Page 110 of Even Exchange

“Can I give you a few tips?” she asks, her soft smile bringing me comfort.

“Sure.”

“For one.” She squeezes my side, and I yelp.

“Charlotte!” I glance around as my cheeks turn red from the high-pitched sound she forced out of me.

“You need to loosen up. You look constipated.”

“I thought that wasn’t anything to tell a partner?” I ask, a smile creeping on my face.

“Well, if it’s the truth, it’s the truth. Relax.”

Rolling my shoulders, I release a breath. “Okay.”

“These are justpeople. They’re literally human.”

“Yeah, super humans who’ve won the greatest titles there are to win in football.”

I spot Derek James, the running back of the LA Scorpions, in the far corner toasting a drink with another man. Every nerve fires off in rapid succession. Is this how people feel meeting Taylor Swift? Because if so, I get it now. I want to kick my feet and give him a friendship bracelet with my damn phone number on it.

Charlotte follows my eyeline. “Do you think Derek James woke up one day with a Super Bowl ring on his finger?”

“SixSuper Bowl rings,” I correct, and she narrows her eyes at me.

“My point is, he lives, breathes, and sleeps football—just like you. Just like everyone else here. So bond over that. These are your peers. You have nothing to be nervous about.”

I clench and release my hands, hoping to expel some of the tension. “And if I still am?”

“Then you need my final piece of advice,” she says, accepting two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. “Always have a drink in your hand.”

“I don’t think drinking is a good idea.” Not trying to embarrass myself or Charlotte.

“I didn’t say you had to drink it.” She rolls her eyes, passing me my glass. “But holding it keeps you from fidgeting or awkwardly finding something to do with your hands.”

I tip the flute at hers. “That’s all good advice.”

“You’re not the only teacher in this relationship,” she says, clinking my glass. My eyes fall to her lips. So soft.

“Well, hello, gorgeous people,” Andi says with Knox trailing behind her, along with another familiar face.

Cockblocked. Again.

“Hey, Coach,” I say, reaching out a hand.

“Caruso,” Coach Porter says, returning a firm shake.

“Surprised to see you here.”

“I used to play for the Barracudas,” he reminds me. “So they rope me into every event they can since I’m still living in Tampa.”

“As fun as this is,” Andi says, clapping her hands together, “can we find our table? I’m starved.”

* * *

“Two glasses, please,” I tell the bartender before shoving money in an already overfilled tip jar. We’ve enjoyed a four-course meal, and now it’s the “fun” small talk, mingling part of the evening.

“One of those for me?” a familiar voice says, and I turn to find the same unwelcome redhead who’s going to be the death of me. Seriously. If Charlotte finds us together again, that’s the end. And that in itself would kill me.