And so did I, for the most part—minus Gunner, but nobody liked him.

So I was going to keep cheering my friend on, I decided, and sent him the message.

Me: You still got it, old man.

See? It wasn’t worded to where he would feel obligated to respond, and if he didn’t, I wouldn’t get disappointed. I hadn’t the second to last time he didn’t text me back. It was good enough, and I was pleased. I had tried.

Freaking luckily, I managed to stash my phone back under my keyboard about three seconds before the side door opened and Gunner the Micromanaging Butthole stepped inside with one of the other new owners trailing after him.

I grabbed a stack of flyers sitting on top of the counter and started straightening them so it wouldn’t look like I was just standing there. You know, because organizing and restacking things was time consuming. Right.

I was going to get out of here. One day soon, damn it.

Just as I started straightening up the next stack over—pamphlets for personal training—out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gunner and the Other Asshole Owner steer straight toward the desk. By some miracle, the two members who had been busy talking about the White Oaks said something about the team that caught Gunner’s attention at the exact second he and Asshole #2 stopped in front of the counter.

He didn’t even look in my direction before turning around to face the television that the members were watching; Asshole #2 did the same thing.

“No fucking way,” Gunner muttered, eyes glued to the screen.

“He’s out?” Asshole Owner #2 asked him, like he couldn’t read the headline on the screen where it said Castro Suffers Elbow Injury, Out 6 Months.

“What the hell? Fisher is all right, but he’s no Castro,” Roy muttered, referring to someone whose name was Fisher. The backup quarterback? Years ago, Houston had a team called the Fire, but they moved to North Carolina. Luckily, before anyone could miss them too much, the White Oaks had been born.

I kept my gaze forward, hearing the slight vibration of my phone and trying to zone out the two jerks who I hoped weren’t around in case the commentators started talking about Zac. And that was how I spent the next fifteen minutes: trying to keep my face neutral as they talked about quarterbacks and the White Oaks.

If anything, I was going to consider myself lucky that the injured quarterback was enough of a distraction that Asshole 1 and 2 forgot whatever it was they were coming over for, and they left when one of the MMA guys came in and got their attention. They followed him into the next building. Thank God.

That was when I snuck my phone back out, in between members, and saw a message that had come in.

512-555-0199: That vote of confidence…

512-555-0199: Thanks darlin

I thought about what else I wanted to tell him for a second before actually sending it.

Me: I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it. XOX.

There. More messages that weren’t pressured at all. And I’d carry that XOX on my shoulders with pride. I meant it. Part of me figured it wouldn’t be unwelcome either based on the number of hugs he’d given me the week before. If this was the last time we messaged for a while, at least I’d put my love and support out there for him.

In a world where people lived for criticizing the shit out of each other, at least I’d hope he knew that there were some people out there who were always proud of him. Who would always root for him. Maybe we weren’t perfect people, but nobody was. We had both tried—now—and that was something.

My job, as his friend, was done.

I just really hoped he got signed.

“Do you need my help finding you a date or what?” my sister asked me hours later, just as I managed to finally plop down in the middle of my couch with a plate of leftover beef, quinoa, and potato soup. Crossing my legs under me, I flexed my toes to get my feet to ache just a little less after a twelve-hour day. The employee who was supposed to come in after me had called in, and since it was Deepa working the juice bar, I’d offered to stay so that she wouldn’t be totally screwed over.

But now I was tired and partially regretting my decision; my feet, shoulders, and lower back were aching me good. I wasn’t used to working long days anymore, just a few hours here and there. The good thing was, I was off tomorrow.

Squirming deep into the couch, I scooped some food into my mouth, and with it full, grumbled, “I really don’t think I need a date. It’s a freaking quince, Connie, not…. I don’t even know what the hell you’d need a date for. Nothing. I can go anywhere by myself.”

“Bianca,” my sister muttered, something banging in the background. She had to have pulled the phone away from her face because her yell was muffled. “Yermo! What the hell are you doing up there? Breakdancing? Don’t you dare break the sheetrock again!”

I snorted into the phone and waited until I could hear her breathing before asking, “He broke the sheetrock?”

She huffed something that sounded like fuck under her breath before coming back onto the line. “I didn’t send you a picture? He did it last week. Stuck his whole damn foot in the wall.”

I laughed. “I love that kid. Tell him to record himself and send it to me.”

That got me a groan. “He kicked Tony in the face a week ago when they came over and gave him a black eye.”

Imagining my little cousin Tony with a black eye made me snort again. Tony was a pain in the ass and always had been. “He could be into crack, Con, and Tony probably needs another kick to the face. Anyway, I really don’t think I need a date. I might be there for an hour or two max before someone gets on my nerves and I sneak out.”

My sister didn’t say anything for a second before saying, “My money is on Tía Licha.”

“So is mine.” A memory of the last time I’d seen that aunt came to me all of a sudden, and I snorted again. “What did she tell you when we saw her last time? That you needed to start using under-eye cream?”

My freaking sister growled. “No, that was the time before, two Christmases ago. Last time, at Maggie’s wedding, she came up to me, touched my chin and asked if two weren’t enough.”

I had to grip the shit out of my bowl so that I wouldn’t topple it as I started laughing my fucking ass off. Yeah, that was exactly what had happened.

“Shut up.”

I didn’t. “Don’t forget she came up to me and pinched my stomach and tried to hand me some fat-burning pills she’d smuggled,” I tried to tell her… knowing she’d definitely still had it worse. I’d been standing across the room from her when the aunt we both had always dreaded had cornered her, and I’d left her to suffer through it.

Mostly because she would have done the same thing if it had been me she’d gotten.

At least one of us had gotten away unscathed.

Still.

I fucking laughed at the memory of Tía Licha poking at Connie’s chin while she bitchfaced her, trying her hardest to be polite and not whack her hand away like she had really wanted.

“So you want Tía Licha to get all judgy about you getting old and not having a boyfriend?”

I laughed as I chewed my food. “She’s just jelly I’m single and have my whole life ahead of me.”