Riley
“I don’t understand Javier,” Zara said as she flopped down beside me on the couch, her third slice of pizza already in hand. “He’s Lucas’s rival. Why is he trying to get on your nerves?”
I took a bite of my pizza and shrugged. “God knows. Him and Lucas have been going at each other since forever. Maybe he’s just trying to get to Lucas through me.”
Zara snorted. “That’s weird. But then again, these athletes? Been weird. All ego and compression shorts.”
Just then her phone started vibrating nonstop, the screen lighting up like it was having a panic attack.
I raised an eyebrow and gestured toward it with my crust. “Is that rat-looking guy again?”
She grinned and shook her head, popping a fry into her mouth. “Nope. Haven’t seen him since I dumped him two weeks ago.”
I choked on my pizza. “You what?”
She shrugged casually, like she hadn’t just delivered the best news of the year. “I dumped him.”
“It was about time!” I gasped, holding my chest like I’d been spiritually freed. “Zara, you’re one of the most beautiful, whip-smart women I know. You’ve got cheekbones that could cut glass, a body like a Greek statue, and the brain of a CEO. Why you let that musty little rodent waste your time for so long is beyond me.”
She laughed. “He had good arms.”
“He also had the personality of unseasoned chicken,” I said flatly.
“True.”
I pointed at her phone. “So who’s blowing you up now?”
Zara glanced down and smirked. “No one special. Just… Raphina.”
I choked again. Full-on coughing fit this time. “RAPHINA?! As in Lucas’s best friend Raphina?! Lucas’s teammate-slash-brother-from-another-mother Raphina?! That Raphina?!”
“What?” she said, like I was overreacting. “I met him when I was bringing you coffee. He asked for my number. We’re talking. It’s not that deep.”
“Not that deep? Zara!” I said, sitting up straighter. “You are texting the best friend of Lucas Rivera, my very complicated ex-something, and the guy whose injury almost blew up half my career.”
“Yeah… and?”
I blinked at her. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Look, if your love life is going to be messy, I might as well match the vibe,” she replied with a shrug, unbothered. “Besides, he’s hot. And nice. And taller than rat-boy.”
Before I could even begin to process that, there was a knock at my apartment door.
Zara gave me a suspicious look. “Are we expecting anyone?”
“No,” I said, standing up. I padded across the room and opened the door—
And there he was.
Lucas.
Wearing black joggers and a grey hoodie, hair messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. In his hand, a flat black folder.
He looked past me into the apartment.
“Oh,” he said, eyes landing on Zara. “Hi. I think I saw you in Raph—”
Before he could finish that sentence, I stepped fully outside and closed the door behind me with a firm click.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, folding my arms. “This is outside of office hours.”
“Chill,” he said, holding up the folder. “I’m not here to cause drama. I’m here to give you something.”
I eyed him warily. “What?”
He handed me the folder.
I opened it—and froze.
Inside was a sketch. A logo. Clean lines, elegant font. My name woven beside his foundation’s. It was a design for a joint clinic: his foundation funding it, my therapy methods front and center.
“You did this?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ve been thinking about what happens after everything—after rehab, after the league, after the noise.”
I stared at the paper, speechless.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what we are. I don’t even know if you’d want to do something like this. But I know one thing—your work makes people believe again. Including me.”