, Charlotte.” The owner placed a fresh caramel latte on my table. “Let me know if you need anything else.” “Wait a minute,” I said. “Yes?” “This is like the second week in a row that you haven’t asked me to pay for my coffee. Why?” "I would tell you, but I swore to keep it a secret." She smiled. “Well, can I guess and then you wink if my prediction is correct? It’s Grayson, isn’t it?” “You can let me know when you need a refill.” She laughed and walked away from me. I pulled out my phone and tapped on the calculator, staring at the last number I saved. If the café was going by the number of lattes I’d ordered since Grayson started “secretly” covering them for me, his total so far was one hundred and twenty-five dollars. I forced myself to calculate the amount Saturday night when my cheap-ass date was complaining about me wanting something from the concession stand at the movies. It was bad enough that he made me pay my way because he "wasn't expecting to buy two tickets,” but he suggested that we walk to the supermarket and risk

missing the first twenty minutes of the film. The reason? So he could save two dollars on the candy and get “way better drinks.” I wasn’t even surprised when he asked for gas money at the end of the night. I was stunned that he had the audacity to ask me on a second date, though. At this point, I was retiring my foolish college romance dreams and sticking to Nadira’s previous prescription of guy friends only. Every guy I dated disappointed me more than the last, and the one guy who was trying the hardest was completely out of the question. No matter how many hours me and Nadira stayed up late to weigh the pros and cons of me becoming closer to Grayson—even as a friend, I couldn’t get past the media scrutiny and on-campus attention he received. If he was at a party, everyone knew he was there. If he changed his Facebook status, it instantly garnered thousands of likes. And the second it “looked” like he was with a girl—even if it was an alleged “post-game fuck” or consensual one night stand, the slut-shaming rumor mill received fresh wind. I was far too private for that, and although he was landing the starring role in all my latest fantasies, I was hoping he would eventually stop pursuing me. “Are you talking to yourself?” The deep sound of his voice startled me, making me turn around. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “It’s not Tuesday.” “Best friends should be able to see each other whenever they want.” “Nadira is my best friend. You’re someone I tolerate.” He laughed and took a seat, motioning for the barista. “Good afternoon, Grayson.” She blushed as she walked over. “What can I get you?” “A regular coffee and a box of glazed donuts. Me and my best friend are going to be here for a while.” She muttered “Lucky bitch” under her breath before rushing off to get his requests. “I’m in the middle of reading a very important book,” I said. “You’re interrupting.” He lifted the book from my hands and flipped it over. “You’ve read Harry Potter already. Eight times, if I remember right." “Everyone knows the ninth re-read of Harry Potter is the most important one.” “I’m sure.” He smiled and waited until the barista finished setting down his donuts and coffee. “How was your date this weekend?” "It was amazing." I picked up a donut. "It was the most romantic date I've ever been on in my life. He was a true gentleman all the way and I'll never forget it."

“Hmmm.” He sipped his coffee “Where exactly did he take you?” “To the movies.” “That’s romantic?” "That's just the start. He also took me for a long walk on the waterfront and treated me to a five-star dinner in Station Square. We talked so long that the owner had to put us out at the end.” “Which restaurant at Station Square?” “Buca di Beppo.” "Oh?" A smirk formed on his lips. "Is that so?" "Yes." “Well, that would’ve been impossible since our team moved our party there at the last minute, and we had the dining room from nine until three. So, unless your romantic date picked up your food to go or you went somewhere else, you’re lying to make me even more jealous than I already am.” “You’re jealous?” “That’s not the point,” he said. “Tell me the truth.” “Okay, fine.” I let out a breath. “He made me buy my own ticket and concessions, and at the end, he asked for gas money. He also asked me on a second date.” “Did you say no?” “I haven’t decided yet.” I lied. “Maybe he was nervous and the second time will be better.” “I highly doubt it. Do you have plans for this weekend?” “I’m not sure. Nadira mentioned something since there’s no game this weekend. What about you? Surely you have a date or two lined up.” “I don’t typically do those,” he said, “but if I did, I can guarantee you that I would know better than to take someone like you to the movies and dinner if I wanted to make an impression.” I blushed and sipped my coffee. “I’ll probably analyze the footage from my last game,” he said, changing the subject. “I want to improve on the three hundred seventy-five yards and twentytwo completions I threw.” “Three hundred ninety-five.” “What?” “You threw for three hundred ninety-five yards.” I set down my cup. “And you had twenty-three completions.” “I thought you weren’t that big on football.” He looked impressed. “I’m not big on school spirit. I love football, though. Always have.” “Hmmm.” He smiled. “Good to know.”

“Can I go back to reading my book now?” “No.” He moved it to his side of the table. Then he pulled a folder from his backpack. “I need your help with my feminist Shakespeare papers first.” “Those aren’t due until next month,” I said, pulling out his syllabus. “Not only that, but those should be some of the easiest papers for you to write.” "If that were the case, I wouldn't be here asking you about it." “Just make up whatever you think a female is thinking when she’s having an orgasm and ‘dying a thousand little deaths’ since that’s Shakespeare’s true interpretation and you’ll be fine.” “Better yet,” he said, clicking his pen. “Why don’t you tell me that and we’ll call this a night?” “I’m not the right person to ask.” “Why not? Just think about the last time you had sex and tell me what was going through your mind when you came.” He sipped his coffee. “No judgment here.” I sighed. “I wouldn’t know.” "Is it because you tend to black out mentally during sex?" He clicked his pen again. "It might be easier for me to convey that idea instead." “It’s because I’ve never had sex.” He spat out his coffee and his eyes went wide. Then he just stared at me. For a long time. “Are you done, Grayson?” “My apologies,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that.” “Not everyone has spent their entire college career sleeping with everything that moves.” “I haven’t had sex at all this semester.” “I’m sure that’s a personal record for you.” “We’re not talking about me. You’re a virgin?” He still looked surprised. “Were you ever going to tell me this?” “I’m not sure when it would’ve been necessary for me to bring it up, so, no. I was never going to tell you that.” “Interesting.” He shut his notebook. “Good for you.” “I feel like you’re being sarcastic.” “I’m not.” He looked genuine. “Hey, guys.” The owner stepped next to our table and set down two fresh lattes. “I’m going to have to close a little early today. My four o’clock barista didn’t show and I need to pick up my daughter from the babysitter. I’ll make this up to you on another rainy day, I promise.” “No problem,” we said in unison. “Thank you.”

I tossed my things into my bag and headed down the steps, with Grayson close behind. Stepping outside, I let up my umbrella and looked up at him. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Of course. Where’s your car?” “I walked here today.” I shrugged. “My dorm is only a few blocks away.” “Let me drive you.” He pulled car keys out of his pocket and the black SUV in front of us flashed its lights. I didn’t get a chance to think about it. Grayson pressed his hand against the small of my back and walked me over to the passenger side. He opened the door and waited for me to buckle my seatbelt before moving to his side. “Which dorm do you stay in?” He looked over at me as he cranked the engine. “Lothrop Hall.” “That’s more than a few blocks away.” He steered his car onto Forbes Avenue and turned on the windshield wipers. For the entire ride, neither of us spoke, and the rain pelting against his hood was the only sound between us. When he pulled up to my dorm, he put the car in park and faced me. “Are you really going to give a second chance to someone who made you pay for everything on a first date?” “Maybe.” I knew I didn’t sound convincing. “Not everyone in college gets tons of scholarship money and gifts of cars and coffee like you. I can’t afford that much either, you know.” "I work every summer for my money," he said. "And when my father died, he left me his pension and this car we're sitting in. Those things were willed to me; they're not gifts." “I didn’t mean it like that.” My voice trailed off. “I’m sorry about your dad.” “Don’t be.” He turned off the car. “Answer my question about the date.” “Grayson, I promise it’s not personal.” “It’s beyond personal.” He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, setting every single nerve in my body on fire. “No.” I sighed. “No, I wouldn’t really go on a second date with someone like that.” “And you’ll never go on a date with someone like me either?” “We’ve talked about this.” “We haven’t,” he said, locking his eyes on mine. “We haven’t talked about anything because you still refuse to give me your phone number. You also have yet to accept my friend request on Facebook.” “I barely use Facebook.”

“That’s not the point.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “But just so you know, I’m not the quitting type. So, if you think I’m going to stop pursuing you, you’re sadly mistaken, and you’re about to learn a few things about my stamina.” I blushed. “I’m sure your stamina is quite impressive, but—” He pressed his lips against mine, cutting my sentence short. I sucked in a breath as he ran his fingers through my hair, as he bit my bottom lip before sliding his tongue against mine to control the tempo of the kiss. “Wait.” I pulled back, temporarily caught off guard. “Are you really that upset about me not giving you my phone number?” “No, I’m not upset at all. I’m fucking livid about it.” He pulled me close again, and I gave in and kissed him back. I shut my eyes as he softly bit my bottom lip— instantly making me wet. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he continually ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me like I’d never been kissed in my life. Several minutes later, he slowly pulled away from me and kept his eyes on mine. “Just so you know,” he said, his voice hoarse, “yes, I’m jealous as fuck about your date. But I can guarantee that your next one, whoever he is, will never kiss you like that.” I didn’t get a chance to respond. He got out of the car and walked over to my side, opening the door for me. He held an umbrella over my head as I stepped out and walked me to the entrance. I tried to find something—anything, to say, but I couldn’t think of a single word. “I’ll see you Tuesday.” He held the door for me and watched me until I stepped into the elevator.

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh KISSING CHARLOTTE JUST made this shit worse. I was sitting in my living room, days later—unable to fully focus on the game tapes because all I could think about was her. My mind was alternating between the memory of kissing her in my car and processing the fact that she was a virgin. The latter was normally an automatic deal breaker for me, and if she were anyone else, I would've stopped pursuing her at once, but for some reason, I was even more intrigued. Still, I wasn’t used to being rejected time after time, and I wasn’t used to caring about being rejected. I was accustomed to women saying “yes” to me within seconds, and I’d never had to work this hard just to get someone’s phone number. “Does this text message say what I think it does, or am I still dreaming?” Kyle stumbled into our living room and plopped onto the couch. “In my dream, I had an inflatable hot tub in my bedroom, so I’m not sure if I’m completely awake yet.” “You really do have an inflatable hot tub in your room, Kyle.” I glanced down our hallway and noticed a blonde tiptoeing out of his room. Why is she climbing out of the window? “Okay, so I am awake.” He laughed and held his phone in front of his face. “But your text message has to be a joke then, right?” “Forget I ever sent it.” “How can I convince a girl to give me her phone number?” He read my words aloud and laughed even louder. “I could’ve sworn you were the one who said we weren’t in high school anymore.” “Go back to sleep, Kyle.” "Trust me. I will." He was still laughing. "To answer your question, though. You say, Hey. I'm Grayson fucking Connors, and I want your phone number. That works ninety-nine percent of the time." “I’ve already tried that on this girl.”

“Then try it on another one.” He shrugged. “There are way too many girls here to get attached to one your senior year, especially right before you head into the league. But hey, if you are trying to get attached to someone, keep that line of thinking far away from me because I’m too busy trying to break a personal record this year.” “How’s that going so far?” “I’m about five behind from where I was at this point last year.” He pulled out his phone and tapped his screen. “But according to my calculations, if I attend a few additional showings of The Vagina Monologues, there’s a high chance I could surpass last year’s mark by this weekend. Would you like to see my spreadsheet?” “You have a spreadsheet?” I gave him a blank stare. “Of course I do. I need a way to make sure my numbers are always on track. It’s the mark of a good Economics major.” “For the umpteenth time, you are a Communications major. You've taken one economics class, and you got a C." “A C plus.” He laughed and put his phone away. “Anyway, whoever this mystery girl is you’ve been hanging out with these days, better be hot as hell. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re not around as much lately. I just hope it’s not Charlotte Taylor.” He burst into laughter again. “That would be the most—I mean, can you imagine dealing with Miss ‘I want to make cookies and coffee so we can talk all night?’ Outside of your tutoring sessions? Oh, God, that would be—" He stopped laughing once he saw the look on my face. "Oh, come on! You’ve got to be kidding me.” I didn’t say anything. “She’s the one who won’t give you her phone number?” His jaw dropped. “In that case, she’s even worse than my friend Mike said. I mean, at the rate you’re going, she probably won’t let you kiss her until she’s eighty. Hell, now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a goddamn virgin.” I still didn’t say anything. “Like, this doesn’t make any sense at all for someone like you. Out of all the girls on this campus that would drop their panties for you in a heartbeat, all the girls who are willing to come home with you after every party ..." He stood up and paced the floor with a panicked look on his face as if he was contemplating something complex. "You're chasing someone who won't give you her phone number, Grayson.” “Maybe we should talk about this when you’re completely awake and sane.” “I’m more than awake right now.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’m going to sleep for five days straight because that’s how long it’s going to take me to process my best friend turning into a pussy.”

“Fuck you, Kyle.” “Stop chasing Charlotte, and I’ll find girls who’ll happily do that for you.” “You’re making this a bigger deal than it really is.” “I’m not, but hold that thought,” he said. “Someone’s knocking at the door. Spoiler alert: It’s a girl I invited over. Double spoiler alert: She’s one of three girls that’ll be over here this weekend alone because I’m not a pussy like you.” I turned off the TV and braced myself for an evening of his ridiculous logic, but when he returned to the room, he cleared his throat. “I was wrong,” he said. “The person at the door is for you.” “Who is it?” “Miss Cookies and Books.” He smiled. “Shall I put on some coffee?” I ignored his comment and headed to the door. When I opened it, Charlotte was standing there in another sexy gray dress and a pair of blue heels. “Yes?” I looked her up and down and was instantly turned on. “I um ...” Her cheeks turned red as she handed me a pink box. “This is for you.” “My birthday is next month.” “It’s not a birthday present,” she said. “My parents came up from my hometown this afternoon. It’s this place called New Brighton with a couple of thousand people. It's like three hours away, so they bring me stuff all the time.” I raised my eyebrow, completely confused by what she was trying to say. “Anyway ...” She was still blushing. “I asked them to stop at this place called Harlow’s because I noticed you always eat donuts whenever we’re out, so I figured you might want to try what the best ones in the world taste like.” “You came all the way to my apartment to bring me donuts?” This was a first. “Harlow’s donuts.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “They’re nothing like other donuts. I also came up here to personally thank you for the skybox season pass. I’m assuming the delivery I received today was from you?” “It was.” “Well, thank you very much.” “You’re welcome.” She bit her bottom lip, and I leaned against the doorframe. "Is that all?" “No, um. I also wanted to tell you that I’ve enjoyed the past few weeks with you at study sessions, especially since we always stay after and talk for a long time. So, I think we can officially be close friends.” “I think we can be more than close friends.” "Just friends will suffice." “For now.” “Forever.” She smiled and stepped back. “See you later, Grayson.”

I watched her walk away—half aroused, half confused as hell. I returned to the kitchen and set the box on the counter. “She’s not coming in?” Kyle asked. “I was about to brew the coffee.” “I’m sure you were.” “What’s in the box, then?” He pointed. “My guess is your balls. Thank God she was nice enough to return them before the end of the season.” I held back a laugh and flipped open the box, revealing a dozen strawberry sprinkle donuts with her phone number written on each one in white frosting.

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day New York City SUBJECT: M.I.A? Grayson, I called you three times this week, and I've sent you eight emails. Can you please let me know where you stand on the proposal Nike sent over last week? Also, what did you mean when you said you're not going anywhere this summer until you address some "other business?" Are you signing deals behind my back? —Anna SUBJECT: TMZ A photog caught a grainy image of you walking out of a brownstone across town not too long ago. They’ve posted the image with speculation that you were there to meet a realtor for a new place to stay. Let me know what you want to tell them about that. PS—I know you said you're not interested in dating anyone from the fashion world "ever again," but I spoke with supermodel Isabelle Kline's agent and she's staging a major comeback this year. Would you mind having a few staged dates with her? Just for good press to help her out? (It would also add a bit of color to your image when it comes to your dating life, don't you think?) —Anna I GROANED AND TURNED off my phone. Since the day Charlotte stood me up, I was dodging all aspects of my professional career until I got to the bottom of her disappearance. I was turning down every interview, every meeting with sponsors, and I didn’t want to speak to anyone from the NFL. Well, except for the person I was meeting tonight.

I locked my phone in my glove compartment and stepped out of my car, heading into my team’s sports complex. Holding up my access card for the doors, I stopped and signed an autograph for the new security guard. "Congratulations, Mr. Connors." He held up his hand for a high-five. "Any chance you're considering chasing a three-peat next season?" “Of course.” I slapped his hand. “That’s the only option.” “Your guest is in the restaurant waiting,” he said. “I told him you were running late.” “Thank you.” I headed to the locker room and grabbed my MVP trophy, carrying it with me upstairs. "Here I was thinking that you were going to be an adult about this." Kyle stood up as I approached, adjusting his cufflinks. "I should've known better." “You should’ve.” I plopped the trophy in the center of the table. “Two years in a row of beating your team in the playoffs and winning MVP. I wouldn’t be a good best friend if I didn’t take this opportunity to share my victory with you. This isn’t just mine, you know. It’s for the both of us.” “Fuck you, Grayson.” He laughed and took a seat. “I would tell you congratulations, but you don’t deserve it.” “Thank you.” I motioned for the waitress to bring a fresh bottle of wine to the table. Ever since we were drafted into the NFL, we made it a point to meet over dinner at the end of every season. No matter which of our teams fared better, the menu was always the same: Steak, bottles of wine, a short walk down memory lane. While I spent most of my time off the field investing in small companies here or there, Kyle was now the face of Ralph Lauren, Reebok, and Gatorade. With his increasing layers of fame, he’d become far more restrained with women than he was in college. For the most part. “Grayson?” He waved his hand in front of my face. “Grayson, are you there?” “Huh?” "We've been sitting here ten minutes, and you haven't started gloated about your historic performance in the Super Bowl yet. If we go five more minutes, I may have to check for a pulse." “Sorry.” I sipped my wine. “I was thinking about something.” “Something other than your win?” “It’s Charlotte.” He let out a long sigh and picked up his glass, drinking it in one gulp. Then he poured himself a shot of whiskey.

“It’s been seven years, and she hasn’t even sent you a birthday card." He seethed. "She disappeared for no reason—leaving you wrecked for God knows how long, and you have no idea where she is currently. I understand that you were hurt for the first couple years, but it's way past time for you to let her go." “She’s here in New York.” He uncorked a new bottle of wine and drank straight from the rim. “I saw her at the reunion,” I said. “For some strange reason, she’s under the impression that I was the one who did something to break us up.” I looked him square in the eye. “Are you sure you didn’t say anything to her our senior year?” “Jesus Christ.” He kept his voice calm. “For the umpteenth time, I would’ve never stepped in between you and Charlotte, and I highly doubt you would’ve let me. The fact of the matter is that she ghosted you. Period. I don’t care what crazy excuse she’s made up in her mind about it after all this time. The last thing I remember saying to her was, ‘See you at the draft party in New York.' The very same party where you were going to ask her to marry you." He shook his head. "You were too young to get married anyway, and you dodged a bullet, so it was good she didn't show up." The waitress set our steaks down and replaced the wine before stepping away. “Let’s talk about something else,” I said. “Gladly. Tell me about the championship parade plans, since I won’t be caught dead watching it.” I laughed and ran down the list of over the top things my team had planned. I told him about my predictions for next season and listened as he told me about his desire to play for another football team. We swapped stories about our endorsement deals, laughed at our agents' Type A personalities, and by the time we finished, it was three in the morning. “Shit,” he said. “I’ve got two hours to make it to the airport. I can’t believe I didn’t make you take me to the club while I was here. I wasted an entire day of my life on you.” “I feel the same way.” He laughed and extended his hand. "So, when will you see Charlotte again?" I shrugged, attempting to be nonchalant. “What makes you think I plan on seeing her again?” “Because I know you,” he said. “When?” This week. "In a few weeks." “Will this meeting be taking place on a Tuesday?” He smiled. “Yeah.” “Figures. Is she married? Any kids? Still sexy as hell?” “No, not that I know of, and yes.”

"Well, look. I'll never repeat this because a part of me will always hate her for leaving you the way she did, but if you ever end up with someone for the longterm who isn't Charlotte Taylor, I'll have to be honest and tell you that you're making the biggest mistake of your life." He paused. "But she better have a damn good reason for leaving you, never making contact, and hiding her whereabouts. I mean, come on. Seven years? Does she have any idea who the hell she was dating back then?” I laughed. “Thank you for your opinion, as always, Kyle.” “You’re more than welcome,” he said. “One last thing, though. Do me a favor when you meet up with her.” “Name it.” “Ask her why she never called you once.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh “I HATE SEAFOOD PLACES." I rolled over on my bed and held the phone against my ear. "Especially the ones where they let you pick your crab and cook it for you on the spot." Grayson’s deep laughter came over the line. “So, you’ve never actually tried seafood?” "No," I admitted. "But I've walked out of plenty of restaurants that serve it, so I'm going to trust my instincts and accept that it's terrible." He laughed again. “You should let me take you to one this weekend. I think I can change your mind.” “I’ll consider it.” I blushed. I was about to ask him which seafood restaurant he thought was the best, but my alarm clock rang. It’s six o’clock already? “Um. I have to go,” I said, sitting up. “I need to get ready for my morning class.” “You have a class that starts at seven?” “No, eight.” I stood up and slammed the snooze button. “But I have a ritual, remember? Hot shower, latte, newsstand stop, then class. If I don’t do those things in the exact order, my entire day falls apart.” “You left out your need to grab an overpriced bagel at Einstein’s,” he said. “That was implied.” I laughed. “So, I’ll talk to you later?” “You’ll see me. Today is a Tuesday.” His voice over the phone was beyond sexy. “I’ll see you later.” “See you later.” I ended the call and looked at the total time we’d talked. Seven hours for the eighth day in a row. The longest I’d ever talked to any guy on the phone. Smiling, I undressed and headed to the shower room. Turning on the cold water, I leaned back against the tile to make sure I was fully awake and sane. That

I was not wishing that I could stay on the phone with Grayson for the rest of the day instead of going to class. I decided to make a list of ten reasons why he needed to remain in the friend zone, but by the time I finished my shower, I could only think of five. And the top three were “Because he’s Grayson Connors.” Still struggling to come up with another reason, I tugged on a pair of my favorite jeans and vowed to figure this out later. With twenty minutes to spare, I tossed my notebooks into my purse and took the steps to the lobby. I buttoned my blazer as I walked outside, stopping when I saw Grayson’s car parked right out front. Confused, I stepped closer. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Giving you a ride to class. It’s at Posvar Hall, right?” “Yes, but ...” I didn’t move any closer. I just stared at him. Say you need to pick up your latte. Say you need to— “I picked up your latte,” he said, holding up a brown cup. Then he held up a white paper bag. “And your bagel.” There was no point in resisting his offer, so I gave in and got into his car. “Thank you.” I took the latte from his hands. “Do you have an eight o’clock class today as well?” “No.” He smiled and leaned over me, pulling the seatbelt over my shoulder. “I have someone I like, but since I also have the feeling that she’s going to try to make excuses for reasons why she shouldn’t give me a chance, I feel like I need to take a different approach.” “What’s your typical approach?” "I'm not sure," he said, steering his car onto the street. "I've never wanted a girlfriend before.” I blushed and looked out the window. I had no words to say to that. He dropped me off at Posvar Hall four minutes later, and as I stepped out, he gave me a smile that made butterflies flutter against my stomach. “Do you need a ride anywhere else before our tutoring session today?” he asked. "No." I crossed my arms, hiding a smile. "But you know, I don't think you need a peer tutor. Something tells me you would make A's without my help." “Are you quitting?” “No,” I said. “I just don’t think we need to call them ‘tutoring sessions’ anymore, especially since we only talk about your work for five minutes.” “So, does that mean I don’t need to bring my work anymore?” “I didn’t say that.” I shut his car door and laughed. “See you later.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh SOMETHING WAS WRONG with me. Something severe. That was the only plausible explanation as to why I was staring at my cell phone like a love-sick teenager, waiting for Grayson to call me tonight. I was now accustomed to hearing his voice at the end of every day, talking to him about anything and everything until sunrise. In addition to our never-ending phone calls, Grayson continued to pick me up every morning and take me to class—hot latte, sweet kiss, and bagel included. Our Tuesdays were still our best days—a set place and time to discuss his dreams about the NFL and my conflicting dreams for art and law. His game days, a perfect mix of football and dirty post-game kisses, were the highlight of my week (Even though I refused to admit it). I was finding it quite ironic that he was far more of a gentleman than all the guys I dated before, but even though he made it a point to kiss me like no other guy could at the end of every meet-up, I was still hesitant to label whatever we were doing as “dating.” My phone vibrated at exactly ten thirty, but before I could pick it up, Nadira swiped it off my desk. “Hello?” she answered, giving me an ‘I’m so tired of this shit’ look. “I’m aware that I’ not Charlotte, Grayson. I’m taking this call as her annoyed roommate.” I tried to take the phone away from her, but she overpowered me and moved across the room. “Here’s the thing,” she said to him. “I have two practical exams and a paper that I have to defend in the morning. I need my sleep, but whenever you call her, I end up staying up until sunrise because the two of you can’t seem to shut up.” I heard his deep laughter and a “My apologies” through the speakers. “Apology not accepted.” She walked over to my closet and pulled out a jacket. Then she tossed it to me. "Charlotte's phone is going to stay with me

tonight, and it's going to remain off. If you want to talk to her, you can meet her in our lobby." He laughed again. “Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes. Have a good night, Nadira.” “I definitely will now.” She ended the call and tossed my phone into her lockbox. “You’re welcome.” “What exactly am I thanking you for?” “I don’t know.” She pulled her sheets back and crawled into bed. “It sounded like the right thing to say at the time.” “I didn’t realize we were keeping you up.” “You still are.” She pointed to the door. “And to make matters worse, you always have the audacity to talk to me for an additional few hours and question his motives. I think it’s pretty clear that he likes you at this point.” “You don’t think Grayson just wants to fuck me?” "Of course he wants to fuck you, Charlotte." She looked at me like I was crazy. "Hell, if I were into women, I would want to fuck you—you're stunning. But I don't think that's all he wants, and I don't know any guy who would do as much as he's done if he only wanted sex. If that were the case, he would've given up when you made him work for your phone number." “So, you think he’ll eventually want us to be more than—” "No, no, no." She interrupted me and pointed to the door. "Hold that thought for discussion tomorrow. Your mouth is still moving, which means I'm still not sleeping." “Just one last—” “Out.” She tossed a pillow at my face. “Now.” I tossed it back at her and hit the lights on my way out. I took the elevator down to the lobby and saw Grayson’s SUV pulling into a spot across the street. Zipping my jacket, I stepped outside and walked over to him. “Hey,” I said. “Sorry about Nadira. I forget that she always needs a night of silence before her exams.” He didn’t say anything. He looked me up and down, and without a word, he pushed me against his car and pressed his mouth against mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and shut my eyes as he kissed me breathless. I felt his cock hardening through his pants as he gripped my waist, and I couldn’t help but blush at the realization of how huge he was. "Get out of the street!" Someone honked at us as they drove by, but Grayson didn't tear away from me. He kissed me even harder, making me murmur as he bit my bottom lip.

“Are you coming to the team’s victory party Saturday night?” he whispered against my mouth. “How can you plan a victory party before you play the game?” “Because the outcome is a given.” He bit my lip a bit harder. “Stop deflecting. Are you coming?” “I’m still thinking about it.” “You said that last time and left after three minutes.” He smiled and slowly let me go. “I think you should try to stay for at least two hours. For me.” “I can do two hours.” “Good.” He kissed my forehead and clasped my hand, walking me back to Lothrop’s doors. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “You’re not coming in to talk?” “No,” he said. “I was calling you earlier to get a raincheck since I need to go to bed early tonight." “Why didn’t you tell Nadira that?” “Her alternative suggestion was better.” He held the door for me. “Good night, Charlotte.” “Wait,” I said. “I need to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer.” “I’m listening.” “Are you doing all of this elaborate, sweet, gentlemanly stuff just to get me to sleep with you?” "No." He brushed a few stray hairs from my forehead. "I'm doing all of this ‘elaborate, sweet, gentlemanly stuff’ to show you I like you. Why you’re still refusing to believe that, I have no idea. I blushed. “So, you don’t want to have sex with me? You’re fine with us never doing that?” He let out a low laugh and kissed my lips. “I’ll see you at my game Saturday.” “Answer my question.” He smiled and stepped back, looking me over one last time. “I just did.” SATURDAY’S GAME WAS the definition of a bloodbath for the opposing team. It was a 53-7 bruising that made everyone in the stadium feel restless and anxious for the game clock to put them out of their misery. In addition to extending Pitt’s undefeated record to 10-0 for the season, the game solidified one of the longest winning streaks in the school’s history. They had yet to lose a single game since a loss to Louisville my sophomore year.

In my first show of school spirit, I was wearing a #4 Pitt jersey with “Connors” painted on the back in pink and a matching khaki skirt with pawprinted flats. I’d debated changing clothes before the victory party, but Grayson’s latest “I fucking love what you wore to my game today” text made me change my mind. “I’m kind of upset that you guys aren’t going to this party with me.” I turned around from the mirror, facing Eric and Nadira. “I got you both into the skybox and this is how you repay me?” “First of all,” Eric said, looking up from my desk. “Grayson got us into the skybox because he knows we’re friends with you.” “And second of all—” Nadira chimed in. “The adults in this room, i.e. me and Eric, can’t afford to spend every weekend going out like someone we know. What’s happened to you, Charlotte? You used to be such a boring, good girl, and now you actually seem to have a life.” They both laughed, and I rolled my eyes. “I’d go, but I told you I have a date tonight.” Eric kissed me on the cheek. “I think I like this girl, so I’m not going to push the date back. Be sure to tell your boyfriend I said thank you for the skybox ticket, though.” “He’s not my boyfriend.” “He’s definitely your boyfriend,” he and Nadira said in unison. “Speaking of which—” He pulled a few bills from his wallet and handed them to Nadira. “You were right about the two of them. I’ll have to pay the rest of our bet in crepes to you tomorrow. See y’all later.” “See ya!” Nadira held up one of the bills to the light. “You two have a bet going on me and Grayson?” I asked. “We have five bets going on you and Grayson.” She laughed. “I’ve won three so far.” “What are the bets about?” “If I tell you, you’ll disown me as your best friend. Besides, that’s cheating and I promised Eric I’d play fair.” “You can’t tell me the bets you’ve already won, then?” “Oh, sure.” She walked over to me and adjusted my necklace. “The first bet was that you would make him wait at least a month before giving him your phone number. The second bet was that you would start going to all his games.” “And the third?” She smiled. “That you would continue to deny that he was your boyfriend when everyone on this campus can see that but you.” “And the fourth and fifth bets?” “Nice try.” She laughed. “I’ll never tell you those.”

Before I could ask her something else, someone knocked on our door. “Um, Charlotte and Nadira?” “Yeah?” Nadira said. “The door is open.” The door opened and Tracy—the girl who lived directly across from us, stepped inside. “I have a question about the alcohol policy.” Her voice was a whisper. “If we’re caught drinking, it’s a simple citation, right?” “Right.” Nadira crossed her arms. “What happens if someone is passed out and they can’t wake up? Like, what if they’ve been out cold for like, four hours? Is that a citation as well, or do we have to call 911?” “What the—Are you shitting me?” Nadira picked up her phone and called 9-11. “Which room is it?” “Nine twelve.” Nadira requested an ambulance, and I sent a Code Blue text to the Campus Health Emergency Line. I messaged the other Lothrop RAs and asked them to come to our floor ASAP. “The medics will be here with a team in three minutes.” Nadira grabbed a kit from our cabinet. “How much did she drink and what type of alcohol was it?” “I don’t know how much she drank.” Tracy’s cheeks flushed red. “It was Everclear.” “I love Everclear! Is there any of that left?” “Nadira.” I shot her a look. “Really?” “It’s worth asking.” She headed toward the door. “There are plenty of RAs on hand tonight, so we can all handle this without you, Charlotte. Don’t you dare think about using this as an excuse to get out of going to his party.” “But—” I spotted a group of other RAs running down the hall, shouting our rehearsed codes for instances like this. “It’s our floor. Aren’t we both required to do the paperwork?” She shut the door without saying another word, and I considered her threat for all of five seconds. I scrolled through my contacts and called Grayson. “Yes?” He answered on the first ring. “Um hi.” I still couldn’t believe how a single word from his deep voice managed to turn me on. “I wanted to let you know that there’s been an emergency drinking situation in my dorm, so um...” “So, you’re using that as an excuse to get out of coming to my party?” There was a smile in his voice. “Yes. Is it working?” “Not at all.” He laughed. “Are you dressed?”

“Yeah. I was going to catch the next shuttle.” “Don’t. I’ll be there to pick you up in twenty minutes.” He ended the call and sent me a text message. GRAYSON: Nadira suggested that I should be ready to pick you up in case you tried to get out of coming. You have great friends. I have traitor friends. I laughed and looked over my makeup one last time before grabbing a jacket and heading to the elevator. A team of medics rushed by when I made it to the lobby, so I sent Nadira a text. ME: Please tell me she’s still breathing. NADIRA: She is, but she’ll need her stomach pumped. AGAIN. I called her parents and filed a violation report since we let it slide last time. Ugh. (On the plus side, I confiscated their Everclear and took it to our room. They had THREE bottles. #winning) ME: Good. I think we should file violation reports and call parents on the first serious offense from here on out to prevent any more recklessness. (You are ridiculous. Be generous and donate one to me.) “Excuse me.” A brunette in blue scrubs tapped my shoulder. “Are you Charlotte Taylor?” “Yeah,” I said. “If you’re with the campus health team, you can talk with the RA-on duty. She’s on the ninth floor and her name is Nadira Hill.” “I’m not with campus health.” She looked me up and down. “But I am someone you should know. I tried adding you on Facebook recently, but I guess spending all of your time with Grayson Connors means you’re too busy to be friends with people you go to college with, huh?” I took a step back. My sudden surge of Facebook friend requests was now numbered at a staggering two thousand, but I thought it was a glitch, so I’d let them remain unanswered. If I honestly had to guess, I would’ve said the newfound interest was the result of me being named Pitt’s Pre-Law Student of the Year, not hanging with Grayson. “I only add people that I know personally,” I said. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll be sure to hit ignore on your request. Tell me your name so I can do it right now.” “Ha! So, you think you know Grayson Connors personally?” She placed her hand over her chest and laughed. “Right.” “I’m sorry, have we met before?” And if not, can you get the hell away from me?

“We haven’t met, but I wanted to come by and do you a personal favor.” She pursed her lips. “Everyone has been talking about how he hasn’t been attending the usual parties or hitting up any of the girls he used to fuck.” She let the word ‘fuck’ hang in the air for a few seconds. “He’s somehow trading all of that in for spending time with ‘that whack ass Charlotte girl’ i.e. you, so I thought I’d warn you that he’ll never claim you as anything more than an off-field hobby.” I’d never slapped someone mid-sentence before, but this girl was seconds away from being the victim of my first attempt. “I know his M.O.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and looked sympathetic. “He’ll say all the right things and pretend that he wants more from you, that he’s interested in being in a real relationship. He’ll take you on dates in cute cafes to make it look like he’s publicly into you. You may even get a few late nights talking on the phone and some weekend dates, but he’ll never kiss you in public. Even if he does, it’ll be in some corner at night, his car, or some isolated place where he can make sure no one else knows about your pseudo-relationship. When you finally ask to be official, he’ll hit you with his trademark, “I don’t do girlfriends, but I like what we have” line. And once he’s tired of you—and he will get tired of you—he’ll dump you and do it to someone else. Because there will always be someone else willing and waiting to sleep with him in a heartbeat. I wish I listened to those rumors myself. Maybe I wouldn’t have wasted an entire summer of my life.” I stared at her, half wondering where I’d seen her before and half debating whether I still had time to go for the slap. She turned away as Grayson pulled up to the curb. “You’re welcome for the warning.” “I don’t recall saying thank you.” I stepped outside and forced a smile as Grayson opened the passenger door for me. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “No.” I got into the car and stared straight ahead, trying to think about anything else but what that psycho brunette said. I tried to remember what Nadira told me weeks ago when the onslaught of friend requests began. “Please don’t let any of these jealous and petty girls get to you.” Grayson clasped my hand behind the gear shift as we approached a red-light. “Are you sure nothing is wrong?” “I’m a little tired.” I looked over at him. “That’s all.” “I’ll bring you back whenever you’re ready to leave—after your two hours, that is. Unless you want to spend the night.” “I didn’t bring any overnight clothes.”

“It’s not too late for me to turn around.” I laughed and he continued driving, speeding across the lanes until we reached his apartment. There was a line of people standing outside his door already, and I could hear the bass of the music from the parking lot. He helped me out of his car and pressed his hand against the small of my back, leading me around to the back entrance. He led me through the grinding bodies in the hallways and the raucous shouting in the living room. “About time you made it back!” Kyle handed him a beer once we made it to the kitchen. Then he looked at me and smiled. “I made some coffee and cookies especially for you tonight, Charlotte. They’re on the counter.” “Shut up, Kyle.” Grayson gave me his beer. “Is everyone from the team here?” “Yeah. You ready to give 10-0 speeches?” “Absolutely,” Grayson said. He bent down and whispered to me. “You’re staying for two hours, right?” “Yes.” I sipped the beer and followed them to the living room. All the football players were huddled around the makeshift DJ booth and chanting, “10-0, 10-0” as the music continued to pulsate through the apartment. In between every song, one of them would grab the mic and make a hilarious, yet completely un-humble speech. They capped off each of their crude soliloquies by taking off their shirts, much to the delight of their screaming fangirls. “God, he’s so sexy.” A girl on my right whispered to her friend as Grayson took off his shirt and exposed his abs. “I’m going to talk to him tonight.” “Really?” Her friend moved closer. “About what?” “About sex with him.” She laughed. “What else? Years from now, I’ll be able to look back on my college years and brag about how I slept with the number one draft pick.” “Not if I sleep with him first.” She and her friend laughed louder, and I replayed every word that brunette said to me earlier. I mentally rewound all the recent moments I’d spent with Grayson in cafes and diners, how the stares and jealous glares in my direction always followed. His smile always helped me to ignore them, but after watching at least twenty girls walk up to him tonight and rub his shoulder or offer a “congratulations on being undefeated” hug that was a little too long, I realized that maybe that brunette had a point. A misguided point, but a point nonetheless. I downed the rest of my beer and pushed my way through the crowd, walking into Grayson’s bedroom. I shut the door and checked the pickup times for the next Safe Rider shuttle. Then I sent Grayson a text.

ME: I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to head home. (I’ll make this up to you later, I promise.) I typed in my dorm address as the “drop off” location in the Safe Rider app, but before I could hit “request ride,” Grayson walked into the room and lifted my phone from my hands. He slipped it into his pocket and locked the door. “You told me nothing was wrong with you,” he said. “Tell me the truth.” “I’m just tired.” “Bullshit, Charlotte.” He looked into my eyes. “Tell me right now.” “Before you picked me up at my dorm tonight, one of your ex-girlfriends approached me.” “I don’t have any ex-girlfriends.” “She seems to think differently then.” “I see.” He clenched his jaw. “What did she say to you?” “Nothing concrete, she just put everything in perspective.” “Tell me what she said, Charlotte.” He looked livid, but his voice was calm. “She said that you’re putting on an act, that you’ll never really claim me and that everything we’re currently doing—the secret kisses, private meetings, and late night talks on the phone are part of your usual game and will eventually lead to disastrous results,” I said. “I brushed it off, but when I got here and had to listen to a few of your fangirls talk about how determined they are to have sex with you before you get drafted, I realized she had a point. So, as much as I do really like you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to deal with—” “Stop.” He pressed his finger against my lips. “We’re going to put an end to this right now.” He walked me over to a chair, but he didn’t let me sit. Instead, he kept the chair for himself and clasped my hands—pulling me between his legs. “First things first,” he said, “you’re the one who insists on kissing in secret and shit like we’re not adults. I’ve told you every day for the past couple weeks that we’re beyond friends at this point, that I want to date you, but you always deflect or act like you don’t hear me. Second, I have no interest in doing anything with anyone on this campus but you, so a couple random girls saying that they want to sleep with me shouldn’t get under your skin at all.” “I just don’t think you understand how popular you are sometimes.” “No, I know exactly how popular I am.” A cocky smile formed on his lips, and he pulled me closer so my knees were touching the chair cushion. “It’s flattering, but it’s also fake as hell. I can’t control how the other people on campus act toward us, but I would appreciate it if you start telling me the truth about things as they happen so I can fix it before you start looking for excuses to break up with me.” “We would have to be in an actual relationship to break up.”

He ignored my comment and dropped my hands. “I also need you to accept that I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed my thighs. “You’re wasting your time looking for reasons to make me see things differently.” “Grayson, I’m not trying to—” I lost my train of thought as he suddenly pushed my panties to the side and tapped his finger against my pussy. “I’m not trying to finish this conversation right now either.” He smirked. “We can address it once I get done with you.” He moved from the chair and slid down to the floor, looking up at me. “Put your pussy on my face.” “What?” I blushed. “You heard me.” He caressed my right thigh. “Put your pussy on my face.” I remained still, completely frozen. Letting out a low laugh, he gently lifted my left foot and placed it on the chair. Then he gripped my thighs to hold me steady. Without any warning, he sucked my swollen clit into his mouth—forcing me to fist his hair. I bit my lip as he flicked his tongue against my pussy repeatedly, as he rendered me powerless. Kissing my pussy like he was kissing my mouth, he darted his tongue deeper and deeper, not giving me a chance to control the tempo. “Ahh...” I moaned as he used his thumb to rub my clit, as he tortured me with a soft, sensuous rhythm. “Oh god...” He groaned as he slipped a finger inside of me, never pulling his mouth away. The music outside his door began to shake the walls, and my screams came out muffled against the loud chants in the living room. “Grayson...” My legs shook as he palmed my ass, and I struggled to keep my balance. “Grayson, I can’t um...I...” He didn’t pay me any attention. He continued taking his time with his tongue, letting my pussy throb against his mouth. I felt unfamiliar waves of pleasure building inside of me, felt tremors making their way up and down my spine. Crying out, I shut my eyes and fell forward against the chair as an orgasm wrecked its way through my body. I lost all control of my muscles, feeling boneless and limp. He stood up and kissed the back of my neck, then he lifted me up and carried me over to his bed. He blew one final kiss against my pussy and then he disappeared into his bathroom. I heard the soft sound of water running and opened my eyes. I was unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling. Grayson returned to the room minutes later and massaged my legs before helping me sit up. He pulled my phone from his pocket, tapped a few things on the screen, and returned it to me.

“Like I was saying,” he said, “I need you to stop looking for excuses to break up with me. I want to be with you and only you, and even though you want to deny it, I know you feel the same way.” He smoothed my hair. “If anyone else comes to you with any other lies, let me know so I can put them to rest. Although, I think we can both agree that after tonight, no one will ever say that I’m incapable of being in a public relationship anymore.” I looked down at my phone and saw that he’d tagged me to his latest Facebook status: Grayson Connors is in a relationship with Charlotte Taylor. “So, now we don’t have any issues with each other.” He pulled me up from the bed and walked me to the door. “Right?” I nodded. I was still trying to process what he’d done to me. “Glad we could finally get on the same page,” he said. “Now, since you still owe me two hours at this party, meet me back in my room in forty-five minutes so I can eat your pussy again.”

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh DEAR GRAYSON CONNORS, My name is Anna Paige and I’m the CEO and lead agent of Paige & Simon, Associates. I wanted to congratulate you on your historic season thus far at The University of Pittsburgh. (#GoPanthersGo) I’m sure several agents are contacting you with interest in representing you, but as the owner of the top sports agency in the country, I wanted to send you a personal letter and a few reasons why I think you should consider my firm for representation if you choose to pursue a professional career in the National Football League. My top three reasons are below, but my more detailed reasons (as well as things you should know about our firm will be sent to you via express mail later this afternoon.) 1) We’re the best. 2) We’re the best. 3) See numbers 1 & 2 My team and I will be rooting for you during the final games of your season, and we have no doubt that you’ll make history in the post-season. Hail to Pitt! Anna Paige

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh PITT’S FINAL RECORD for the regular season stood at an impressive 12-0. The last win came after a seven-point nail-biter over Penn State, and it ignited a night of wild parties and recklessness on campus. Cars and dumpsters burned, blue and white fireworks lit up the sky, and glittering gold confetti sparkled on the cathedral’s lawn. To celebrate, I was supposed to accompany Grayson to a slew of parties. He wanted me to dance with him at each one and remind him to say, “Thank you for your support” to as many people as possible. However, we’d been to six parties so far, and we hadn’t danced to a single song. Instead, he’d pulled me into any available corner and kissed me as if no one else was watching. And when we left one party to go to the next, he stopped and kissed me in front of everyone just because he knew they were watching. By the time we reached our seventh location of the night—an abandoned warehouse off campus, my body was on edge. My lips were swollen from his kisses, and I knew without even looking that he’d left claiming red marks on my neck. The smell of alcohol and marijuana clung to the warehouse walls, and the music was so loud I could barely hear my thoughts. “How many more parties do you have to go to?” I shouted over the music to Grayson. “What?” “How many more parties do you have to go to?” He looked at me in confusion and clasped my hand, pulling me across the room to a makeshift bar. “Did you say you’re ready to leave?” “No, I just wanted to know how many parties you had left tonight.” “This is the last one.” He handed me a drink. “Are you ready?” “Yes.”

“Okay.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket. “I can take you home.” “I’m not ready to go home,” I said. He looked confused. “You just said you were.” “I meant that I want to go back to your place.” “Okay. Well, just so we’re clear, I’m not watching another Friends marathon with you,” he said, smiling. “Three episodes was more than enough.” “That’s not what I wanted to do either...” He raised his eyebrow and stared at me. “I said I was ready...” My voice was a whisper. “I meant it.” “Okay.” He kissed my forehead and wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me against his side as we made our way through the crowded dance floor. When we stepped outside, he didn’t walk me to his car. Instead, he led me through the streets of upper campus, making us take the long way to his apartment. When we arrived, the lights were dim, and Kyle was steering his car out of the driveway. Walking me into his room, Grayson helped me out of my coat and locked the door. “I was kidding about Friends,” he said. “I’ll watch that with you if you want.” “That’s not what I want.” He trailed his finger against my collarbone. “Are you sure?” I nodded. “I need you to say it.” “Yes.” I looked into his eyes. “I’m sure.” He pressed a quick kiss on my lips, and then he slowly pulled the elastic band from my ponytail, forcing my hair to fall across my shoulders. Looking me up and down, he grabbed the hem of my shirt and slowly pulled it over my head. “Turn around,” he whispered, and I obliged. Blowing soft kisses against the back of my neck, he unclasped my bra and pushed the straps down my shoulders one at a time. “Are you still sure?” he asked again, softly palming my breasts from behind. “Yes...” He took his time trailing kisses in a line across my shoulders; then he reached around my waist to unzip my jeans. Bending down to push them past my thighs, he gently bit my ass. “Step out of your pants.” I hesitated, temporarily distracted by the feel of his hands moving up my body. He was caressing my nipples, and I could feel his cock hardening against my cheeks. I heard him laughing softly, and before I knew it, he was picking me up and carrying me over to his chair.

Rubbing his hands up and down my legs, he got on his knees and slid a finger through the lace of my panties, pulling them down to my ankles. He pressed a hand against my thighs, looking up at me when he noticed I was shaking. He cupped my face and brought my head down to his, kissing me deeply— using the soft rhythm of his tongue to say, “It’s okay.” He didn’t let go of my mouth until I was entirely breathless, and before I could catch my breath, he slid his hands under my thighs and lifted me up—moving me to his bed. My heart was beating so hard and loud against my chest that I was certain he could hear it. I watched as he took off his shirt in one smooth motion and untied his sweatpants before climbing on top of me. He blew warm kisses against me, leaving a wet trail all the way down my body. My legs shook as he softly blew against my clit and slipped a thick finger inside of me. I grabbed the sheets as he teased me relentlessly, as he pressed his other hand against my stomach to keep me still. Unwrapping a condom, he kept his eyes on mine as he put it on. He grabbed my hand and placed it against him, making me touch his length as he spread my legs apart. Positioning himself over me, he pressed his mouth against mine once more, and he pushed his cock inside of me, inch by inch, making me tense at the unfamiliar pain. When he was halfway inside of me, I dug my nails into his arm. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, not pushing himself any further. I didn’t answer. “Charlotte?” He kissed me. “Do you want me to stop?” “No...” He stared at me for a few seconds, as if to make sure, and then he entwined his fingers with mine and thrust his cock deeper, completely filling me. “Ahh...” I cried out, and he bit my bottom lip. I shut my eyes, and he whispered, “Don’t do that. Look at me.” I obliged and kept my gaze locked on his as he thrust in and out of me. I cried out with each one—feeling a mix of pain and light pleasure. “Grayson...” “Yes?” He slid inside of me again, burying himself deep. I moaned, unable to say anything else. Just as I was adjusting to his length and his rhythm, grabbing onto his hair to hold on, he suddenly pulled out of me. Catching me completely off guard, he gave me a quick kiss on my lips and flipped me onto my stomach. Planting kisses up and down my spine, he positioned himself between my legs and slid his cock inside of me.

I couldn’t help but clench the sheets as he established a slower but more reckless rhythm, as he filled me again and again. I shut my eyes as he gripped my sides and controlled me, as he made love to me for what felt like forever. I felt him stilling behind me—moaning, and he held my hips a little tighter as he found his release. He whispered something I couldn’t comprehend before pulling out of me and getting out of the bed. I lay still, unable to move a muscle and seconds later he returned. “Are you okay?” He pulled me into his arms “Yes.” I nodded, and we lay entangled in the darkness—his lips casually pressing kisses against mine as I rubbed my hands against his chest. “What are you thinking about?” he whispered against my mouth hours later. “Something I want to ask you.” “Something bad?” “Not really.” He rolled me on top of him, looking concerned. “What is it?” “Can we do that again?”

CHARLOTTE: NOW Present Day New York City I UNLOCKED THE DOOR to my gallery at five o’clock in the morning and hit the lights. I didn’t normally come to work this early, but my latest collection was drawing record attention and I was struggling to keep up with all the orders. Determined to finish my current work-in-progress, I turned on a pot of coffee and set up my easel near the windows. I rinsed my favorite brushes and set out my newest range of reds. Checking my emails, I noticed there was a new one from Nadira. SUBJECT: LAST TUESDAY. How did it go? —Dira SUBJECT: RE: LAST TUESDAY. It didn’t. I didn’t show up. —C. Taylor CEO and Founder, Rosy-gan Cafes & Galleries I BRACED MYSELF FOR a “Why the hell not?” message, but I didn’t need to explain myself. The morning I was supposed to meet Grayson, I felt dread and anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I’d written all the things I wanted to say, and most of those things were a mix of “You’re a douchebag,” “I never want to see you again,” and “I can’t believe I’m even speaking to you after what you did to me.” I’d managed to get dressed and make it halfway to the cafe, but I broke down in tears in the middle of Fifth Avenue, so I returned home and hoped he wouldn’t

show up at my place. I hoped he would get the message and do his best to move on like I had. Nadira’s name popped onto my screen via phone call and I hit the speaker button. “Good morning,” I said. “Don’t ‘good morning’ me.” Her voice was terse. “Why didn’t you show up to meet him, Charlotte?” “I told you,” I said. “I’ll never forgive him for what he did, so there’s no point in catching up or rehashing old memories. I’m over him.” “You’re over him?” “Beyond over him.” I slumped in a chair. “I mean, he’s still attractive and sexy to me, but there are no feelings there. I wish I’d known he was going to be at the reunion, though. I would’ve never showed up.” She sighed. “I told him you were going to be there.” “What?” “I didn’t stutter.” “Nadira, you know what he did.” I felt my blood boiling. “How could you do something like that to me?” She didn’t answer. “You know how much pain he caused me. How he literally dropped me like some type of used toy at the end of our relationship. Yet, you told him I was going to be there? I can’t believe my so-called best friend would—” “Shut the hell up, Charlotte.” She interrupted me, sounding as if she’d been wanting to say those words to me for a long time. “Just shut up.” Silence. “I told him you were coming because I think the two of you need to talk,” she said. “Because seven years have gone by and all you’ve done is live in the shadows of a relationship that was probably one of the best things that ever happened to you.” “Yes, being treated like crap at the end was definitely one of the best things that ever happened to me.” “Do you know that he’s called me six times a year since you broke up just to ask if I’ve heard anything from you?” she asked. “That he begged me, time and time again, for your fake overseas address because he wanted to find you?” I was silent. In the years since college, Nadira had never mentioned Grayson in any of our correspondence. “So, yes.” She continued. “Yes, I told him you would be there. I did it in hopes that you would finally get over yourself and maybe get some much-deserved

closure. As much as you like to lie to yourself, you are not over him. If you ask me, you never will be.” “I didn’t ask you.” Tears were falling down my face. “I didn’t ask you anything because you’re beyond wrong on this.” “Am I?” She scoffed. “Why do you think all of your relationships end in failure before they can even begin?” “Because I have an affinity for douchebags.” “Or you can’t help but compare everyone to the man you’re still in love with,” she said. “Why do you think your latest art collection is doing better than anything you’ve ever done?” “Because it’s my best work.” “You don’t think the fact that it’s inspired by your college years has anything to do with it?” “Nothing at all.” I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t going to let her change the subject. “Nadira, I can’t believe—” “Especially the picture of that couple kissing in the middle of a football field,” she said, not stopping. “I really like that one.” “That doesn’t mean anything.” “That may not, but Rosy-gan Cafes & Galleries does.” “Excuse me?” “Who the hell do you think you’re fooling, Charlotte?” She sounded exasperated. “You couldn’t bring yourself to name your business under your own name because you knew he would find you.” “That’s not true.” It was more than true. “And if you think for one minute that I never figured out that the name ‘Rosygan’ is a goddamn anagram for Grayson, you’re in even more denial than I thought.” I hung up in her face and tossed my phone across the room.

CHARLOTTE: NOW Present Day New York City “I’M COMING, I’M COMING!” I stumbled down the steps the following morning, thanking the universe that my weekly wine delivery was early. I made sure my bathrobe was tied tightly and opened the door, expecting to see a delivery man, but it was Grayson. A beautiful ‘I look perfect even in sweatpants and a white T-shirt’ Grayson. I tried to slam the door in his face, but he wedged his foot between the doorframe. “You didn’t show up for our meeting on Tuesday,” he said. “I’m aware.” “Did you forget?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Nope.” I shrugged. “I decided you weren’t worth my time.” He glared at me, saying nothing. He moved his foot from the doorframe, but instead of leaving he pushed his way inside, backing me into my hallway. “I waited for you for six hours,” he said, his voice terse. “Six. Hours.” “Did you get a chance to drink any of the coffee?” “Stop fucking with me, Charlotte.” He pinned me against the wall with his hips. “We had an agreement.” “We once agreed we wouldn’t hurt each other and you broke that promise pretty easily, so I guess we’re even now.” “Six hours.” “I’m not sorry,” I said, ignoring the frantic racing of my heart. “But if you give me another six months or so, I can consider meeting with you to take random trips down memory lane. You’ll have to fill in a lot of the blanks for me, though.” “You don’t remember?” His lips brushed against mine and every nerve in my body came to life. “I only remember the ending.” “Nothing about what we had before that?” He hissed.

“No. Nothing we had was that memorable. We were young.” We stared at each other, not saying a word. Within seconds his mouth was on mine, and my arms were around his neck. He tore open my robe exposing my naked body and lifted me up by my thighs, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist. I moaned as I fought for control of the kiss, as he fought back with rough and demanding bites of my bottom lip. His cock hardened against me, and I reached down to free it from his sweatpants. He briefly tore his mouth away from mine and kissed my neck, biting my skin as I massaged him with my hand. Returning to kissing me recklessly, he let me down onto the floor and tore open a condom before putting it on. He glared at me, looking hurt and angry all at once. “Put your legs around my waist,” he commanded, lifting me up again. I obliged and he thrust his cock inside of me with one stroke—stretching and filling me deep. Moaning, I closed my eyes and tried to adjust to his length, he didn’t give me the chance. He pulled back and pounded into me again and again. “You don’t remember this?” he said, fucking me harder. His eyes never left mine, mine never left his. He continued owning my body like no other man could, bringing me to back to back orgasms—making me accept that he would always be the best sex I’d ever had. He gripped my thighs as his cock throbbed inside of me, holding me steady as we both reached our release at the same time. Keeping his eyes on mine, he gently let me go and set me on the floor. Without saying a word, he re-tied my robe shut and smoothed my hair back into place. I watched as he tossed the condom into the trash and readjusted his pants. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t get any words to fall out of my mouth. He looked me up and down one last time and headed toward the door. He looked over his shoulder, a hint of hurt still in his eyes. “I expect you to show up next Tuesday.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh SUBJECT: POST GRAD plans. It’s official! I’ve been awarded fellowships at Stanford, Brown AND Harvard! (I also received offer letters from every art school I applied to, but I’m going to ask for a deferral) Oh, and to answer the text you sent me a few minutes ago, I’d love to go with you to dinner to meet your agent. (Are you sure you don’t want your mom to go with you instead of me?) Talk to you tonight, Charlotte PS—I think I’m falling in love with you. SUBJECT: RE: POST GRAD plans. Congratulations. I’m very happy for you. I’ll take you out to dinner to celebrate this weekend. (I still think you should go to art school first—you clearly love that more than law, but I understand your decision) Good to know you’re coming. (My mother hates agents. She almost killed my father’s agent when he played.) SEE you tonight, Grayson PS—I think I already fell. I KNOCKED ON GRAYSON’S door around seven o’clock that evening, shivering as Pittsburgh’s winter winds whipped against me. “Hey, Charlotte!” Kyle opened the door. “I didn’t know you were coming up here tonight.” Shit, shit, shit.

“Um.” I stepped inside. “Is Grayson here?” “Of course he’s here,” he said. “He’s throwing my official ‘I’ve signed with an agent’ dinner.” He ushered me into the kitchen where Grayson, a few other football players, and Kyle’s parents were standing around sipping wine. “Want me to get your coat?” “No, I’m okay.” I picked up a glass from the counter and tossed it back. “Which agency are you signing with?” “Reid & Clover. I think they’re going to get me everything I want outside of football, you know?” “I do.” I’d spent countless nights listening to him tell Grayson that he wanted to be the face of at least three drinks and a fashion label. I never really paid much attention to him until now, but Kyle was quite attractive. His dirty blond hair and green eyes gave him that extra charm in an ‘I’m asshole, but I’m likeable’ way. “Hey.” Grayson walked over to me and kissed my lips. “I thought you were painting tonight.” “I was. I’m taking a break so I figured I’d stop by.” “Want me to take your coat?” “No.” I held it closed. “No, I actually just remembered that I left something at home. I’ll go get it and come back.” “Would you like me to drive you?” “I can take the shuttle. I’ll be right back.” I walked away, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his bedroom. He locked the door and looked at me. “Why are you really here?” he asked. “Did you leave something last night?” “No, I—” I felt my cheeks reddening. “It’s nothing. I can take the shuttle, Grayson.” “Tell me the truth.” “I wanted to hang out. I didn’t know you were hosting a get-together for Kyle.” “You’re more than welcome to stay.” He looked confused. “It’ll probably turn into a party later.” “In that case, I’ll come back after I change clothes.” “You don’t have to do that.” He unfastened the top buttons of my coat and paused when he reached the middle one. He raised his eyebrow and smiled, trailing his finger along the lace of my bra. “You came up here because you wanted to have sex?” he asked. “No. Absolutely not.” “Be honest.” He was still smiling. “You should be able to be honest with me like I’m honest with you.”

“I did not come up here to have sex with you, Grayson. I came up here to study.” “Without any books? In lingerie?” He undid the last button. “You would’ve worn one of your sweaters if that was the case.” “I just forgot to put on pants, and a shirt.” “It’s twenty degrees outside.” He pushed the coat off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “Try again.” He kissed my lips. “You can easily say, Yes, Grayson. I’m horny and I wanted to fuck you.” “That’s not what I would say.” “It’s what you should say, from here on out.” He kissed me again and hit the lights. “I’ll never turn you down.” “Does this mean you’re not going back to the dinner?” “It does.” He pulled his shirt over his head. Then he pushed me back onto his mattress. “Admit that you came up here because you’re horny and you wanted to fuck me, first.” “Fine.” I smiled. “I came up here because I’m horny and I wanted to fuck you. Happy?” “Yes.”

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh ATTENDING ANOTHER BUSINESS dinner was the last thing I wanted to do tonight. The one I'd participated in the night before, an introduction to a financial advisor, was three hours too long. It was a boring rehash of information I already knew, and the new things I wanted to know were met with an, "Oh, um. It's better if you google that when we get done here." The only reason I hadn't canceled tonight's meeting with my agent was because I needed to resign a contract. That, and Charlotte and I were exhausted after having sex in her dorm room all afternoon. “Do I look okay, Grayson?” Charlotte looked up at me as we walked through the doors of Monterey Bay Fish Grotto. She was wearing one of her sexy gray dresses and red colored heels. "You look like you're going to be a distraction for me during this dinner." She smiled, and we headed toward the private room near the back. The second we stepped inside, a red-headed woman and a blonde stood their feet. “Nice to meet you in person, Grayson,” the red-head extended her hand to me. “I’m Anna Paige.” “Nice to meet you,” I said. “This is my girlfriend, Charlotte.” “Ah! Grayson has told me a lot about you, Charlotte.” She smiled and shook her hand as well. “I’m happy I get to put a face to a name.” “I’m Jasmine.” The blonde shook our hands before we took seats at the table. “So, first things first," Anna said. "I'm not one for small-talk, and my therapist tells me that I'm a workaholic with no social skills, so I apologize in advance if this meeting is short and to the point. Plus, I'm sure you two will enjoy your dinner a lot more without our presence.” I like you already. “Short and to the point would be perfect.” “Great! As your agent, I’ll need to know everyone in your cabinet.” “My cabinet?”

“The people closest to you,” she said. “These are the people you trust. I currently have Kyle Stanton, Charlotte Taylor, and your mother listed. Is there anyone else?” “No.” "Okay." She tapped her phone. "Per your contract with us, I'm ordering you two new phones—one for personal and one for business. I tell all my clients that it's best to have two because you'll learn that everyone who you ever greeted on the street during your undergrad years will suddenly be your best friend when you get drafted. The last thing you need during your rookie season is random people texting or calling you just to prove that they once knew you. Oh, and my agency will cover the phone bills for both for ten years." "I don't think I need a new phone number," I said. "I've changed it recently." "No, she's right." Charlotte squeezed my hand. "My dad used to tell his most talented players the same thing when they were heading to the league." “Okay.” I looked at Anna. “What else?” "I'm ninety-nine percent sure that you'll be number one overall in the draft, but if you want to attend the pre-combine training to make sure that everyone knows you’re the best, my firm will be happy to cover all the costs.” “I’ll think about it,” I said. “It depends on which weeks I’ll be vacationing with Charlotte this summer.” "Got it." She tapped her phone again. Then she pointed to Jasmine. “Jasmine is going to be your second go-to person for whatever you need. I like to make sure that I’m not the only point of contact for my clients. So, if there's ever a time when I don't respond to a text message fast enough or miss an important call from you, Jasmine will be on hand. For you as well, Charlotte." “What do you mean?” Charlotte asked. “I mean, I know you’re going to law school, but I’m sure you’ll be coming to his Sunday games and social events whenever you can.” She handed her two business cards. “If there’s ever anything I can do to make you more comfortable in those settings, you can call and let me know.” Charlotte smiled and tucked the cards into her wallet. “The last thing I wanted to give you is a final agency contract that you’ll need to sign.” She set a thick legal binder on the table. "This supersedes the previous one you signed. Although we're confident that the terms are great, we'll reimburse you for any costs you incur whenever you get a lawyer to look over it." “I’ll help you look over it for free,” Charlotte said. I cleared my throat, preventing myself from saying something highly inappropriate. “Good to know.” "Do either of you have any questions for Jasmine and me?" Anna asked.

“No,” we said unison. “Okay, well that’s it!” She and Jasmine stood up from the table. “How painful was that, Grayson?” “Excruciating,” I said. “Thank you for keeping it short.” I stood up and gave her and Jasmine one final handshake, and then I moved to the other side of the table. A waiter set a bottle of wine on the table and set down two menus. "I like Anna," Charlotte said. "I think she'll be able to manage your ego well. Oh, and I meant what I said about looking over your contract, but I think you should hire Frank Baum to look over it professionally. He’s the best lawyer in this city.” I stared at her. “What?” She looked confused. “Did I say something wrong?” "No, I just wish I'd met you sooner." “I wouldn’t have given you a chance sooner.” “I think you would’ve.” “I doubt it.” She laughed. “You probably would’ve approached me with, ‘Hey. I'm Grayson Connors, and I think you're sexy as hell. Give me your phone number,’ and then I would’ve never allowed myself to speak to you again based on principle.” “I would’ve said sexy as fuck.” She blushed and picked up her menu. “Do you still hate seafood places?” “Absolutely,” she said. “This is my tenth time here with you, and I hate it just as much as the first. I love you, though.” “I love you, too.”

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day New York City “ARE YOU SEEING ANYONE new, Grayson?” “Are you dating supermodel Elizabeth Thiele again?” “Why weren’t you at the team’s Super Bowl party in Vegas?” “Grayson? Grayson!” I ignored the annoying questions from the paparazzi and slipped into my car, slamming my foot on the gas. I made it halfway across town and called Anna. “Yes, Grayson?” She answered on the first ring. “Could you kindly tell the manager of my condo that I’ll terminate my contract and make it public if he doesn’t do something about letting the paparazzi into the parking garage?” “I’ll get right on it. Anything else?” “Did my official MVP picture come in from the Oats Studio yet?” “It did. I’ll have it framed and sent over right away.” “Thank you.” I ended the call and sped down 43rd Avenue. I was an hour early for my meeting with Charlotte, and I was determined to get her to answer my questions. I parked my car in a private garage and paid the guard an additional hundred bucks to keep it quiet. Then I pulled a hood over my head and made my way to the Rosy-gan Café. When I arrived, an Adele song was playing in the background, and the cacophony of New York traffic was hitting notes of its own outside the windows. There were no customers inside today, only employees who were hanging new art onto the walls. I wasn’t sure why I hadn't noticed it the day she stood me up, but the pictures they were hanging were undoubtedly hers. The pictures were all variations of coffee and rain, couples on football fields, and Pittsburgh bridges. I looked over each one, wondering if she’d attended art school first instead of law school after all.

By the time I ordered my second cup of coffee, I noticed that Charlotte was half an hour late. I was tempted to leave now and head to her house, but I decided to give her another thirty minutes. Five minutes later, she walked into the café and stopped at the counter for a latte. She plopped down in the seat across from me and unbuttoned her coat. "You look beautiful," I said. "I've always loved you in gray." “Thank you.” She sipped her latte. “So, what made you fuck Meredith Dawson?” she asked. “That was the first person you publicly slept with after we broke up, right?” “Excuse me?” “Or, was it Elizabeth Thieles?” She shrugged. “You two complemented each other pretty well.” “You’ve already stood me up once and made your point, Charlotte. I don’t think you need to be hostile anymore.” “I’m not being hostile,” she said. “If I was the one who disappeared on you and slept with tons of famous men, I’m sure you would want to know some of the details.” “I wouldn’t.” "Well," she said, shrugging, "I guess that’s where we’re different. So, tell me. Was she a virgin, too?” I blinked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was. I picture you collecting V-cards like your MVP trophies—that’s clearly all you wanted from me.” “Cut the shit, Charlotte.” I’d had enough. “You know damn well that isn’t true.” “Isn’t it?” There were tears welling in her eyes. “If you ever write a book about your life story, I’ll appreciate it if you put in a section about how much you used me and then left me when I wasn’t of value to you anymore.” “Stop this.” I grabbed her hand. “Please.” She slowly moved her hand away from mine and sighed. “I’m sorry. I meant to start by telling you congratulations on winning the Super Bowl and the MVP trophy.” “Thank you, but I honestly don’t care about any of that right now.” I stood up and extended my hand. “Let’s talk outside.” I expected her to say no, but she nodded and put on her coat. She didn’t take my hand, though. She only motioned for me to lead the way. We stepped onto the trail that led into Central Park and I resisted the urge to pull her against my side. “Did you watch the Super Bowl?” I asked.

“No. I read about it the next day, though.” “I see.” I wasn’t sure why her saying that cut deep, but I didn’t let it show. “Should I assume that you don’t go to any of the games as well?” “Yes.” She looked up at me. “Football was one of the other things I started to lose love for over the years.” Silence. I stopped in front of a park bench and waited for her to sit down. I brushed off all the hostile words she’d said and faced her. “Are you a professional artist now?” “I am.” “Did you ever go to law school?” She shook her head. “Why not?” “Because—” She forced a smile. “Because the man I thought I was in love with at the time helped me to see that my heart belonged in art. My art is in all the Rosy-gan cafes.” She continued. “And I own a few art galleries in this city. What about you? Did you ever go into the NFL?” She let out a fake laugh. “I’m kidding.” “I’m aware.” I was resisting the urge to close the gap between us. "I didn't sleep with anyone for an entire year after you left me, Charlotte.” Her eyes immediately met mine. “I didn’t sleep with those models you mentioned either,” I said. “They were staged photo ops. I wanted people to think I was off-limits when I joined the league so I wouldn’t have any distractions. But also—” I mocked her tone. “Because I thought the woman I was in love with at the time was bound to come back to me or sooner or later.” “She tried to.” “You never called me once.” “I called you plenty of times.” Her face turned red. “I called you every day for weeks and you never answered.” She shook her head. “You didn’t answer one time, Grayson.” “Charlotte, that’s not true." I was confused. "I never got any calls from you." “I always knew you would say that.” Tears fell down her face. “You’ve probably painted me as a bitch who just disappeared so you could play the sympathy card, huh? I bet doing that made you feel better about all the pain you put me through, and I bet you took pleasure in ignoring all one hundred and seventytwo of my calls and sixty-five of my text messages. Yes, I counted. And yes, seven years later or not, I will never, ever forgive you for that. Never, Grayson.” She began to cry, leaving me speechless.

I had no idea what calls and texts she was talking about, but I didn’t question her memory. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her against my chest. She didn’t say anything to me for the rest of the day, and when Central Park’s lampposts turned on, I pulled her up and walked her to my car. I didn’t bother peppering her with questions during the short drive, I simply helped up her brownstone’s steps and told her I’d like to see her again next Tuesday. Not a month from now. “I’ll try,” she said, not looking at me. It took everything in me not to go inside with her, but I made sure she locked her door and rushed back to my car. “Call Kyle Stanton, please," I commanded my system once I pulled off onto the street. “This better be important.” He answered with a groan. “It’s late.” “I need you to confirm that I’m not crazy.” I switched lanes. “Like, as my best friend, you would’ve told me if I was a long time ago, right?” “You’re beyond crazy and I did tell you that.” He laughed. “Multiple times.” "I'm serious, Kyle." “No, you’re not crazy.” He cleared his throat. “But if this call is about Charlotte Taylor, I’m not drunk enough to deal with that right now. Try me tomorrow night.” “Something isn’t adding up,” I said. “Charlotte is claiming that she called me for months. And that I was the one ignoring her, not vice versa.” “Right...So, on a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that you can just let her go at this point?” he asked. “He said vs. she said never ends well for anyone, especially when one person is lying. She’s lying to you, man.” “She’s not lying.” I knew she wasn’t by the way she’d acted today, and I knew I needed to figure this out before she changed her mind about us meeting again. “Walk me through everything I told you about the end of our senior year again.” “Right now, Grayson?” “Right now.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh SUBJECT: HEY. Did you forget about our date today? —Charlotte SUBJECT: WHERE ARE you? I’m sitting in Highland Coffee waiting for you. Are you still coming? —Charlotte SUBJECT: CALL ME LATER :) It’s been an hour and you still haven’t shown up or responded, so I guess you’re still in that meeting. Call me later. —Charlotte I SIPPED THE LAST OF my latte and left the café. Ever since Grayson signed with Anna, his schedule became packed with endless advice sessions, training preparation, and mock media interviews. Our alone-time was now relegated to Tuesday night coffee sessions, the occasional date, and late-night talks whenever he finished his day. He was unable to pick me up for classes in the mornings, but he let me drive his car since the campus police always let me out of speeding offenses whenever they realized it was his car. And even though he couldn’t hang out with me as much, he made it a point to have flowers and donuts delivered to my dorm a few times a week with sweet notes. He insisted that I “didn’t need to worry,” and to be

honest, I didn’t. I was happy he was getting everything he deserved, and I was looking forward to seeing his hard work pay off. Checking my phone one last time to see if he’d responded, I crossed the street and headed toward the law library. When I approached the student union crosswalk, I saw Grayson through the bookstore windows. Looking exasperated, he sat across from Anna and spoke as she typed on her keyboard. Mid-sentence, he leaned back in his chair and waved to someone I couldn’t see. Seconds later, a blonde walked over to him and smiled. She took a seat next to him and rubbed his shoulder—whispering something into his ear. She managed to get three seconds of words out before he grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand away. I wasn’t the best lip reader, but I could definitely make out his annoyed “Don’t fucking touch me like that. You know I have a girlfriend.” I laughed and called Anna’s phone, watching as she held it up to her ear. “Hey Charlotte!” she said. “How are you?” “I’m fine, thank you. Are you with Grayson?” “I am,” she said. “Hold on.” She handed the phone to him and mouthed, “It’s Charlotte.” “Hey,” he said. “I apologize in advance if you’ve called or texted me today. I left my phone in Kyle’s car at lunch, and he’s still downtown.” “I figured there was a good reason. Did you forget about our date today?” His face fell. “I did...I’m sorry, Charlotte. Where are you right now?” “Across the street.” He looked out the window and ended the call, returning Anna’s phone. He grabbed his jacket and left the café, walking over to me. “I’m so sorry.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Let me make this up to you.” “It’s okay. You don’t have to.” “I do.” He kissed my forehead. “I feel like we’ve been off a bit lately and I don’t want you getting ideas.” “Ideas about what?” “Us not being together when I go to the league. Tell me three things I can do this week to make tonight up to you.” I smiled. “You can watch a Friends marathon with me at your place over donuts and coffee.” “Can you try to pick something a little less painful?” “Nope.” I laughed. “You can also let me paint you this weekend. Oh, and you can give me a massage—with my clothes on.”

“Why do your clothes need to be on?” “Because every time you give me a naked massage, you flip my body over halfway through it and fuck me.” “Okay.” He let go of my waist and clasped my hand. “I’ll wait until after I’m done with the massage this time. Let’s do that option first.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh “BE STILL,” I SAID, pointing my brush at Grayson a few days later. “I can’t finish painting your portrait if you’re moving.” “I’ve been sitting still for three hours.” “No, you’ve been sitting still for one hour.” I smiled. “You spent the first two hours taking phone calls.” “Noted.” He walked over to me and kissed my cheek. “I want you to come with me to the marketing session with Anna tonight. I promise I’ll sit here for as long as you want me to when we get back.” “You can’t bring me to every business meeting, Grayson.” “Does that mean you’re not coming?” “I am coming.” I locked my brush into its box. “But I think you need to find some new people to add to your ‘cabinet’ since I won’t be able to go to all these meetings with you when I’m at Stanford.” “You can if I buy the plane tickets.” He kissed me. “You can also fly with me this weekend to New York if you like.” I couldn't help but laugh. This was Grayson's tenth time asking me to join him in New York for a weekend of workout sessions. Since New York's team held the first choice in the draft and was in desperate need of a quarterback, him landing there for his first season was a foregone conclusion. “I need you to be as focused as possible when you’re there,” I said. “Speaking of which, I made you something for your future condo.” I pulled a pink box from under my bed and handed it to him. “More donuts?” “No.” I shook my head. “Open it.” He untied the satin ribbon and pulled the top off the box. He pulled out a smaller box and tore off the pink tissue paper.

"Coffee mugs." He ran his finger across the blue and gray sentences on the back side and read them aloud. They were all quotes that gave a timeline of our relationship—everything from, "Are you, Charlotte Taylor?" "You still haven't given me your phone number," and, "I think I'm falling in love with you." On the front of the mug were the words, “Yes, I’m that good” in huge bold print, with a small black and white picture of him kissing me stamped within the two “O” letters. He remained silent for a long time. “I know this gift is super simple.” I got the sudden feeling the wasn’t as enthused about these as me. “But since you and Kyle never had any actual coffee mugs in your apartment and we always had to use red cups, I thought this would be a good idea. Especially now that you drink coffee as much as I do.” He set the box on the dresser and then he stared at me. “You could at least say something,” I said. “I hand-painted each letter onto those and it took me twenty drafts to get them right.” He still didn’t say anything. “Well, fine.” I crossed my arms. “I’ll send you off to New York with a box of donuts and maybe—” My sentence ended on his lips. “I fucking love you, Charlotte.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh SUBJECT: AWARDS DINNER Charlotte, My NY flight won’t land in time for me to make it to your Student of the Year dinner. I’ll have to make tonight up to you somehow. (I will. Trust me.) Love you, Grayson PS—Did you get the flowers I sent today? SUBJECT: RE: AWARDS Dinner Grayson, It’s more than okay. The program for tonight’s ceremony looks like it will be a snore-fest anyway. I have no doubt you’ll make it up to me. (You always do) Love you more, Charlotte PS—Yes. They were beautiful. All ten bouquets. Thank you so much. SUBJECT: FOUND A CONDO + My Final Lit Grades Charlotte, I just found a beautiful penthouse suite and I think you'll like it. I'm attaching the pictures, but I won't buy it unless A) You approve and B) You promise to see it in person on draft-night. Let me know what you think. Love you, Grayson PS—I forgot to tell you about my final grades since I took all my final exams extremely early. All As. I guess I had a pretty good tutor :)

SUBJECT: RE: FOUND a Condo + My Final Lit Grades Grayson, OH. MY. GOD! That’s one condo? It’s huge! And I LOVE IT! A) I approve. B) I’ll definitely be there with you on draft night. Love you, Charlotte PS—Congratulations on making all As. I know you had a pretty good tutor. (But I also know that you didn’t really need one...you would have made all A’s anyway. : ) ) SUBJECT: YOU’RE ON TV (again :)) Grayson, I just watched your “Rookies to Watch” interview on ESPN. (It looked like you didn’t like the reporter, though. Something wrong?) I love the way you look in a suit. (Love you) Charlotte SUBJECT: RE: YOU’RE on TV (again :)) Charlotte, Good to know you were watching. (She was flirting with me before the cameras rolled.) Thank you. (Love you too) Grayson SUBJECT: YOU LOOK SEXY as hell right now. I’m watching Pitt’s graduation via Skype at the training combine and the camera just showed your face. Call me when you’re free tonight, Grayson SUBJECT: RE: YOU LOOK sexy as hell right now. Sorry, I just saw this. My phone died after the third speech. Thank you, though. :) I called you a few times, but I’m sure you’re exhausted. I’ll call tomorrow. Charlotte

Subject: Question (It’s Personal) Nadira, I feel like me and Grayson only email and text these days... If this is what it’s like before he even gets drafted, do you think we should take a break when he goes to the NFL? —Charlotte SUBJECT: RE: QUESTION (It’s Personal) Charlotte, I’m sitting at a table at the Buca di Beppo in Station Square with Eric, Kyle, and a few other people you know. We're all here waiting for you and him to walk through the doors because he's supposed to “surprise" you with some "make up” dinner tonight. (You should probably make sure you get dressed since he’s on his way to pick you up right now + I never told you this LOL) I think it’ll be a bit of a transition-phase for you two when he goes to the NFL, but I do not doubt that he'll do his best to make it work. (He smiles every time someone says your name.) Nadira PS—They say he's probably going to net $20M in endorsements alone once he gets drafted. Please make sure he installs a bar in his condo, and please invite me over every weekend once it's complete. THE DAY AFTER GRAYSON surprised me with dinner at Station Square, he helped me make sure all my things were ready to be shipped to California. He kissed me in the backseat of a cab when it was time for him to return to New York, and made me promise to call him when I made it Stanford the next day. I called him the second I landed and got his voice mail. He didn’t call me back until days later and our conversation was only five minutes. When we spoke again, it was a week later and we only had time to say, “I love you.” And by the time I finished setting up my apartment for my first full semester, I realized we’d gone two weeks without any communication.

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago New York City I WAS BEGINNING TO think that I should've spent my summer in California with Charlotte instead of preparing for a new life that was already annoying the hell out of me. I had yet to play a single minute in the NFL, had yet to get drafted, but my days were still filled with never-ending meetings. There were endorsement offers from every footwear company, interviews with radio stations and podcasts, and nightly networking events that made me long for the days when I had enjoyable conversations. I was questioning everything I once thought about becoming a professional football player, and the only thing I was sure about was guaranteeing that I never lost Charlotte. “You look pretty miserable for a future multi-millionaire.” Kyle set his menu down and looked at me. “I’m not sure this is how I want to remember you before we get drafted.” He waved his hand in front of my face. “Are you even listening to me, Grayson?” “Charlotte will say yes, right?” I looked up at him. “Tell me I shouldn’t be nervous about proposing to her on live television.” “Nervous? No.” He pulled the ring box from his pocket and handed it to me. “There’s another term I would use to describe you using your draft moment for a proposal.” “I don’t want to know what you mean by that.” “You definitely don’t.” He laughed. “But out of all the guys I know, I think you’re the only one who could honestly commit to one girl. Even though you’re young as hell, weeks away from being a multi-millionaire who could get pussy delivered to your doorstep, and—” “Thank you, Kyle.” I interrupted him. “I appreciate your thoughts as always.” “You’re more than welcome.” He laughed, then gave me a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t see any reason why she would say no.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago California SUBJECT: NEW ADDRESS Hey Grayson, I’m moving into a different apartment complex this weekend. It’s not as close as the one I showed you before, but I’ll have a private art room so I’m sure I’ll like it much better. I’m including my address below and look forward to you visiting me as you promised. I love you, Charlotte SUBJECT: :-( Grayson, I haven’t heard from you in three weeks. Please call me back. Love you, Charlotte SUBJECT: DRAFT NIGHT Ticket Grayson, Draft night will be here soon and you haven’t sent me the ticket yet. Have you changed your mind about taking me as your date? Love, Charlotte SUBJECT: REALLY? I just saw you on TV and you looked right at your phone, Grayson. Call me, please.

Charlotte

GRAYSON: THEN Seven years ago New York City ME: I WANT TO FLY TO California and see you next week. What’s the best day to come? ME: Charlotte? ME: Charlotte, it’s been over a week since I texted you. Can you text/call me back? SUBJECT: WHERE ARE you? Charlotte, Are you ignoring me? Are you still coming to draft night? (I need you to be there.) Love you, —Grayson SUBJECT: REALLY? Charlotte, please answer me. Grayson SHE NEVER SHOWED UP for the draft night or returned my calls, but that didn't stop me from calling her every day for several weeks in a row. I sent her emails and text messages, and they all went unanswered. Her friends refused to talk to me. Nadira wouldn’t even make eye contact with me when I ran into her at JFK airport. After a month of confusion, I called Stanford one morning. I was determined to get ahold of her since every flower delivery I’d sent to her address came back

returned. Their phone attendants passed me around from department to department before finally passing me off to a donation line. “How much would you like to donate to the Stanford Alumni Fund, sir?” a woman asked. “I couldn’t quite hear you.” "I'm not calling to donate. I'm looking for—" I paused. "I'm looking for my fiancée who I haven't heard from in a while. I would appreciate it if you all would stop sending me from line to line and help me, so I can figure out what the hell is going on. Please." “Okay.” She let out a sigh. “I can pull up the registered student directory for you, but that’s all I can do.” “Thank you.” “What’s your fiancée’s full name, sir?” “Charlotte Marie Taylor.” “And you’re sure she’s enrolled here?” “One hundred percent positive.” I heard the sound of a tapping keyboard. "There's no student named Charlotte Taylor, sir,” she said. "There aren't any students here named Charlotte at all." What? “She accepted Stanford’s offer.” I shook my head. “I was with her when she shipped her things and she sent me pictures of the campus.” “Sir, all I can tell you is that Charlotte Marie Taylor is not listed as a student here,” she said. “And even that is too much information without knowing who you are. I have to go.” She ended the call. I called the other law schools that accepted Charlotte. I called the art schools. I called her advisor. Her parents. Her friends. No one knew anything. So they claimed. I spent countless nights unable to sleep because I had no idea why the hell she would ghost me and I wasn't sure how to deal with the unfamiliar ache in my chest. WHEN I EXHAUSTED ALL the search options I could handle on my own, I ordered Anna to enlist the aid of private investigators.

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day New York City “HERE YOU ARE.” A BARISTA set two fresh lattes on the table at Rosy-gan Café. “Let me know if you two need anything else tonight.” Charlotte brought her cup to her lips, still avoiding direct eye contact with me. We’d been sitting here for an hour, and the only words we’d exchanged were “Hello,” and “Hi.” Occasionally, a song we both knew came over the speakers and we’d make eye contact and smile, but that was it. I’d spent my entire weekend writing down the events that transpired after our senior year, trying to see if I could find anything that changed my line of thinking that she was the one who left me. I couldn’t find a single thing, though. As much as I wanted us to rebuild what we had, I knew we couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t trust me, and I knew she wasn’t going to agree to meet me for another Tuesday night of silence. Reaching over the table, I tugged at the numerous charms on her bracelet. There was an easel, a gavel, a calendar with the word Tuesday etched across the top, numerous coffee cups, donuts, a television with Friends etched onto the screen, and a baby block. My heart dropped. “What’s wrong?” She finally spoke. “I owe you a huge apology.” "Yes..." Her hazel eyes looked hopeful, as if she'd been waiting for me to say that for years. "But for what?" “For assuming you didn’t have any kids.” I tugged at the yellow block. “I also apologize for thinking that your first child was always meant to be mine. Then again, I guess I should’ve known you would find someone else to start a family with after all this time.” I couldn’t stop tugging at the block. “How old is the child? And is it a boy or a girl?”

She didn’t say a word. “Charlotte?” I looked up and noticed her face was ghost-white. “Charlotte, what’s wrong?” “You said my first child should’ve been yours?” “I wasn’t trying to offend you. That’s just what I’ve always thought.” “I thought you were—You said that...” She stammered, her eyes going wide. “Didn’t you tell me that—” She grabbed her coat and stood to her feet. “You’re leaving?” “No, I just need some air.” She started to walk away, but she sat down again. “I’m confused, Grayson.” “You’re not the only one,” I said. “Maybe we should just do this a different day.” “No.” She gripped my wrist. “I’m confused about what you said about me having a child.” “I understand why you moved on.” I tried to sound like I meant that. “Down the line, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to meet him—or her. You still have yet to tell me if it’s a boy or a girl.” “I don’t have any kids, Grayson.” Tears fell down her face. “The one child I had was yours, and I told you that.” “Had?” I leaned back against my seat. “What are you saying?” “I called you so many times.” Her voice cracked. “So many times.” “Wait, wait.” I moved to her side of the table and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “That can’t be true. I promise I never heard from you.” “Because you chose not to. You chose to move on with your life like I never meant anything to you.” “That’s not true either.” I wiped tears from her eyes. “Charlotte, please explain what you’re saying to me about the word ‘had’ and a baby. And I need to know why you still think I walked away from you, when it was definitely vice versa...”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago California ME: GRAYSON, WE NEED to talk. ME: Grayson, it’s an emergency... ME: Grayson, I’ve called you thirty times this week. Surely you can answer ONE call... I SET MY PHONE DOWN and picked up the pregnancy test, staring at the two blue lines. This was my tenth test this week and the result was the same as all the others. Suddenly, my plans for getting through Stanford seemed insignificant, and I was thinking about moving to New York so Grayson could help me raise our child. Unsure of what to do next, I didn't tell any of my friends or family. I wanted Grayson to know first, and I wanted him to be with me, even if it was just for a day. I continued calling his phones—his old line, his new business line, his new personal line. He never answered, never returned a call. I sent him an email and carbon-copied his agent on it hoping for better results. SUBJECT: URGENT: PLEASE open and answer. Grayson, I’m pregnant. Charlotte. STILL NO RESPONSE. After three days passed, I began looking up flights to New York, but I received a “We’re on our way. Be at your place in an hour” text from Anna and felt a slight

tinge of relief. I rushed home to make sure I’d be there when they arrived, but when they arrived, it wasn’t “they” at all. Only Anna. “So, you’re pregnant?” she asked, barging into my living room. I nodded. “Is Grayson with you?” “No.” She tossed her bag onto my couch. “No, he is not with me, but he sent me to see you once he got your message.” “Okay...So, is he coming tomorrow or another day?” “He's not coming at all." She looked sympathetic and tapped a few things on her phone. "He's trying to move on and focus on his career, but he promised that he’ll fix this as long as you can prove that it's his. So, how much do you want for it?” “It?” “Yes. ‘It’ as in the albatross that’s currently growing inside your stomach. 'It' as in the anchor that you're hoping to tie around his neck in hopes of getting him to come back to you, even though it’ll probably never happen. Just say the amount and he promises to pay it.” My heart dropped. “That’s what he said?” “No, what he said was far crueler, but I would never repeat that.” She shrugged. I stared at her. “The quicker you tell me, the better. Of course, if you’re going to seek child support, you'll need to keep the lovechild a secret. Don't think about writing any books or going on any speaking tours." “You can leave now, Anna.” "A few last things," she said. "Grayson wants to make sure that you're not taking advantage of him and his future earnings, so you'll need to send me the ultrasound picture to confirm that you are pregnant. You'll also need to agree to go to a DNA lab of his choosing to make sure that the child is his and not someone else's." She picked up her purse and headed to the door. “So, just to recap, I’ll draw up the paperwork whenever there’s proof of your—” She glanced at my stomach and rolled her eyes. “Pregnancy. Unless of course—” I slammed the door in her face. I SCHEDULED A SUPER late appointment for an ultrasound on the same day as the NFL draft, hoping that I would be able to escape any and all news about Grayson, but my logic failed because a group of patients was watching it on the waiting room TV. I forced myself to look on as the New York representative took to the podium.

“With our first round, first choice pick...” he said. “New York selects University of Pittsburgh quarterback, Grayson Connors!” The crowd cheered loudly and the camera panned to Grayson standing up from the table. He smiled at the cameras, and my heart skipped a beat as he walked to the stage to receive his New York hat and jersey. Even though I was angry at him, I was happy he was number one. I pulled out my phone to text him a last-ditch Congratulations, but I dropped it to the ground when I saw a supermodel—Elizabeth Thieles, kissing him. What the hell? I watched to see if he would kiss her back, and he did. Then he gave her a hug and walked off stage, shattering any faith I had of us getting back together. He’d changed just like he said he wouldn’t, and I was going to have to accept that. “Miss Taylor?” Someone called my name. “Yes?” “You can come to the back now.” I followed her into a small room and undressed, simply going through the motions while my heart continued to break inside of my chest. I lay back on the table and shut my eyes as the nurse spread a cool gel across my stomach. “Just keep still, Miss Taylor,” she said softly. “Based on what you wrote on the form, you’re probably about eight weeks, but we’ll verify that in just a second. We’ll also have to prescribe vitamins and get you assigned to a personal doctor near Stanford. But for now, let's just get to my favorite part. Are you feeling okay?" I didn’t answer. I’d never felt so hurt in my life. “Okay...” The nurse was still trying to talk to me. “I’m turning on the screen and I’m using this wand that I’m pressing against you...” She moved the wand against my stomach. “This is so we can get a shot of the growing baby—i.e., little Charlotte, and the heartbeat. Feel free to look whenever you’re ready.” I opened my eyes and looked at her, forcing myself to smile. Then I looked at the screen. “Where is it?” I asked. “Well, the embryo is here.” She pointed at a gray blip on the screen. She zoomed in on the image a few times, but she didn’t say anything else. “How far along am I?” I asked. “You were eight weeks.” She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. “Were?” “There’s no fetal heartbeat, Miss Taylor.” She squeezed my hand. “At this point, in a viable pregnancy, we would see that on the screen. However, we’re

going to run tests to see why this pregnancy is no longer viable, and you’ll have what you need to know in the future.” Her words chilled my skin. “You can choose to wait for your body to naturally miscarry or we can schedule a D&C procedure.” “An abortion?” “It’s not an abortion,” she said, softening her voice. “It’s a standard dilation and curettage procedure we use for women who have a miscarriage. It enables us to clear your uterine lining, but it’s not required. It’s just an option.” My mind was still spinning, still processing the words “no fetal heartbeat.” “Miss Taylor,” she said softly. “Are you aware of what I’m saying to you?” “I don’t have a baby anymore.” I couldn’t look at her. “Is that correct?” “That is correct.” She squeezed my hand again. “I’m very sorry, Miss Taylor. I’m going to grab my lead doctor and psychiatrist so we can run some tests and make sure you're stabilized, okay?” I didn’t say anything. I lay there numb and in shock, unable to feel anything but heartache and tears falling down my face. Going against my better judgment, I pulled out my phone and called Grayson again. It rang three times and in the middle of the fourth, there was a brief gap and a beep, the tell-tale sign of him hitting ignore. “This is Grayson,” his voicemail said. “You've reached my private line, so that means I know you personally. Leave a message and I promise to get back to you." I didn’t bother. I hung up and sent an email instead. SUBJECT: THANK YOU + Best of luck Grayson, I want you to know that you are EXACTLY who I thought you were when we first met, and that you’ve taught me to trust my first instincts for the rest of my life. I promise I’ll never call/reach out to you again. I hate you, Charlotte A response came back within seconds. Subject: Re: Thank you + Best of luck This message has been blocked from the intended recipient as the delivering address is flagged and on the spam list.

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago California SUBJECT: WITHDRAWAL Dear Stanford Admissions Team, My name is Charlotte Taylor and I would like to thank you for awarding me the Honors Fellowship for my full term at your university. Unfortunately, due to personal reasons, I am withdrawing from the program in hopes that someone else will be able to take advantage of such an incredible opportunity. Thank you for understanding, Charlotte M. Taylor SUBJECT: ACCEPTANCE Dear Ketchikan-Alaska Art Fellowship Admissions, Thank you for considering my late application. I am honored to gain acceptance into your one-year program and this email serves as my official commitment statement. Thank you, Charlotte M. Taylor

CHARLOTTE: NOW Present Day New York City THE LOOK ON GRAYSON’S face said a million words. Still speechless, he was staring blankly at the block on my bracelet and running his fingers through my hair. He shook his head every few seconds and sighed, but he didn't say anything else. My heart felt heavy at the realization that I’d been manipulated for all these years, that everything I thought I’d known was never true. I wasn’t sure why, but a small part of me still needed to hear Grayson say that he didn't know what was happening with me back then. “Anna never told you anything about me being pregnant?” I asked. “No.” His voice was hoarse. “I take it she never actually sent you your ticket for draft night?” “No.” “Okay.” He turned to face me. “I need you to believe me when I say that I would’ve dropped everything and flown to see you immediately if I knew you were pregnant.” He clasped my hand. “Everything. No questions asked.” “I believe you.” “And I’m sorry you had to suffer through a miscarriage by yourself.” He looked wounded. “Someone should’ve been there for you.” “Nadira came and held my hand when I went back,” I said. “That explains why she wouldn’t look at me when I saw her that summer.” His voice was soft. "She told me you called her every year." “It took her a year just to pick up the phone.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “She told me you moved overseas.” “I told her to lie.” “I figured, but—” He shook his head. “I hired at least three private investigators to look for you and they all said you moved overseas, too. They all verified it.”

“Did they consider Alaska overseas?” I asked. “I was only there for a year, so maybe that’s what they found.” “No, Anna said that—” He stopped himself. “I trusted Anna to hire all the firms. I didn’t handle that personally.” Silence. “I guess now I know why she was insistent on buying me new phones and installing ‘alerts’ in the event you ever called.” He gritted his teeth. “All this time. All this goddamn time...” We didn’t say anything else to each other. We just sat in silence, both regretting the lost and stolen years. The lies and lines of botched miscommunication. At three a.m., Grayson stood up and reached for my hand. “Let me drive you home.” “Can we walk instead?” “Absolutely.” I stood up and gave him my hand, and we walked out of the café amidst New York’s chilly night air. When we made it to my brownstone, he walked me up the steps and looked into my eyes. “I’m sorry I allowed this to happen,” he said. “I don’t know what to do next regarding ‘us’ or how to begin processing this, but I do need you to promise me something.” “What?” “Open the letter you get from me this week.” He kissed my forehead. “Can you do that?” “Yes.” He watched me unlock the door and I stepped inside. “Goodnight, Grayson.” “Goodnight, Charlotte.”

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day New York City SUBJECT: URGENT. Anna, Meet me at my condo. Now. —Grayson I SPED AROUND TOWN in an utter rage for an hour—driving through side streets and bridges to burn off my anger. I’d managed to keep my composure around Charlotte, but with every bit of the missing story she told, all I could think about was how one of the people closest to me had methodically ruined two lives and stolen seven years. Parking my car in the garage, I took the elevator to my penthouse suite and noticed the door was already ajar. I took a deep breath and braced myself for coming face to face with Anna. “Hey there, Grayson!” She set her book down as soon as I walked into my living room. “What’s so important that you wanted to see me at this hour?” “You’re fucking fired.” “Excuse me?” “You. Are. Fucking. Fired.” "You sure about that?" She crossed her arms and stood to her feet. "I'll file a lawsuit for wrongful termination in a heartbeat, so you better have a damn good explanation." “Charlotte Taylor.” My blood was still boiling. “You knew exactly where she was all this time and you acted like you didn’t when you told me about the reunion.” I stepped closer to her. "You purposely ruined what we had with your bullshit, for no reason. No reason." She raised her eyebrow, looking completely nonchalant.

"You were supposed to act in my best professional interest. You had no right to interfere in my private life." "I interfered with good reason, Grayson." “Are you fucking serious?” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” "Yes." She hissed. "I prevented you from being another Ted Brewer—another lovesick dope who let his "girlfriend" convince him that his fifty-million-dollar contract wasn't worth it anymore. The same girlfriend who left him and got half of his money because he was dumb enough to marry her before he played his first minute in the league." Her face was beet red. "You knew Charlotte for what? Two semesters at that point? You had no idea if she was a gold-digger or not and you have no clue what lengths a woman will go through to string a meal ticket along. You should be thanking me and giving me a raise for ensuring she wasn't a distraction." “Her being pregnant was a distraction to you?” Her face paled and she swallowed. “I thought she was making that up to get your attention. Lots of girls suddenly claim they're pregnant when their boyfriends get drafted into the league.” “She was going to be my fiancée.” “Even worse.” “So your whole ‘reroute your phone number to this new phone’ strategy was never what you said it was. It was a way to make sure you could control who contacted me, right? Let’s forget about the ‘why’ for a second. How the fuck did you do that?” She didn’t say anything. “Answer me, Anna. Now.” "I blocked her number and email address on all your lines since the new phones we bought you were under our agency account," she said, her voice low. “And?” “And I did a reverse patch so whenever you reached out to her via text or phone, she wouldn't get it. All your emails landed in my inbox first before they reached whoever you were trying to contact. Whenever you emailed her, I just deleted it." I couldn't believe I didn't see this shit before. "There was no reason for you to hide the pregnancy from me." "I asked her to send me an official ultrasound." Her voice was still soft. "If she sent it, I would've let you know, and we would've handled it, but...She clearly wasn’t pregnant because she never sent it to me. She just wanted to be in the

spotlight as your girlfriend back then. That’s why she was always at every dinner meeting with you and giving her unnecessary opinions. Remember?” I glared at her in utter disgust. “Grayson, look.” She held up her hands. “I know right now that you’re looking at what I did from an emotional angle, but—” “What else have you lied to me about?” I wasn’t interested in hearing her side of the story. I’d heard enough from Charlotte. “I didn’t lie,” she said. “I just held back a few things so you could focus.” "A lie by omission is still a goddamn lie." I glared at her. "Did you hire an investigator to look for Charlotte when I asked you to?" “Grayson...” "Answer me," I demanded. "When I gave you twenty thousand dollars and told you to use it to do whatever it takes to find her, did you?" “No.” “All the years since when I told you to hire a different firm and I paid you even more to get results, did you use the money for that purpose?” “No.” “So, you clearly lied to me when you said she’d moved overseas...Where did all that money go, then?” “My daughter’s college tuition.” She mumbled. “But I can definitely pay you back today if it’ll help you trust me again.” “There will never be any trust between us, Anna. Ever.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but I held up my hand. “You knew she was living in New York this whole time?” She looked away from me and nodded. "So, why point out that she was going to be at the reunion at all?" I asked. "Why do that if you knew there was a chance we would talk?" “Personal atonement,” she whispered. “I wanted to try to make it right since you still asked about her all the time.” “Was Jasmine in on this, too?” "No, it was just me.” She shook her head. “If there’s anything I can do to make you forgive me or—” “You can get the fuck out of my condo and stay the hell away from me.” I opened the door. “I’m sure you’ll do an incredible job with that since this won’t be your first time keeping someone away from me.” “Grayson...” “Leave or I’ll press charges for all the money you’ve stolen from me.” She picked up her purse and sighed. Then she walked into the hallway. She turned around to face me, looking as if she was going to try and say something

else, but I slammed the door in her face before she could get a word out. I sent my building security manager a message, telling him to make sure that Anna was removed from the condo and never let inside again. I emailed Jasmine and asked her to put out an immediate statement to the press and all my business partners to let them know that Anna was no longer my agent. Then I slumped on my couch and tried to keep my composure, tried not to break down and lose it over all the years I’d missed with Charlotte. It didn’t work.

GRAYSON: ON A TUESDAY Present Day New York City DEAR CHARLOTTE, I met you on a Tuesday. Became your best friend, then your lover, on a Tuesday. And if I’m timing this right, you’ll receive this letter on a Tuesday. I’m going to do my best to keep this simple. 1.) I’m still in love with you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met—inside and out, and the day I fell for you, I knew no one else would ever stand a chance. Seven years later, this still holds true. 2.) I miss you and I have missed you. During my first season, when I won the Offensive Rookie of the Year Award (Was there ever any doubt I would win this?) I wanted nothing more than to look out into the crowd and see you standing there. During my second season, when I won The Most Valuable Player Award for the regular season, I wished that you were sitting next to me at the ceremony. Not Anna, not Kyle, not my teammates. You. (For brevity purposes, and since you haven’t been watching me on the field: you should know that I’ve won an award every single season. (Because yes, I’m that good :-)) And every single time I felt as if someone was missing from the moment.) 3.) I want to be with you. Period. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I saw you in Pittsburgh, haven’t been able to get through a single day without wondering what you’re up to, and I don’t want to go another day without having you by my side again. If you feel the same and if you think what we had in the past is worth a second chance, please write me back and let me know. I’ll wish you well and I’ll still love you no matter what you choose. Grayson PS—Is the name of your café & art gallery (“Rosy-gan”) an anagram for my name or is that a coincidence?

PSS—I wanted to call you and say all of this over the phone, but I forgot to ask for your current phone number. (What’s the wait time on getting that from you these days? :) )

CHARLOTTE: ON A TUESDAY Present Day New York City DAILY LATTES, FLOWERS, town car service, and wine. Ever since Grayson sent me the letter a month ago, he'd made sure to let me know that he was impatiently waiting for an answer by sending me all of those things. The caramel lattes that were delivered to my condo every morning bore the words “I need an answer” on their sleeves. The beautiful bouquets that arrived on the doorstep of my gallery at midday featured “I need an answer” wrapping paper around their stems. The labels on the wine bottles that came every Wednesday read, “Answer Grayson’s letter,” and my new town car driver looked over his shoulder each time I slipped into the backseat and asked, “You give him an answer yet?” As sweet as the gestures were, I honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to his letter. I couldn't pinpoint any bad times we had in college, and after realizing that our plans were sabotaged by an outside party and not by him, I was leaning toward a yes. But I still had a few doubts. Can we really pick up where we left off seven years ago? I stepped into my brownstone and immediately dropped my groceries to the floor. There were white and pink flowers everywhere—on the steps, down the hallway, and in the kitchen. I walked into the living room and spotted Grayson sitting on my couch. “I could’ve sworn we discussed that breaking and entering is a crime,” I said. “For the record, assaulting someone’s home with flowers is also a crime.” “I’ve never heard of that offense.” “You never majored in pre-law.” “You never went to law school.” I smiled. “How’d you get in?” “Your landlord is a fan of mine. I also promised him I wouldn’t steal anything.”

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. He walked over to me and held up a torn ticket stub, one from a game that was this past season. “I thought you said you’ve never been to any of my home games.” “I’ve been to every single one...Well, minus the year I was in Alaska. I did watch from there, though.” “Even though you hated me?” “I still loved you,” I said. “And I was proud of you. I still am.” He dropped the stub and wrapped his arm around my waist. “I would’ve believed what Anna said if I was in your shoes back then. I’m sorry I assumed you left me for no reason.” "It's good to finally know you weren't as heartless and cold as I thought.” I looked away from him, but he used his other hand to cup my chin, making me face him again. “We’ve lost seven years of each other,” he said, looking right into my eyes. “Is it too late for a second chance?” “I don’t know, but you promised to give me some time to think about it.” My heart was fluttering against my chest, begging me to take him back on the spot. “If you would give me that time, I could give you an answer.” “The last time I waited for you to give me an answer, it took months.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “And all I got in return was your phone number.” A laugh escaped my lips. “The flowers and lattes you’ve sent me every day are amazing. The pink donuts last week were a nice touch, too.” “All these years and you still deflect questions by changing the subject? It’s still sexy as hell on you, but you’re not getting away with it today.” I felt my cheeks reddening. “What do you want me to say, Grayson?” “I can’t sleep until I know your answer,” he said, “I’m not leaving until you tell me, and if I don’t like the answer, I’ll keep asking for a new one.” “What happened to you saying that you’ll wish me well, no matter what I decide?” “That was a lie.” His lips brushed against mine. “I won’t be able to wish you well until you realize you belong with me.” “And if my answer is no?” “I have a feeling it isn’t.” He gently pushed me against the wall. “I think you want to pick up right where we left off, as badly as I do.” “I have some terms and conditions,” I said softly. “Name them.” “One, you need to fire Anna.” “I already did. Two?” “You’ll have to give me time—actual time, to get used to your lifestyle.”

“My lifestyle?” He looked confused. “I’m not used to paparazzi and gossip blogs reporting my every move or waiting for me outside my house just to snap a photo. You’ve gotten used to it, but I don't think I will be for a long time." “Would you like it if I put out a statement and hired you some personal security?” I nodded. “Okay.” He kissed my forehead. “Three?” “If I take you back, you can’t be with anyone else while we’re together. No staged or fake relationships just to help other people’s careers or get good press. Your only relationship statement will be about me.” “That’s a given, Charlotte.” He held me even tighter. “That’s almost a waste of a condition.” “Not to me,” I said softly. “And lastly—” “Yes?” “Kiss me before I change my mind.”

GRAYSON: ON A TUESDAY Epilogue Two years later SUBJECT: THIS YEAR’S Champion/MVP. Dear Grayson, I hope you’re sitting at home on this amazing winter day and thinking hard about your past season. Yes, your team only lost three games, but you never made it to the Super-Bowl. However, since I did and my team is currently taking to the streets in a victory parade, I thought I would be a terrible best friend if I didn’t share this moment with you via pictures. (They’re attached) You’re very welcome for the twenty point defeat I handed you in the playoffs. (I look forward to doing the same thing to your team next season) The MVP this year, Kyle SUBJECT: RE: THIS YEAR’S Champion/MVP. Dear Kyle, I’m not sitting at home on this amazing winter day, and I am not thinking hard about my past season at all, as it’s now irrelevant. I’m sitting in my car waiting for you to finally get here so I can propose to my future wife. Your fucking parade was last week. You had someone hand-deliver the oversized pictures for framing at Charlotte’s gallery. (I’m going to remember that shit next year) and I’m sure you’re responsible for the new billboard outside my window that reads, “I Beat Grayson Connors This Year.” Or, is that not your work? Hurry up, Grayson

CHARLOTTE: ON A TUESDAY Epilogue Two years later I WRAPPED THE LAST of today’s canvas orders and made sure I’d signed my name on their boxes in bright, pink ink. Within the past two years, Rosy-gan Cafés & Galleries had become one of the top ten gallery collectives in the city. I’d gone from owning eight locations to sixteen, and my team was composed of some of the most talented artists in the world. Our art was displayed in over twenty international hotels, and we were receiving design requests from corporate businesses by the hundreds. We also had a new, twenty-year contract with the National Football League to paint ten-foot portraits of each season’s MVP. “Are you guys still open?” a soft voice called across the showroom. I set down a box and headed downstairs. “No, we’re actually about to— Nadira?” I walked over and hugged her. “What are you doing here?” “I wanted to buy some of your art.” “You hate my art.” She laughed. “No, I hated your last collection. I love everything else.” “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming into town?” I asked. “I could have made dinner reservations.” “I’ll remember that next time.” “Did you fly all the way here because you really think I won’t tell Grayson I’m pregnant?” I asked. “Because I’m going to do it tonight. I promise.” She didn’t answer. She simply smiled and walked over to my work-inprogress. Before I could ask her how long she’d be in town, my parents walked inside. Then Eric. Then Kyle. What the... “You all know the hours of my gallery.” I crossed my arms. “You all also know that I’m not done with your orders from this month, so if this is your sneaky

way of banding together and forcing me to put your orders in front of my paying customers, then you have another thing coming.” Nadira and Eric looked at each other and laughed. My parents shook their heads and gave me their typical, “Oh, Charlotte...” “So, wait,” Kyle said. “If that was our intention tonight, does that mean it’s possible that I can get my MVP portrait sooner? Because, I mean, I can totally rethink my presence here and I’ve already cleared the space in my condo for the replica version.” Nadira slapped the back of his head. “Is it someone’s birthday, then?” I asked, glancing at the calendar on the wall. It was October sixteenth, a Tuesday—and that date didn’t apply to any of their birthdays or milestones. They ignored my question and started talking amongst themselves, leaving me beyond confused. I pulled out my phone to ask Grayson if I’d somehow forgotten about an important event, but he suddenly walked through the doors, making me lose my train of thought. It still amazed me that after all these years, he was still capable of making me blush at the very sight of him. That I never failed to feel a magnetic pull in his direction when he entered a room. “Hey.” I walked over to him and kissed his lips. “Am I forgetting something? Why is everyone here?” “Because they all know I was supposed to do this nine years ago.” This? I turned around and looked at them, but they were now staring at me. “Grayson, what—” I gasped when I turned around and saw him getting down on one knee. His ocean blue eyes were locked on mine, and he looked more nervous now than I’d ever seen him. “Charlotte Taylor...” He grabbed my hand and kept his voice low. “The past two years have been the best two years of my life, and I know for a fact that the seven before never felt quite right because you weren’t in the picture.” Tears welled in my eyes as he pulled a box from his pocket. “I fell in love with you months after we met in college, and I knew then that you were the only one for me.” He squeezed my hand. “You are undoubtedly the love of my life, and I want to be with you forever. I know you always need weeks to give me an answer to my questions, but I’m hoping you’ll make an exception for this one. Will you—” “Yes.” I didn’t give him a chance to finish. “Yes.” —The End—

A Letter to the Reader DEAR INCREDIBLE READER, Thank you so much for taking time out of your life to read this book! I hope you were thoroughly entertained and enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you LOVED it and have any extra time, PLEASE leave a review on amazon.com, B&N.com, goodreads.com, OR find me here on Facebook so I can personally thank you :-) If you hated it, well...Keep that shit to yourself! LOL (Just kidding. Feel free to let me know how I can improve next time!) I’m forever grateful for you and your time, and I hope to be re-invited to your bookshelf with my next release. Speaking of my next release, if you would like to be a part of my mailing list so you can be notified of my upcoming release dates and special offers, please sign up via this link. Love, Whitney G.

THIRTY DAY BOYFRIEND (Don’t forget to pre-order my next release!)

Pre-order Thirty Day Boyfriend I SHOULD'VE NEVER AGREED to this arrangement... Thirty days ago, my boss—Mr. Wolf of Wall Street, came to me with an offer I couldn't refuse: Sign my name on the dotted line and pretend to be his fiancée for one month. If I agreed, he would let me out of my employment contract with a "very generous" severance package. The rules were pretty simple: No intimate kissing, no actual sex. Just pretend to love each other for the press, even though I've secretly wanted to knock that sexy smirk off his face since the first day we met. I definitely didn't need to think twice about this. I signed my name and started counting down the seconds to when I would never have to deal with his special brand of ass-holery again. I only made it to one minute... We argued the entire four-hour flight to his hometown, failed to make a convincing impression with the welcoming press, and right when I was about to knock that arrogant look off his face in real life? He purposely dropped his bath

towel in front of me, distracting me with his nine-inch cock to "show me who the bigger person was" in our relationship. Then he gave me his trademark smirk once again and asked if I wanted to consummate our marriage. Tragically, this is only day one. We still have 29 more days to go... Pre-order Thirty Day Boyfriend

SNEAK PEEK: SINCERELY, CARTER (A Friends to Lovers Romance)

Synopsis Just friends. We’re just friends. No, really. She’s just my best friend... Arizona Turner has been my best friend since fourth grade, even when we “hated” each other. We’ve been there for one another through first kisses, first “times,” and we’ve been each other’s constant when good relationships turned bad. (We even went to colleges that were minutes away from each other...) Throughout the years, and despite what anyone says, we’ve never crossed the line. Never thought about it. Never wanted to. Until one night changed everything. At least, it should’ve ... Just friends. We’re just friends. I’m only saying this until I figure out if she’s still “just” my best friend...

Carter I CAN STILL REMEMBER, with the type of clarity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, the very beginning of bullshit. At least, in my own life. I was ten years old, and my parents— “The James at 1100 Joyce Avenue,” were holding a fundraiser in our home. In the middle of the thousand-dollar-aplate dinner, my father decided to give an unnecessary speech. There he was—six foot four, genuine American blue eyes, and genuinely greedy, talking about how he wanted to invest in healthier menus for the kids in school. He also wanted to help invest in better disciplinary ideals since he knew of a certain child (it was me) who couldn’t stay out of trouble to save his life. Still, none of those ideals warranted the bullshit label—the next ones did: As he was toasting to all of his sponsors in the room, he lifted his glass and said, “I consider everyone here tonight to be a friend of mine. If you’re not a friend, it’s only because you’re family, and family is forever. The main reason I’m saying this right now is because my own late father taught me a very important lesson that has stuck with me for all these years: Some people come into your life for a reason, some a season, and some a lifetime.” There was loud applause, lots of cheering and heartfelt “So true...So true...” responses tossed around the room at that moment. And then an older man stooped down to my level and said, “Your father is right, you know? Remember everything he just said.” “What did he just say?” “He said some people come into your life for a reason, some a season, and some a lifetime.” He smiled. “You should keep that in mind as much as you can in your life.” He winked at me and walked away. I didn’t know it then, but my father and his fickle follower had practically predicted my future... A few years after he gave that speech, he must’ve figured he’d obliged his “reason” in me and my mom’s life because he left us both. Several years after that, my mother decided her “season” of motherhood was done, and decided that she was tired of being a mom—that her real calling could be found in smoke bars and casinos. As far as for ‘a lifetime,’ I could only think of one person who ever came close...

Fourth Grade Carter DEAR MISS CARPENTER, I am sorry that I was bad in class yesterday. I did not mean to cause a dissrupshun, and I am sorry that I broke your best pens, but I am not sorry that I HATE Arizona Turner. She is ugly and she talks way too much. I don’t know why you never send her to the office like you send me. She deserves to be punish too, and I hope she dies tomorrow so I won’t have to see her or her ugly metal mouth anymore. Sincerely, Carter I SMILED AND HANDED the letter to my mom, hoping that this time would be the charm—that she wouldn’t make me rewrite it all over again. I was beyond tired of Arizona getting me into trouble and laughing about it. She thought she was so smart because she knew the answers to all the questions in class, but I knew them, too. Especially because I knew where our teacher kept the answer key and I always stole it at lunchtime. My parents knew her parents personally because they always had to go to conferences about me “picking on her” and “making her cry,” but no one believed me when I told them that she was the one who started it. She always started it... “Carter...” My mom took a deep breath and shook her head. “This is a terrible letter. It’s worse than the last three you wrote.” “How? I didn’t call Arizona any names this time. I just said I wanted her to die.” “You don’t think you’re hurting her feelings whenever you call her ugly?” “She is ugly.”

“She’s not ugly.” My father stepped into the room. “Now, those braces in her mouth might be, but as a whole? She’s pretty cute.” “Seriously?” My mom glared at him, and he laughed. “Sorry.” He walked over and patted me on the back. “It’s not nice to call someone ugly, son. No matter how much you hate her. You’ve got to stop letting this Arizona girl get to you. This is the fifth time this year you’ve gotten in trouble.” “Eighth time.” My mother corrected him. “He pushed her off the swings when she was in mid-air last week.” My father looked at me. “And what did you do this time?” I didn’t answer him. I looked down at the floor instead. “He stood up in the middle of a math test and said, I hate you, Arizona,” my mom said. “He then proceeded to grab the poor girl’s test paper, ball it up, and throw it across the room. He missed and knocked his teacher’s favorite glass pens to the floor.” Shaking his head, my dad sighed. “Just stop talking to this girl, okay? Don’t even look her way. You’re going to have to learn to ignore her, no matter what. Something tells me she won’t be a ‘lifetime’ person for you anyway. She’s just seasonal, so she’ll go away soon. Trust me.” “Glad to see you finally acting like an adult about this.” My mom ripped my letter in half and focused her attention on me. “Now, sit down and write a nice letter to your teacher, an even nicer one to Arizona, and tell her that you’re not going to be mean to her anymore. Try to think of something nice to say, too. Maybe mention something about those pretty dresses she always wears?” I groaned, but I picked up my pen and wrote. It took me five more letters to get it right since she made me take out the words “stupid,” “hate,” and “die,” but I finally got it perfect around midnight. Then I promised myself that after I gave Arizona my letter tomorrow, I would never ever speak to her again. THE NEXT DAY AT SCHOOL, I set the sorry note on my teacher’s desk super early and walked down the farthest row—plopping down in the very last seat. Then I took out my homework and tried to finish a few more math questions before class started. I counted four times seven on my fingers and saw Arizona taking the seat next to me. “Good morning, Carter,” she said. I pretended that I didn’t hear her.

“Carter?” She tapped my shoulder and I wrote twenty- eight on my paper. “Hello?” She tapped my shoulder even harder. “Carter? Carter?” “WHAT?!” I finally looked at her. “Don’t you have something for me today? Something nice and important?” She smiled her huge mouth of metal. Ugh. She’s so ugly... “Nope.” “Your mom didn’t make you write me another ‘I’m very sorry’ note?” She crossed her arms. “Because that’s exactly what she told my mom on the phone this morning.” “Well, your mom must be deaf and dumb because I didn’t write anything for you.” “What?” She gasped. “Take that back or I’ll snitch!” “Go ahead and snitch!” I shrugged, waiting for her to raise her hand and tell on me like always. She didn’t. She just stared at me. Then she reached into her pocket and tossed a folded note onto my desk. I wanted to crumple it into a ball and throw it right at her face like I should have done yesterday, but I opened it instead and read. DEAR CARTER, I am sorry that I made you act bad and break Miss Carpenter’s pens yesterday, but I am not sorry that I HATE you. You are ugly and you talk way too much. That’s why I always get you in trouble because you can’t shut up and you think you know everything BUT YOU DON’T! I really wish you will get hit by a bus one day soon because you suck. You suck A LOT. Not Sincerely, Arizona WE BECAME BEST FRIENDS that very day...

If you’re interested in reading Carter & Arizona’s love story in its entirety, you can purchase the full title via the link below: Sincerely, Carter is currently available on all platforms.

ALSO BY WHITNEY G. Erotic Romances: Dirty Doctor: A Novella* Naughty Boss: A Novella The Layover: A Novella The Landing: A Novella* Reasonable Doubt (Full Series) Turbulence Malpractice* Contemporary Romances Resisting the Boss (A Falling for Mr. Statham Novel) Loving the Boss (A Falling for Mr. Statham Novel) Over Us, Over You (Twisted Love)* On a Tuesday: A Second Chance Romance* New Adult Romances Sincerely, Carter Sincerely, Arizona Forget You, Ethan* The Beautiful Series* *denotes that title is available for pre-order and/or an upcoming release