Our first game of the season passed like a foggy dream, one where I dressed, ran through warm-up drills and played all four quarters as if I were sleeping through the entire thing. I was there, on the field, next to my defensive brothers as I tackled and sprinted and leapt into the air for an interception that was nearly a pick six. I slapped helmets and chanted cheers, wiped sweat out of my eyes on the sideline, lifted Riley onto my shoulders when the final whistle blew and we won the game, and talked to the line of media like I was the luckiest, happiest kid in the world.

But inside, I was numb.

And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was because of Maliyah.

Seeing her warm up on the same field, watching her cheer out of the corner of my eye, trying to ignore the looks she got from not just the guys on the team but those in the stands, too — it was a slow death from sipping poison.

I wished I was stronger. I wished I didn’t care. I wished for all the things in my life that could have broken me, this was not the one that finally did.

It was supposed to be us.

It was supposed to be her kissing me before the game, cheering me on as I played, leaping into my arms after a win. It was supposed to be my number painted on her cheek, just like in high school, and my jacket around her shoulders when the fall chill set in.

Last night, I’d almost forgotten the acute pain that resided in my chest when Giana and I had gone out in the Theater District for her first “lesson” in getting Shawn’s attention. I was so focused on helping her, on showing her how to play the game that I hadn’t had time to even think about Maliyah.

It was a welcome distraction, watching Giana’s shock as what I told her to do worked, feeling her tremble and pant beneath me as I teased her in that booth, knowing it was driving Shawn mad to watch it.

I knew, because if I were him, it would have driven me mad.

I was surprised how easy it was, how effortless it felt to kiss along her neck, to whisper in her ear and elicit a wave of chills over her skin. It was amusing at first, a permanent smile on my face as I found which buttons I could push to make her gasp, or sigh, or arch into me, or dig her nails into my flesh.

But as the night progressed, that amusement shifted into something primal.

The more I pretended like she was mine to tease like that, the more it felt like she really was.