Fine. It’s like that. I give him a sharp nod. “I’ll be flying around the gym like Superman, sir. I’ll be a Blaze blur every day, all day.”

“Good. You always are, but level up for me.” He gives me a concerned look. “You need that degree too. You need a fallback.”

My body tenses. “Right.”

“What’s your major?”

I’ve been staring at the floor. I look up at him. “History, sir. If the NFL doesn’t work out, I want to teach high school and coach.”

He nods and gives me a small smile. “I did the same thing. I was planning on being a PE teacher until I got a college coaching position. You’d be a fine teacher, Blaze. You’ve got an outgoing personality kids would gravitate to. Fine choice.”

“I failed a couple of classes last semester. I’m not the best student.” I try. I really do.

He frowns, maybe because he knows how much I struggle academically. “I get it. You’re a star here, and it’s a fine line balancing athletics and classes. You know the drill: get a tutor, study, lay off the alcohol.”

“Doing that already,” I say. “I’m dedicated, Coach. Any team would be lucky to have me.”

“I know, but we’ve got to get them to notice you first.”

My lips flatten. “If a national championship doesn’t get their attention, what will?”

He frowns and scratches his jaw. “I don’t know. Truthfully, I thought you’d be talked about more.”

Ah, shit, so I wasn’t wrong. For some reason, they just don’t want me. My shoulders deflate as all that anger whooshes out.

I’m not good enough.

Never have been.

Just the product of two meth heads from a nowhere place in Mississippi.

He toys with a pen. “Let’s not dwell on that. Put the media behind you, get out of here, and get back on that treadmill. I need you in tiptop shape, you feel me?”

“Yes, sir. I’m ready for it.” I stand, my legs heavy and tired as I face him. I don’t want him to see that he’s spooked me. I’ve got to bulldoze my way into the NFL; I just have to figure out how.

I think about the quotes I have taped up on my bathroom mirror.

Push yourself because no one else is going to do it.

You are responsible for your success.

You is all you have.

And fuck, that last one crawls around inside me and sticks.

5

“Wake up and get me a cigarette, bitch,” cries Vampire Bill, the African grey parrot that’s in his cage on my nightstand.

I ease up and glare at him from my bed.

Ryker stayed over with Penelope, my roomie and best friend, last night, so I pulled the parrot from her room into mine. Nothing kills the lovey-dovey mood like a parrot telling them to “Get your bony ass down the road and get a job.”

He was rescued by Penelope from a bunch of cigarette-smoking, belligerent, low-class morons. Our neighbors from across the street, they left him on the side of the road on their move-out day, and Penelope ran out to save him. She says he’s hers, and I guess he is, but I like to think of us as co-parents.

When I stretch and reach out to pet him, he fluffs his feathers and rubs the back of my hand with his head. I study his misshapen right wing, the one that keeps him from flying, and hand him a cracker from the box on the table. Regardless of the things he says, he’s an affectionate creature, and I have a soft spot for him. He reminds me of, well, me—a little broken but still fighting.

“Time to make this day my bitch, but no smoking for you,” I say, hopping up out of bed and putting on some new workout leggings and a T-shirt. Deadpool is on the front saying, Yeah, I’d do me. I sweep my hair up in a high ponytail and head out to the den of the house I share with Penelope. Her mom left it to her after she passed away, and it’s in a quiet neighborhood near campus.

No one else appears to be up yet—thank God—so I bring up the YouTube channel on the TV for my yoga session of the day.

Later, after several attempts at this ridiculousness, sweat drips off me while I push my legs as far apart as they’ll go and grasp my toes. I call it The Crotch Widener Pose, but I don’t think the trim girl in the video would approve. She moves into another position, and I fumble around on my mat, trying to get up. “What’s the point of this,” I mutter, weaving as I try to stand still on one foot, my arms straight and pointed at the ceiling, one foot tucked into the bend of my knee. “Look, I’m a rocket man,” I announce to no one. “Should have brought Vampire Bill out here so he could critique,” I say on a laugh. Then, I catch a glimpse of myself in the glare from the television and wince at the scrunched-up face and strands of hair that have fallen loose from my up-do. Ugh. Definitely not a Dani kind of girl.

Ryker walks into the room wearing flannel pants and no shirt. He comes to a halt when he sees me and rakes a hand through his golden-blond hair. “Damn. Any clue how many captions I could put on this image—”

“Trust me, she can caption them herself,” replies Penelope as she follows him into the room and swats him on the ass. With her copper hair up in a messy knot and her red glasses perched on her nose, she looks slightly mussed and happy in her pjs. I’m not surprised considering the number of times I heard her calling out his name last night. I’m thrilled they’re in love and all that jazz, but dang, enough with the awesome sex already. I make a mental note to pick up some earplugs at the Piggly Wiggly.

“Bedsides,” Penelope adds. “No one likes an audience while they’re exercising.”

“Especially when they’re short and gravitationally challenged like me.” I laugh and continue into the next pose. “Be glad I wasn’t in downward-facing dog.”

“Namaste, Charm. Please continue your workout,” Ryker says then gives me a broad grin as he heads off for a shower.

I finish up just as my phone rings with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Charisma Rossi?” It’s a man with a distinct Boston accent.

I grip the phone tighter. The only people I know who’d be calling me from that area is the design firm I signed my graphic design internship with. “This is she.”

He clears his throat. “Ah, yes, this is William Connor. We met a few months ago when you came up for an interview at Prescott Designs.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yes, hello! It’s great to hear from you. I’m so excited to see you in May.” I let out a nervous laugh. Getting that prized spot was the highlight of my year. “I even already have a place to live. My cousin has a great apartment near downtown and she’s setting up a room for me. All I have to do is graduate and move—”

“Ah, well, I have bad news. We’ve had to make some cutbacks here at the firm, and we’re canceling.”

“Oh.” I take a seat on the couch. “Why? Was I not right for the program? I mean, I know the competition was tough, but I’m one of the best. Are you—are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake?” I nailed that interview. I know I did. My GPA is stellar and my portfolio is kickass. Ma even bought me a pale gray power suit from Barney’s, and my makeup was demure but stylish, my pink and black hair slicked back in a tight bun—

“No mistake, and I’m sincerely sorry. It’s not you. We’re cutting the program entirely.” A long sigh comes from his end. “I’m in the process of calling several interns and letting them know, Ms. Rossi. You aren’t alone.”

My hand rubs my forehead. Boston was the only thing keeping me going, knowing I’d be out of here soon. “I see.”

“I’m aware it puts you in a bind, and I’d be happy to suggest a few places that may have openings for interns. I’ll email them over to you. My advice is to apply immediately.”

What he isn’t saying is that all the spots at the best firms have been filled. Shit. Boston was the perfect city—close to home yet far enough away that Ma couldn’t pop in and surprise me.

“If you want to take a gap year and reapply next year, we may reopen it then.”

A gap year would mean moving back in with my parents. NIAMY. Not in a million years.

We end the conversation, and I stare down at my phone for several seconds, resisting the urge to throw it across the room. Instead, I head to the kitchen for some much-earned coffee.

“How was Cadillac’s last night?” Penelope asks a few minutes later when she comes into the kitchen. She’s changed from her pjs into jeans and a Wildcats shirt—another one. Nice.

I sit down at the table near the bay window. “Margo, Connor, and the chess champs were there so I hung with them.”

“Did you see him?”

My hands tighten. “He had two girls with him. Looks like he’s expanding his harem.”

She frowns and takes cinnamon rolls out of the oven. She must have put them in earlier. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I decide to not dwell on Blaze and give her the rundown from the phone call. She listens, her head cocked, eyes studying me. I see worry in her gaze.

“Dang. Sorry, Charm. I know this isn’t how you wanted to start off the new semester.” She pours sugary icing on the rolls and brings me one. Like Ma, she thinks food solves everything.