Dammit. “Yeah,” I admit. “He was at a soccer camp thing I went to.” And is currently lying three feet away. Naked.

“And?! Did you talk to him?” Emma screeches.

“Barely,” I lie.

“He didn’t fall for the infamous Saylor Scott charm? The one that makes men profess their love outside in the middle of the night with a full choir?”

“That happened once,” I reply.

“Once more than it’s happened to the rest of us,” Emma shoots back.

I roll my eyes, then remember she can’t see me. “I’m taking a nap. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I hang up before she can answer and start scrolling through some of my other notifications. “I’ve got to go,” I inform Beck.

He’s got one elbow tucked back behind his head, lounging in the streaks of sunset that sneak between the half-drawn shades. Ellie’s latest text contained five question marks inquiring about my whereabouts. Sometimes just one won’t do.

“Everyone wants to go to a beer garden. It’ll be weird if I skip it. Plus, we’re good here, right?”

“I mean, I could go for a fourth round.”

I roll my eyes as I pull my sports bra back on, followed by my tank top, thong, and shorts. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Beck rolls upright and pulls his boxer briefs back on to follow me to the door of his apartment.

We’re halfway across the living room when there’s a knock. I shoot Beck a questioning look as he overtakes me and pulls open the front door.

There’s a woman with black wavy hair and perfectly proportioned features standing on the opposite side of the doorway. And I recognize her. She’s a Russian tennis star who’s dabbled in modeling.

“Alesandra.”

“Beck,” she purrs. I can practically see the pheromones flying.

“Looks like you’ll get your wish,” I tell Beck with a scoff, brushing past him to head out into the hallway.

“Saylor,” he calls after me.

“Bye, Beck.” I wave a hand, but don’t look back as I walk down the carpeted hallway. My eyes remain fixed on the gleaming floor of the elevator as soon as the doors ding open.

Anything to avoid facing the fact that Beck having sex with someone else bothers me.

That’s a problem only denial can fix.

Chapter Twelve

This. This right here is what I live for. The smell of freshly cut grass. The feel of warm sun saturating my skin. The sound of labored breaths surrounding me.

I spin, shoving against Olivia as I fight to make some progress up the field. She grunts as my elbow makes contact with her stomach, but keeps pressing. Finally, I pull free—only to be greeted with the sound of Coach Weber’s whistle. Followed by another long pull.