“So we’re alright? I felt like we were just getting to a really good place, I don’t want to ruin that.”

“No, I mean yeah.” I crack my knuckles, a habit I always revert back to when I’m nervous. “We’re good. It will never happen again. And I’d like it if we got along, because if you thought the work leading up to the launch was intense, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

Even though I stayed clear of the office today, I’ve been checking my emails all day. And the amount of interest in Quinton’s foundation is wild. The inquiries about what he was talking about, what pension parity even is, were borderline overwhelming.

“I’m ready, I’ve been ready.” He pulls the beanie off his head and toys with it between his hands.

I swear he’s testing me. Letting me get a good look at him with and without the beanie. I could conduct a thesis and still not know which way he looks hotter.

“Good.” After seeing his speech last night, I have no doubt he’s telling the truth. If anything, I’ll need to remind him to focus on the field. “So why don’t we meet tomorrow after practice and plan on setting up meetings with Pro Players for Equal Treatment? Their cause is one a lot of people still need to be educated on. I was thinking I could set up a joint interview with you and their representative to really get the message out.”

“Sounds good.” He shoves his hat into his pocket as he heads for the door. I trail behind him, careful not to get too close, reminding myself of personal boundaries the entire ten-foot walk. “Alright then.” He lifts two fingers to his dark, full, always stern-looking brows, and salutes. “See you tomorrow . . . friend.”

Friend? Awww, the friend zone. It’s so cozy in here.

“Okay, yeah. Tomorrow—” I forget what words are and how they work. “We’ll get to work then.”

He walks out of the door and I watch him until he disappears into the stairwell. I close the door, only locking it by muscle memory, before walking back to my half-melted ice cream.

Friend? Did Quinton Howard Junior just call me his friend?

What in the entire fuck just happened?

I guess whatever it is, it’s still better than being unemployed . . . or at least not for another two to three months.

Twenty-one

The ping of my email is almost white noise at this point.

I knew coming back to the office after the launch party would be wild, but I still managed to underestimate just how wild it would be.