being the main T in my life, I had a hard time using that shorthand this week with both of them around.
An arm falls over my shoulders, and I’m pulled in for a side hug.
“McQueen.” Adam’s smirk turns slimier, his eyes crinkling in the corners in amusement.
“Hall.” Trav, having never fully released me after his hug, tucks me in tighter against him when he feels me stiffen at Adam’s greeting.
Adam looks Trav up and down. Though it should be impossible, his lips hitch higher, and now he looks like some demented preppy version of the Joker. “Shouldn’t you be in a suit and tie?” He reaches up and wiggles his ear. “Maybe have a wire hooked in here?”
Trav angles his face around to see mine, his What the fuck is he talking about? written clear as day across his features. I hit him with a Why are you asking me? shrug.
“Oh…” Adam smacks a palm to his forehead, playing up the innocent act. “Was I wrong? Are you not playing bodyguard for the football queen?”
“Football queen?” I squeak, dread settling into my gut like a rock.
“One of your newer trending hashtags,” Trav explains, keeping his voice pitched low in an attempt to shut out those being nosy around us.
My head falls forward. I should have known. Though it’s different than it was in high school, social media still manages to affect my life in a way it shouldn’t have any power to do. Every day I war with myself on what to do about it, and every day I fail to come to a decision.
Do I reactivate my accounts? If I do that, do I go full-on let the world know every detail about my life as a future WAG—what the wives and girlfriends of professional athletes are called—or will those who are curious be happy with whatever I decide to drip-feed? There can be perks to me getting involved and controlling the message.
Or do I keep avoiding it all? Pray that when the intrigue about what happened with Liam lessens, things will die down? Hope that after the playoff game—and, if we win that, the subsequent national championship—is over, Mase and I lose our “media darlings” appeal in the offseason?
As tempting as it is to follow the latter plan, I can see the fault in it. Who’s to say the cycle wouldn’t start all over every time Mase has something happen in his career? In the upcoming months, he’ll have the combine, the draft, and training camp. Mase will already have the stress of proving himself in his rookie season as well as us dealing with what will inevitably be a long-distance relationship. Is it fair for me to add the pressure of him worrying about us trending to all that?
Shit! I don’t even want to think about him having to move god only knows how far away for up to eight months a year. That’s another problem for future Kay.
“Ugh.” I curl a hand over the brim of my hat, pulling it down in an effort to disappear.
A deep chuckle has me canting my head at my way-too-amused companion, and a section of recently-cut-by-Bette hair flops down and covers one of Trav’s eyes as he tries to restrain his laughter. That grin I’ve witnessed drop a thousand pairs of panties comes out in full force when he catches my eye roll. My boyfriend may have been dubbed the campus Casanova, but his best friend should have been nicknamed Romeo. Trav’s inability to turn off the flirting—though harmless—will have him sporting a constant bruise on his arm when Mase gets too caveman-y.
“Come on.” Trav nudges me and steps to guide us around Adam and his cronies blocking the entrance. Not even the sight of a few phones pointed in our direction can take away from the kernel of happiness I feel at Adam being snubbed by one of his fraternity brothers. Though it wasn’t anything overt, Trav completely ignored his bullshit. “Let’s get you to class, little sis.”
My smile grows big enough to hurt my still healing cheek, but I don’t care; I can’t help it. I heard all about Trav’s big brother declaration during the showdown with the Parkers.
“I’m still wrapping my head around you calling me that,” I admit.
Trav guides me over toward the wall out of the way of the other students trying to get to class. Both his hands come down on my shoulders, making sure he has my full attention. It’s rare to see