Christmas Cheer: A College Football Enemies-To-Lovers Romance by C. B. Alice

Author:C. B. Alice [Alice, C. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Keira

“What are you doing here?” Lyddie screeches, the blood draining from her face.

I glance around the small cafe I’ve found at the executive tower of the Grand Marquis, the side the football players are staying on, but I’m only here because it’s a bit of peace and quiet from the masses in our wing.

Seeing no one else she could possibly be talking to, I say, “Enjoying this chicken salad sandwich? What’s going on?” I flip my phone over and realize I’ve got a slew of messages. My phone must have been on silent and I didn’t realize it. “Oh no, what’s wrong?”

I’m already getting up on my feet, terrified that someone on the squad’s been injured or arrested — both have happened — when Lyddie thrusts a reusable grocery bag from Whole Foods at me. I know for a fact Lyddie isn’t a Whole Foods girl. She’s also at Wilm State on an athletic scholarship and on the same Aldi-and-Walmart budget I am. So I’m already suspicious.

“You’re Evan’s rally girl now!”

“Erm, yes. Was I supposed to bring him another care package today? I already did the chocolate-dipped strawberries—”

“Chocolate-dipped strawberries?” she repeats skeptically. “Evan doesn’t like chocolate before the game. Why would you give those to him?”

So he could feed them to me and then dribble the juice that leaked from them on my tits so he could suck it off, apparently, because that’s exactly what he did with the strawberries he demanded I bring him.

I stare blankly, blinking slowly at her.

She caves after a long moment of us being frozen like this, her sense of urgency bubbling up. “His hair!” she cries out.

I glance into the bag to see if I can figure out what she’s talking about since it’s not like he does anything special with his hair for the games. He’s wearing a helmet. When he takes it off, his mohawk is matted down, and then he tips his head forward, shakes it out, and it magically resets. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. It’s just one of those guy hair things.

The bag contains bowls, brushes, a set of gloves, and two bottles of hair dye.

“You have got to be shitting me,” I deadpan.

I’m not surprised when Lyddie physically grabs my arm to drag me to the elevator bay, though. This is totally on brand for Evan. Of course he doesn’t dye his own hair. Of course he has his rally girl do it. This explains why it’s not dyed in the off-season. We’re busy with other athletes then.

I still have a scowl on my face as I knock on Evan’s door, but he has the most shit-eating grin on his when he opens it. “I was worried you forgot!” he says, his voice booming like this is the funniest thing in the world to him.

“Forgot? How could I possibly know this?”

“The instruction manual Lyddie sent you, duh.”

The e-mail I deleted the second I received it because he is a grown-ass adult. If I’d known he had

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