I step away when he starts waxing poetic about types of bread to use.

I don’t notice Finn until he gives me a slap on the shoulder. “What’s doin’, Big D? You played like shit today.”

“Master at stating the obvious, aren’t you?”

He just grins like a smarmy dick. “So it was obvious to you too? Good. For a second there, I wondered if you had your head totally up your ass.”

I rub a towel over my hair and toss it down. I’m tempted to tell him to fuck off, but he’s stating the truth, and something worse comes out instead. “Are all men clueless when it comes to handling women? Or am I just gifted at being a spectacular fuckup?”

Finn blinks as if I’ve told him I have VD. I think I might be wincing too; I do not need the entire locker room knowing my business.

“Well, hell,” he says finally. “I don’t know. Isn’t it our job to fuck up?”

From across the way, Ryder snorts. “First of all, you never ‘handle’ a woman. She handles you. Your job—” He points at the both of us. “—is to hold on tight, go along for the ride, and pray you don’t fuck it up.”

“What makes you an expert?” Finn asks. “Last time I checked, you haven’t been with the same girl for more than one night for like…ever.”

“Four sisters, asshole,” Ryder answers as he looks in the little mirror he has attached to his cubby. He runs his hand through his damp hair. “And raised by my mom. I know women.” He catches my eye in the mirror. “What did you do?”

Running my fingers through my beard, I debate telling him, but I’ve already said too much to back out now. “I told Fi we should keep things on the down-low until all of this bullshit blows over.”

Every guy in the locker room groans as one. Fuck, I should’ve known they’d be eavesdropping. Nosy bastards.

“Dude,” says Ryder. “Were you aiming for the most bonehead thing to say? Because you fucking nailed it.”

“Yeah,” says Jones, a defensive end who’s pulling on his sweats. “The only thing worse would be if you pulled out the ‘it’s not you’ line.”

“I told her it wasn’t—”

Another round of groans, even more pained, rumbles though the locker room.

“Bad play, man.”

“Way to go, knucklehead.”

“Send her flowers.”

“Hell, no. That’s fucking cliché. Stand outside her window and hold up one of those old time boom boxes.”

“As she calls the cops on your ass.”

I roll my eyes at them. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’re all single by choice.”

I don’t know if they get the movie reference, but someone chucks a sweaty sock at me. I think it’s Ryder but can’t be sure. I glare around the room, as the horrible sinking feeling within grows worse.

“Dex,” Finn drawls with a shake of his head. “You’re the guy we expect to have all the answers. What the fuck, man?”

With a grunt, I let my forehead slam against the edge of my locker. The pain feels good. “I don’t know.” He’s right, I’m the one they come to for advice, not some moron who gets it all wrong.

Life lesson that sucks? Giving advice is way easier than living your own life.

Life lesson that sucks worse? Realizing this after you’ve severely fucked up.

“I just want to protect her.” It comes out as feeble as it sounds. And I’m really not talking to the guys anyway. I was protecting Fi, but I was also protecting myself. Because I’m embarrassed. This whole situation makes me feel like I’m the butt of a joke, something I’ve tried to avoid my whole life. And I don’t want Fi to see that up close and personal. I don’t want her to see me as something less than.

But now I’ve gone and hurt her.

A nudge at my shoulder has me lifting my head. Finn’s expression is neutral. “Ry and I are going out for crawfish and oysters by the lakefront. Come on out with us. Have a beer and forget all this media shit for a while.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I try to perk up, at least give the semblance of a guy who isn’t losing it. “Thanks. Maybe next time.”

Right now, I’ve got an airline ticket to buy and a shit-ton of groveling to plan.

It’s dark by the time I get home.

I haul my ass upstairs. My left knee throbs and my back feels like a hot iron rod has been shoved up my spine. That’s just the top of my list of various aches and pains. I’m twenty-four years old and am hobbling like a senior citizen on his way to a four o’clock dinner. Old before my time, I think as I open my front door, toss my keys on the side table, and step into an empty house.

For one dark second, loneliness swamps me and I can’t breathe. It takes my air and weighs down my chest. I stare at the floor as my hand fumbles to find my phone in my pocket.

I need to hear Fi’s voice. Now. God, I need to see and touch her so badly I grind my teeth with want. But her voice will have to do.

Then it hits me, a certain warmth, the scent of coffee, and the underlying fragrance of fresh flowers. I feel her. Here.

Fi is here.

My bag hits the floor with a thud, and I practically run into the main room. She’s pouring herself a cup of coffee, her hair gleaming pale gold under the kitchen light. She looks up at my arrival, a nervous smile drawing tight over her delicate features. “Hey.”