Page 14 of Draft Pick

What if the new Starlie was open to a Friends With Benefits situation with Cason?

He wasn't relationship material, but weekend booty calls seemed harmless enough.

Welp, too bad. A voice reminded me you don't have his number, so that option's out. On the other hand, maybe it was the voice of reason trying to knock some sense into me — pointing out there was a reason I hadn't asked for Cason's number in the first place.

Probably wouldn't be too difficult to find his number, though.

According to Lark, everyone but me knew who Cason Alexander was, what position he played, and how he would be the next big thing in the draft.

His black book roster was probably legion.

I didn't like that thought, but I pushed aside the pinch of jealousy. His roster didn't matter. All that mattered was how quickly he could get to my house for another round of Make Starlie See Stars.

No, are you insane?That voice was back again, trying desperately to stop me from being an idiot.Cason isn't FWB material, either — too hot. Cason was a heartbreaker who wove an unbreakable spell around your hoo-hoo using the power of his magic stick.

He was freaking dangerous.

I loved the effort and dedication to my well-being, but I felt reckless.

And hungry.

Cason had unleashed something inside me that I hadn't realized was lurking, just waiting to be released.

Let's assume this was happening…maybe if I established some ground rules…I could do this without getting attached.

Such as…no more staying the night — no more falling asleep in an exhausted heap to wake up cuddled next to each other like entwined monkeys.

Good start.

Right — no more chit-chat. Cut the funny banter. I didn't need conversation, just reliable dick.

Okay, sounds a little impersonal, but that's the point, got it.

Would Cason be interested in a FWB with me? There was one way to find out.

But first, I had to find his number and then find the courage to act like the vixen I definitely was not.

My villain era needs work. The T-shirt would have to wait.

Zayden, the Wolverines'star wide receiver, and my good friend hit me up as we walked to the field, helmets in hand. "Hey, where'd you disappear to last night? You missed a raging party at the Kappa house. Lana was asking about you. She's a fucking smoke-show, why aren't you hitting that?"

Because she's vapid as fuck, and talking to her, gave me an instant migraine. I shrugged, "Had other plans. My parents invited me to dinner and opting out was non-negotiable." Besides, the idea of another sorority house party was about as enjoyable as the prospect of a one-on-one strategy sesh with my dad.

"Shit man, that blows. Your old man still jerking your chain about the draft?"

"You don't know the half of it. He wants me to start training with some celebrity trainer instead of training with the team. I told him I couldn't do that but he doesn't listen to a word I say."

"McKinley will lose his shit if you bounce on the team training," Zayden said.

"Tell me something I don't know. Try telling my dad who thinks he knows everything. It's like talking to a brick wall with a superiority complex. I just let him talk and then I made my exit after dinner."

Zayden knew something about problematic parents — his old man was an alcoholic who barely qualified as a father — but at least Zayden's mom tried to fill in the gap. As far as I knew, Zayden had a decent relationship with his mother.

My mom was not a bad person or anything; she was doing what she knew and thought I needed, but she didn't listen to me either.

Zayden clapped me on the shoulder with a commiserative "Sorry man" before waving to another teammate, playing the part of the quintessential popular guy with the million-watt smile and enough charm to choke a horse.

Everyone thought I was the player, but Zayden made 'Catch and Release' an Olympic sport. Classic case of trying to fill that empty place in his soul with all the wrong things, but hey, at least he had fun while doing it.

---