And grimace as I swallow. Damn it’s strong, even with all the cream and sugar added to it.

“You know it’s true. How many girls have we all banged at one point or another on that couch? Too many to count.” Des chuckles and shakes his head, sounding proud of the fact that my couch has hosted an endless list of chicks sprawled na**d across it.

The image disgusts me. Not even a few weeks ago I probably would have high-fived him.

Now all I can think about is Chelsea. And how grossed out she’d be if she really knew all the dirty shit I’d been up to in my not-so-distant past.

“I just feel like if you’re going to stay here all the time, you should at least contribute something,” I mutter.

“I do contribute. Plenty of beer and weed to keep y’all on a continuous buzz,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I always pay for the weed, bro.” I do. I never expect a handout.

“I’m getting real sick of your poor-ol’-me act. You act all hard up and like you always need money, but gimme a break. Wade lives here rent-free. Why can’t I hang around here on occasion?” Des pushes the now only filled-with-milk bowl away from him and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his longish brown hair. He always has a shaggy, slightly unkempt look about him. Thin, worn T-shirts, old, holey and torn jeans, scuffed shoes. His hair is a mess, his face covered in four-day-old beard. It’s like he’s cultivated this drug dealer image, but I know he’s full of shit.

“I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t know if it’s smart that you’re always here,” I say, sipping from my coffee. My appetite has left me. I don’t want to have this conversation with Des. Not now, not really ever. He’s a friend, even if he irritates the shit out of me. I’m not in the mood for a confrontation.

“Why the hell not?” Des sounds indignant, looks shocked. “What does it matter?”

I set the mug on the counter beside me, meeting his gaze. “You’re a drug dealer.”

“So what? I’ve supplied you with enough joints to last you a lifetime.”

Chelsea would die if she knew Des was a dealer. “Maybe I’m trying to clean up my image.”

Des glares, his gaze narrowed, his jaw tight. “It’s the girl, right?”

I never said Des was stupid. “Maybe. What does it matter? Doesn’t look good that I’m on the football team and like to get high. They could kick me off.”

“That’s never bothered you before.”

“Yeah, well it should’ve,” I mutter.

Des studies me. “You know you’re f**king around with a chick who is nothing like you, Owen. She’s too goody-goody for your ass. You get in her panties yet?”

“That’s none of your goddamn business,” I spit out.

“Meaning you haven’t.” Des sighs and shakes his head. “Stick with what you know, buddy. Find some girl who’s looking for a good time and that’s it. Chelsea is just some smart, sorta plain girl who’s slumming. You’re exciting, you’re nothing like any guy she’s ever known, if she’s even known any guys, because if you want my opinion, she has virgin written all over her.”

“You need to watch what you say about her,” I warn, fury eating me up, ready to burst out and unleash all over Des’s skinny ass. “Show her some respect.”

Des laughs. “You got it bad, don’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this over a girl. You usually just f**k ’em and leave ’em. Hell, Wade and I both have slobbered after your leftovers and you’ve never protested. What would you say if I told you I’d pick up where you left off when you’re done with the tutor?”

“I’d say I’d beat your f**king face in until you couldn’t speak,” I say, my voice low as I stare at him.

The motherfucker actually smiles. “Well, well. Look at you. All worked up over a girl. It’s kind of cute, Maguire. But you’re wasting your time with that one. She’s going to be the one who leaves first and damn, is it going to hurt. You’ll need me and what I supply more than anything once she’s gone.”

Does everyone think I’m a weak as**ole who can’t function without a joint dangling from my fingers or what? “Trust me, I don’t need you.”

“You will. Once your precious little tutor is gone.” He grins, gets up from the kitchen table, and saunters out of the room. Leaving his dirty bowl on the table for me to pick up.

So I do. I pick it up and throw it in the f**king sink, so hard the ceramic smashes everywhere, but I’m not satisfied.

I’m pissed. And a little scared. What if what he says comes true and Chelsea does leave first? I’ve never even thought about it. I’m always the one who walks away.

If the tables were turned, I don’t know if I could stand it.

Chelsea

I always thought I hated football, but this has turned out to be one of the best days of my life. Despite the dark, gloomy skies, the rain somehow decided not to fall once we arrived at the game. We’re watching from high above in a humongous skybox in the new stadium that opened a few years ago.

I’m not even paying attention to what’s happening. How can I? I’m too consumed with Owen as he watches the game with rapt attention, his expression tense, his gaze locked on the field for every play, especially when the 49ers have the ball, specifically his brother-in-law. Every once in a while he says something to either Fable or me, or he leans over to give my hand a quick squeeze. He even drops the occasional kiss on my lips.

All the while his sister sits there, watching us in obvious shock though she’s trying her best to fake it.

She’s nice, his sister. When he introduced us, she actually hugged me, her pleasure at meeting me genuine. I was a little overwhelmed at first because Owen had warned me on the drive here that she could be pretty standoffish when she first meets someone. Says she has a hard time trusting people.

I could relate. Maybe she saw that, too; I don’t know.

Fable’s definitely beautiful, petite yet busty, with long, sunny blond hair and those same flashing green eyes as Owen’s. The affection between the two of them is palpable, and it makes me happy to see such obvious sibling love.

It almost makes me a little jealous, which is so stupid and pointless. Would I ever matter as much to Owen as his sister does? Totally not fair of me to think that way, but I can’t help it.

The drive to the stadium in Santa Clara had been long but fun. He’d come and picked me up in a sullen, agitated mood, but then he’d seemed to brighten a little when he saw me. And when he kissed me, his lips had lingered, and he’d held me extra close. Told me he missed me, his gaze roving over my face as if he couldn’t get enough of me, and for whatever reason, he seemed to calm down.

Had something happened before he came to pick me up? The thought nagged at the back of my mind the entire drive. I tried not to distract him too much since it rained on us most of the way and the roads were slick, so I kept my worry to myself.

And I am a total worrier. I inherited that trait from Mom and I hate it. Though she always claimed all the worry made me that much better of a student, since I feared missing an assignment or getting a bad grade. Worrying kept me on track, she told me more than once.

Whatever.

“So how is Owen doing in school?” Fable asks, her expression curious.

It’s halftime and Owen has taken off. Probably going to the bathroom, leaving me and Fable alone together.

“He’s doing a lot better,” I say, my voice a little shaky. I wish I weren’t so intimidated but oh my God, this is Owen’s sister. The one person he seems to love more than anyone else. She pretty much raised him and he respects her so much. I just want her to like me. “When I first started seeing him, he wasn’t applying himself, you know? And he also wasn’t going to class, which is obviously a problem.”

Fable sighs. “He can be so irritating. And stubborn. If I keep telling him to do something, I swear sometimes he’ll flat-out not do it just because I want him to. You know what I mean?”

I shrug. Not really, because that’s not how I am whatsoever. And somehow I convinced Owen to do his schoolwork. Of course, he had so much on the line at that point I don’t think he was willing to risk it.

“It’s always been hard to keep him focused,” Fable continues. “He’d much rather be doing something else. I think he gets bored easily in class. He’s very smart. He just tends to get … distracted.”

“Well, he’s back on the team, he’s working, and he’s going to school but somehow maintaining his heavy schedule pretty smoothly. I’m trying to help keep him on track. He’s still playing catch-up with his portfolio for the Creative Writing class but I think he’s almost there,” I explain.

“So it sounds like he doesn’t really need to see you anymore, does he?” Fable asks, her voice gentle.

I shrug, unease slipping down my spine. “I guess not.”

She smiles. “He likes you.”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I like him, too.”

“Owen has never introduced me to a girl before.”

Now I’m shocked. “Really?”

Fable slowly shakes her head. “He’s always been very … independent. We both have. We’ve had to be.”

I have no idea what she’s alluding to and I wish I did. But it’s not my place to grill Owen’s sister. He should just tell me about his life on his own. Of course, I hold my own secrets close to my chest and I’m still not ready to admit anything to him.

Such as how guilty I feel for being here, in Santa Clara, when really Mom’s place isn’t that far away. I should have gone by to see her. She misses me terribly. I just talked to her on the phone yesterday and she’d sounded so sad, so desolate. She has no one, she likes to constantly tell me. No one but me. She can’t wait for me to come home and go to graduate school. She truly thinks I’m just going to move in and it’ll be the two of us against the world again.

I hate to break it to her, but that’s the last thing I want to do. And who knows what my life will be like two years from now? Things could change. Dramatically.

“He admires you a lot,” I say, wanting Fable to know just how much she means to Owen. I assume she realizes it but it must feel good to hear it, too. “You and your husband. He says the two of you pretty much raised him.”

“We did—well, mostly during his teen years, but those are the worst, right?” Fable smiles. “Owen and Drew became super close despite Owen’s initial distrust of him. But Owen hardly trusts anyone, so that’s normal. Now they’re so close; it’s sweet. Drew’s like the big brother Owen never had.”

“Don’t tell me you’re talking about me.”

At the sound of his deep voice, I turn to find Owen standing above us, a smile on his face and a shopping bag clutched in his hand. I return his smile, my heart flipping over itself when he settles into the empty seat beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine.

“You know it,” Fable says, a wicked grin on her face. “I’m telling Chelsea all about your bad habits.”

“Gimme a break.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m perfect.” Grinning, he sets the bag in my lap. “I got you a present.”

“What?” I’m shocked yet pleased. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he says simply, nodding toward the bag. “Open it.”

I peek inside and then pull out a thick, white hooded pullover sweatshirt with the 49ers emblem on the front. It’s soft and warm, a little oversized, and I clutch it close, my gaze snagging on the price tag, eyes widening when I see the price.

Holy crap, it was expensive.

“I love it,” I tell him, touched that he would think of me and want to buy me a gift. “Thank you.”

“Put it on. Show your 49er spirit.” He takes the sweatshirt from me and tears off the price tag with a firm tug.

I shrug off the pale gray cardigan I’m wearing and take the new sweatshirt from Owen, then slip it on. It’s bulky and thick, cozy and soft, and I slip my hands into the front pocket, practically hugging myself. “How does it look?”

“Good. Real good.” The heat in Owen’s gaze momentarily steals my breath and I give him a stern look, tipping my head to the side toward his sister.

The last thing I need is him wanting to attack me in front of Fable. How embarrassing.

“You two are so cute.” Fable sighs and shakes her head. “Just friends, my ass.”

Owen says nothing and neither do I. Where did she hear we were just friends? Is that what Owen told her? We’ve not declared ourselves in any sort of relationship, but I did figure we were headed that way.

I definitely wouldn’t describe us as “just friends.”

The words bother me the rest of the game. Through the entire second half, though I put on a brave and happy face when the 49ers win. I chat with Fable but I can feel myself withdrawing, folding into myself. She knows a lot of people in the skybox—it’s filled with other players’ wives and girlfriends, and they all want to talk to the star quarterback’s wife. She matters; she’s important.

I don’t matter. I’m not important. I’m just Owen’s friend.

Trying my best to muster up being in a good mood, I meet Drew after the game and he’s just … dazzling. Gorgeous and friendly and so incredibly sweet to his wife; clearly he loves her madly. I can see his respect and affection for Owen; the three of them are close.