After being cheated on by their long-term partners, can a pro-wide receiver and a PR agent remain friends with benefits without falling for each other?
I've been in love with Ava since I was fifteen. She was my first, my only, my everything, destroy...
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"This is..." Mr. Patterson scanned my papers, and his eyebrows lifted. "Good. Very good. How did you think of some of these?"
As much as I wanted to admit 'sorority events,' I opted for "Brainstorming" and nudged Pat's foot with mine.
We'd exchanged potentials during a mutual idea-stealing effort. Four events were in the budget, but a basic cost analysis showed all eight suggestions could clear a profit.
The more begging and free promotions I offered local businesses meant more money for charities, happy WAGs, and a happy team. Win-win-win.
Mr. Patterson's nod relaxed the tension gripping every muscle. "Send me schedules and cost breakdowns by Thursday so I can take them to Friday's budget review. Pat, show her the PM system." Pat scowled, which our boss waved off. "Once you're finished, start recruiting wives and girlfriends for participation. Unsolicited advice, get Eleanor Hightower first."
Get Eleanor Hightower. The quarterback's wife. No pressure. Tons of pressure.
"I'll try."
"Do more than try." He shot me a finger gun. "Make your life easier."
Pat's sour expression remained as we returned to our desks. "Let's see how many brain cells we can kill," he grumbled.
I opened my drawer and held up a paper bag of pacification. "Thanks for helping."
"Bribing me with comfort carbs?" His eyes lit up at the label, and he gave it a deep, blissful sniff. "It's working."
My only venture outside was refreshing and anticlimactic. I bought feminine products and half a dozen of the thickest, fattest, fluffiest bagels I'd ever sunk my teeth into.
"Aww-mhuy gwuosh." A sinfully delicious smush of cream cheese filled my mouth, half an inch thick for the win. "So good."
"Did you get a bagel with cream cheese or cream cheese with a side of bagel?" he teased.
"Yes." I flicked a remnant glop off the corner of my mouth.
Tash's revenge body suggestion had merit. While the bagels did wonders for soaking up the rosé, I needed a better frustration outlet. Like the gym and pool in Jay's building. Next week. Maybe this month.
Pat buried me in the Wolves' project management software, disposition codes, and a trippy gradient coloring system making my eyes cross. We delved into the micro details of subtasks I didn't know existed.
Five events in, we sagged in our seats. My mashed potato brain begged me to stick a fork in it, and my screen blurred. I rubbed my tear ducts and shifted my hips. Tingles of numbness pricked where my ass dozed off between events three and four.
I bounced away the numbness in my butt. "What are you doing for lunch, Pat?"
His drooping eyelids snapped up. "Grab cafeteria food and catch the end of practice."
