Blake hesitated, then held out her hand for the cup. “Double me.”

“If the lady would like a double, the lady gets a double.” I poured the wine nearly to the rim and handed it over. “So I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s fascinating, Ian, do continue. What are the big thoughts taking place down here?” She pointed to my dick.

“Hilarious.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s like now that you’ve made his acquaintance you don’t care about public shaming anymore. Good to know. Storing that information for later.” I poured myself a glass of wine and leaned back against the headboard. “I can’t really continue working the way I am. Now that I have a girlfriend and I’m in a committed relationship, if it gets around that I’m seeing you, Wingmen Inc. won’t work, so I need to come up with a different plan.”

“Hmm.” Blake sipped her wine quietly, her expression unreadable. After her second sip, she said, “Well, you can still offer advice and take girls through the steps. In most situations, that should be enough. Almost like a life coach. I did used to call you the love coach, so there you have it.”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “And Lex could probably do more of the grunt work, since he’s completely single and will probably die alone.”

“I’m sure he appreciates your optimism about his future.”

“Last time he agreed. Trust me, he embraces it with a scary joy that I’m sure is only matched by pubescent boys when they watch Baywatch reruns.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind, then.” Blake stared at ESPN and frowned, then leaned forward and frowned harder. “Um, Ian? Do they still run stories on you?”

“What? Why?” I glanced at the TV. They were showing reruns of last year’s most promising drafts.

I’d seen the footage a thousand times.

And each time it stung.

But it didn’t now.

I used to turn it off, walk away, work out, get drunk, or just try to focus on something else, but with Blake in my bed, eating crackers, it was less painful. The sting was gone, and in place of the hole that had once been there . . . I had her.

Reaching for her hand, I squeezed it and then turned up the TV.

“Wow”—Blake watched with rapt fascination—“you’re amazing!”

“I was a safety. Hardly the quarterback,” I said, though my chest puffed out a bit more when her eyes widened at the next play.

The ESPN announcer’s voice popped on and explained which guys had been drafted and what their numbers were, and then my name popped up again.

“Ian Hunter, Heisman nominee.” Blake clenched my hand tighter. “The most promising draft pick played only two games before a freak accident ended his career, but I’m sure that ten-million-dollar signing bonus helped ease the sting a bit.” The announcers chuckled while Blake’s mouth dropped open in absolute shock.

“You bastard!” She launched herself and her wine toward me. “You’re worth ten million dollars, and you charge over two hundred dollars a day!”

“In my defense,” I said, laughing, “if I charge too little, it seems like I value my expertise too little. And we didn’t cash any of your checks. But if you’re this pissed, maybe we should reconsider what Wingmen Inc. charges?”

“You think?” She threw her hands into the air. “I mean, you don’t want it to be charity, but clearly you don’t need the money.”

“Even without the NFL, I wouldn’t have needed the money,” I said slowly, warily, concerned that we might be entering deal-breaker territory.

“Oh, right, your parents?”

“Left me this house—and a few others.” I shrugged, not fully ready to let her know my net worth. Because what was the point? It was money. And it had always made me feel empty.

Football had given me something.

But Blake had given me so much more.

A wry smile teased her lips upward. “Sorry for freaking out.”

Hard to say exactly what emotion washed over me at her words, but I think it was relief. I could never let Lex know I was beginning to analyze my feelings like a girl.

She winced and pointed to a red wine stain on the white comforter. “And sorry that I ruined your comforter.”

“I’ll make you work it off.” Confidence returning, I nodded and sent her a smug grin. “Hard labor. Bedroom-style. You interested?”

“For how long?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Forever.”

“Hmm, I better get started now, then.”

“Great.” I set my wine down and then whispered, “On your knees, sweet cheeks.”

EPILOGUE

I watched them.

But they didn’t know it.

I wasn’t sure if that made it more or less inappropriate. Not that I gave a shit. At least when sober I didn’t give a damn.

But I was shit-faced.

And there they were.

Kissing, hugging. Holding hands. I seriously wanted nothing more than to slam my beer bottle over Ian’s head, give him a good shake, then yell, “What the hell are you doing screwing with the perfect life?”

He’d had it all.

Even after his accident he’d still had it all—women, sex, more women. Did I mention sex? Because he’d had a lot of it.

And now? He was giving that all up. For what? A piece of ass? Like he didn’t have prime pick on campus?

“What a loser,” I huffed, though part of me felt like I was somehow losing, even though I was clearly at the top of my game.