Of course it is.
We live in a day and age where people feel they are entitled to know things about their peers. And if that peer happens to be a celebrity—not that Mason is a celebrity outside of campus, but we all know he will be one day—they feel it is their right to have all the information.
The invention of the internet has made that information both easier to come by and more readily available. The problem with the interwebs is it also gives those who should have kept their opinions on said information to themselves a platform to spew them without consequence—at least without consequence to themselves.
“I know E probably asked you to come up with about a dozen different contingency plans because we all knew this was an eventuality.” I suck in a breath, knowing the next words out of my mouth are going to cut me like razorblades. “But how different would your strategies be if I wasn’t dating Mason?”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“Yes.”
God, I hate being reminded of my new single status.
“What do you mean?”
In the distance, I hear the front door open and close, so T must be home from school.
“In your professional opinion…if I were no longer connected to Mason, how fast do you think the interest in me would die down?”
“Please tell me you aren’t thinking of breaking up with Mason over this, Kay?” Bette’s question is tinged with panic. Guess it wasn’t T arriving. I want to say I’m surprised she drove up, but I’m not.
She’s here to mom the crap out of me. As much as I wish I didn’t need her here to do just that, I do. I totally do. The little girl inside me who only ever wanted her mommy growing up weeps at how quickly Bette has come to lend her support. She doesn’t even know the half of what happened and still she came without being asked.
“No.” I shake my head, rattling the dull throb left over from my cry-fest.
“Good.” Bette lets out a sigh of relief. Too bad it’s premature.
“He dumped me.”
#Chapter5
Hiding out from the guys is harder than I thought it would be. Right now, I’m wandering around aimlessly, walking each floor of The Huntington like I’m a ghost tasked with haunting the hotel.
With the game tomorrow, I can’t get blindly drunk like I did last night, but fuck if I’m not looking for a way to shut the voices in my head up. Okay, so it’s not voices, it’s voice, but my inner coach has been both extremely vocal and suspiciously quiet. It’s an oxymoron I have had zero luck in figuring out.
I still haven’t had it in me to check Instagram again, but based on the questions I’ve been getting when I am around, two things are glaringly obvious.
1. No one has figured out Kay and I broke up.
2. The fact that Eric Dennings is her brother is now common knowledge.
“Bro, why didn’t you tell us Kay is related to Eric Dennings?”
“Holy shit! Was Eric Dennings the family you met in Maryland?”
“This is epic. You gotta hook us up with a meet-and-greet.”
The ones from my teammates were easy enough to ignore—what they were asking wasn’t any of their business. The ones from my boys, though, not so much.
“Why isn’t Smalls answering when we call?”
“For reals. Doesn’t she know it’s our night-before-the-game tradition?”
“She’s messing with our superstitions.”
Questions like those just kept coming, and I didn’t answer a single one. I didn’t know how.
#Chapter6
UofJ411: Umm…am I the only one seeing this? #OffYourGame #CasanovaWatch
*boomerang of Mason fumbling*
@68blackburnc: Since when does @CasaNova87 fumble? #ButterFingers
@Acolon1729: Is this from his first or second one today? #LostCount #CasanovaWatch
UofJ411: Where’s Waldo? #GetTheMilkCartonReady #CasanovasGirl
*picture of the empty seat where Kay and the boys usually sit*
@Annielaurel: Could this be why @CasaNova87 played like shit? #WheresTheGF #CasanovasGirl
@Ash_lovesbooks: Anyone have connections at Penn State? Is she at their game instead? #PlayingBothSides #CasanovasGirl
#Chapter7
“We need to talk,” Trav says—well, more like demands as we step inside the AK house.
Bypassing the pledges setting up for tonight’s party, I follow my best friend up the staircase to his bedroom. I quirk a brow when I hear the lock click.
“I’m not risking anyone interrupting us before we have it out.” He leans against the edge of his desk, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest.
I mirror his stance against the wall opposite him and blow out a breath. I knew I wasn’t doing a good job of keeping anything from him. We’ve been best friends for too long for him not to pick up on the most minute changes in my demeanor, and though I’m loath to admit it, this breakup has affected me in a major way.
Silence stretches and swells between us, both waiting for the other to speak first. I don’t know what Trav wants me to say, but I’m not in the mood to have a Dr. Phil session with him.
“Is it Kay?” Her name slams into me like the tackle I took in the third quarter.
My head thunks against the drywall, no longer able to maintain eye contact. “Is what about Kay?”
“I hate when you try to be all aloof and play dumb.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “How quickly you forget I was there when you were losing your shit in the shower.”
The slap of my palm against the wet wall echoes like a gong.
My shampoo bottle gets chucked out of the shower stall, skidding across the floor from the force.
“I would have thought you’d go to Kay’s to talk shit out…” Trav runs his gaze up and down my body, assessing me. “But since you’ve been a miserable motherfucker the last two days, I’m starting to suspect you didn’t and you’re just letting things fester.”
Two days—that’s it? It’s only been about forty-eight hours since I broke up with Kay.
“Nah, bruh. You’re overthinking things.” I try to
