Sometimes I thought Harper looked at situations completely different than most people - level-headed, straight through the bullshit, and without any shred of girl drama.

Other times, like now, she's lost her damn mind.

I wasn't the most functional person after games, as both my mind and body wound down from the adrenaline rush and the withdrawal crash hit me hard soon after. Mentally, my brain still clicked through recaps of plays and reactions, down to the tiniest details of what we executed well and what still needed improvement. Physically, my body went from pumped full of frenetic energy that wanted to burst through my skin to muscles and joints sagged heavily with fatigue.

Our win secured us at the top of the PAC-12's Southern Division, with 2-1 Utah as next week's opponent. My mind tuned out the usual post-game coaches' speeches, game ball presentation, and celebrations because Zach was notably absent after he went down with three minutes left in the fourth quarter.

As soon as Coach Campell dismissed us, I headed straight to our trainer Tim. "How is he?" I asked over the backdrop of ruckus chants and whoops around us.

"Potential concussion." Tim's gray eyebrows frowned. "Sent him to Good Samaritan for an MRI to know for sure."

"Fuck," I cursed and dragged one hand through my sweat-soaked hair. "Does his family -"

"They and Sophia went with him." His eyes met mine and one of his palms clamped on my shoulder.

"'Kay, thanks," I mumbled, nodded stiffly, and weaved through the heated, smelly bodies.

As I walked towards my locker, hand slaps and fist bumps stopped me every few steps but my feet stopped when I saw Zach's locker sat empty two spaces over. The silent reminder faced me like a gray cloud hung in a perfectly blue sky.

With a grunt, I flopped down in my space, pulled out my phone, and fired off a message I hoped was received at some point.

me: Hope you're ok, bro.
me: Let me know if you need anything. Mom brought buckets of food as usual.

I hadn't expected a response, so I was surprised when I got one right back.

Zach: Thanks Jake.

I blinked a few times, like his response wasn't really on my screen, but an explanation soon followed.

Zach: It's Sophia.

Explains why he called me Jake.

The locker room activity blurred into incoherent background noise as I focused on my response.

me: Take care of him, Soph. Keep me updated.

Zach: Of course. Thanks.

The gravity of Zach's situation, both as my tight end and friend, weighed heavily in my mind as I showered away the sweat, dirt, turf marks, and grime off my body, then dressed in solitary silence. After a quick spray of cologne, a half-empty bottle of Brut Harper herself had bought me in high school, I headed outside where she waited with Mom in the parking lot.

I wasn't entirely sure what Harper's plans were today, but sure was stoked when I saw she sat in her seat. The consistency of her presence, middle fingers included, mattered to me to the extent I wanted her to know that I appreciated it.

Today, Zach's injury being the exception, our offense and defense dominated both sides of the ball and my four touchdown passes were worth the flashier offensive approach. From the opening kickoff, a lightness filled me during the game, which had just been... fun.

The more the game progressed, I had noticed the moodier Harper looked and wondered what the fuck Mom talked to her about. Her soured expression, by the end a pout on her full lips, as Mom chatted her ear off nearly the whole game intrigued me. But one simple observation from where I stood down on the field wiped out any concern I felt over Harper's irritation, even when she squirmed in her seat.

Mom's not nervous.

In every game I'd played in since pee wee level, Mom experienced near panic attack reactions from where she watched from. As a kid, she paced a dirt path into the sidelines grass. Whenever I took the field in middle and high school, her hands gripped the edge of her seat, she tipped forward so far sometimes she fell over, sat as stiff as a corpse, even breathed into a bag.

Today though, Mom just talked, smiled, and laughed. Anyone else would have seen nothing out of the ordinary while she watched the game, but the sight of those two spread a dull warmth through my chest. Even though Harper looked obviously uncomfortable, Mom had never looked more relaxed.

"Jake!" Mom greeted me with a bright smile and hug in the parking lot. With a slight pullback, her eyes dragged down me like her usual inspection if I ate properly. Just as I assumed, she added, "I brought down some house food. Dropped it off with Chase before I came over here."

Of course Griff took it.

"Thanks." I'd given up telling Mom that her kind gesture was unnecessary but assumed whatever she'd brought was at least half-gone and consumed as a pre-game snack.

I shifted my eyes towards Harper, who sat behind the wheel of her car, knuckles clenched around the steering wheel and narrowed eyes directed straight forwards. "The hell did you say to her, Mom?"

"Language Jake." Mom palmed one hand into the center of her chest. "I'm -"

"Don't," I warned her before she played the 'innocent' card but the smile I bit back gave away my teasing. "One thing about Harper is you don't have to worry what she's thinking. Let's go."

After a low grunt of acknowledgement at me, Harper wore the same pissed off look during the drive over to Gino's. While inside my and Mom's go-to post-game restaurant, her eyes glared fire at me, the corners of her mouth tugged down, her shoulders tensed up to her ears and, the weirdest part of her, she stayed completely silent.

No part of me would have guessed that she was jealous enough of a girl I couldn't have been less interested in. That ESPN reporter burned her interview bridges with me when she botched the coverage of my sister's assailant's trial. Rachel wasn't worth a single minute of my time and I hadn't given her any since then.

By the time we sat at our table, I still wasn't entirely sure what had crawled up Harper's ass. She sure misdirected a lot of it at me, or at least gave me too much credit for how I affected her mood.

I'd never mentioned Harper to Mom other than I'd invited her to the Irish game and my dick certainly hadn't been involved with Rachel Sorenson. No matter how many solicitations I'd gotten from that woman, I hadn't always followed my dick's recommendations. Besides my personal dislike of her, sleeping with an ESPN reporter who regularly interviewed me, even gave me highlighted player spotlights, had scandal written all over it.

So nope, wrong firecracker.

Despite that, the absolutely enraged way Harper was fueled by jealousy turned me on more than whatever sick fuck game she'd attempted in the bathroom. Her denial was stupidly thick, annoyingly even, but I saw right through it.

She's jealous.

But, most importantly, she was bothered by the girlfriend title that I, in my defense, had avoided any and all use of. And, whatever bullshit words Harper spewed aside, her girlfriend title meant more to her than she admitted.

Looks like I have to start treating her like one.

Starting with our first date... if I make it out of dinner alive tonight.

I nearly shit myself from how hard I laughed when I realized why Harper was mad at me. No part of me was angry about her weird reactions and laughing probably wasn't the best reaction but I couldn't hold back at how fucking ridiculous she acted.

The fact she was so visibly affected by the girlfriend label and still blatantly refused to acknowledge her own reactions, even goaded me for a contradiction that she wasn't my girlfriend...

Don't get me started on the attempted blow job as a punishment.

Un-fucking believable.

Right in the bathroom, I could have told Harper the truth, how I hadn't said a single word past, "I invited Harper Saturday," to Mom. The hardened flash of determination in her eyes, even as she sank to her knees, left me beyond turned on. If I was truly honest, my cock had swelled from the first realization that Harper had such a strong reaction, feelings even though she hadn't acknowledged them.

My attraction to Harper, the real Harper inside that I wasn't sure even existed anymore, put the word, 'Don't' on the tip of my tongue. Harper was right though; her dirty words sprung my dick up like a switch and, once her lips wrapped around me, she won. She wanted me brainless, boneless, physically spent and mentally my mind wiped empty, and that's exactly what she accomplished.

I have no idea what happened here but fuck, that was hot.

"Give me a moment," I grunted out and shook my head, since my vision afterwards was literally dotted with white spots.

After Harper tucked my clothes back in place, I turned around to the sink counter and blinked at the steamed handprints I'd left on the black granite. A sting of cold water splashed over my cheeks and nose, which only mildly cooled the burning sensation in my skin. Internally, my body felt ten degrees warmer, reflected in the sweat at my brow and very obvious armpit sweat marks on my shirt.

My hands smoothed out my jacket, which I slipped back on despite my raging heat, and I palmed my furnace-temperature level face.

I'm not above my head but fuck, I didn't see this coming.

Mentally, my mind rode on cloud nine like it always did after one of Harper's blow jobs. She never just sucked me off, she gave my dick a royal treatment. Most girls sucked me like a lollipop until they gagged or choked but her tongue, fuck even her teeth, fired up all the sensitive nerves inside me until my body ached with equal parts enjoyment that it never ended and desperate for relief that it did.

With the exception of her swollen lips, which she hid behind a touched up layer of makeup, Harper looked just as she had when she'd shoved me in here. One of her index fingers wiped at each corner of her mouth, which she pursed slightly and threw me the smuggest smirk.

Her voice was equally as smug when she opened the door and tossed back at me, "Can't wait to watch you handle this now, Jake."

My blood pounded in my ears as Harper tossed me one last playful smirk. Not a single sign of what we'd done remained on her except a slight dilation in her pupils as one of her eyes closed in a wink and she shut the bathroom door behind her. When the soft click echoed in my ears, I turned back to the mirror and cursed at my reflection.

"Fuck, Harper..."

Even after my cold shower and decompression on the drive over, I now looked like I'd just finished the game. Sweat left every pore in my body, my skin was flushed a color between pink and red, and my lips parted in soft breaths that heaved my chest.

Let's not forget the giant hickey on my neck either.

A one-inch, red, swollen, oval shaped souvenir sat right above my shirt collar. She'd strategically placed the hickey so that, even with my suit jacket back on, I couldn't have hid that fucker if I tried.

Which yes, I know was completely her point.

My eyes burned back at me as my foggy brain searched for the right explanation for Mom. The longer I looked, the more my eyes glazed over and brain shut down until only one crazy thought remained.

The truth.

Harper for sure won't see that coming.

The awareness that I reached this realization within the women's bathroom of the restaurant I took Mom to after every home game hit me at this moment, so I exited quickly. With my fast steps, I crashed right into a short, older man with a round belly, white dress shirt, black dress pants, and a look of recognition in his honey-brown eyes.

Beneath a gray mustache that matched what gray hair remained and ringed around his bald head, Gino's lips parted into a toothy smile that reflected the eagerness he always welcomed me with. "Mr. Harrison! Excellent game tonight, very fast on your feet. Kept the Jeweled Shillelagh!"

"Thanks, Gino." Despite my circumstances, I smiled at his reference to the trophy annually given to whoever won between USC and Notre Dame. "Happy to add another ruby."

"Abassolutamente." Gino's bald head gleamed, even under the dim hallway lights, as he nodded emphatically.

The shillelagh was an Irish club that sat on an engraved trophy for the annual rivalry game. For each USC victory, a ruby was added onto it, and an emerald for Notre Dame's. My ego and pride both swelled at how nothing but rubies had been added in the three seasons I'd played against the Irish, at the expense I was the subject of a lot of South Bend-sourced memes and jokes.

Last laugh is mine anyways 'cause that trophy stays in Heritage Hall another year.

Gino's grin dissolved into a frown that furrowed his bushy eyebrows, also gray like two furry caterpillars sat on his rounded forehead. "But... Mr. Harrison..." His confused eyes shifted over my shoulder. "That is the ladies room?"

The more he took in my torn-up state, the deeper his frown creased his forehead. "Are you alright, Mr. Harrison?"

"I'm fine," I assured him with a hand patted onto his shoulder. "I already ordered the usual but can you do something special for our table? We have an extra guest."

"Ahh, dessert." His palm patted my chest, then he lifted it into a fist and shook his index finger at me a few times. "Not you, Jake Harrison never eats my desserts. But for your guests, I have just the right something special in mind."

"Low key, Gino," I warned him because during my sophomore year, when our house came here for my birthday, Gino made a three-layer cake with nineteen sparklers stuck all over it. My twenty-first birthday had already passed, without any fanfare, because drunk off my ass then hungover the next day wasn't my idea of a celebration anymore.

Still reeling from the evidence the last time I was drunk.

"First, your usual. Then, I take care of you," Gino assured me with a grin. "Them."

After I thanked him, each step I took back to our table felt like I walked towards a firing squad. My heart thumped harder in my chest as I rounded the wall to the dining area and paused when I saw Harper and Mom sat together. Both of their heads tipped back and a smile tugged across my lips when their laughs hit my ears.

Both my and Harper's smiles dissolved at Mom's next words, "He's happier with you in his life." Mom patted the back of Harper's palm, who shot me a look best described like she experienced food poisoning.

"Mom, stop freaking her out," I scolded her, sat down next to Harper, and nudged her hip with mine so she moved over.

"Fatass," Harper teased me quietly as she made room. After she put a large gap between us, I closed it, then palmed my hand over her thigh again. The move shot those light blue eyes right up at me but I kept my gaze focused across the table at Mom.

Let's see how this goes.

"That's all I'm going to say," Mom flashed up both her palms in defeat, but not before her eyes flashed and she teased in a singsong voice, "Not like I said you two would make lovely grandbabies..."

"Mom," I interrupted her with a stern look before Harper had an aneurysm. "I'll tell you the truth but you can't tell anyone. Including Ellie."

"Ellie?" Mom's eyebrows shot up and she leaned her elbows on the table. With one quick glance down, she looked at her phone, still clutched in both hands. "What? Why?"

"Because I want to tell her first, myself," I answered as Mom's eyes lifted back up, completely absent of all warmth from her earlier digs at us.

Next to me, Harper leaned slightly sideways and shot me a distrustful look, but she didn't know all the details of our family dynamic. The only person Mom had been incapable of hiding information from was Dad. She'd certainly had a history where she'd withheld things from me and Ellie.

Especially Ellie.

In the straightest, most direct voice I had, I continued, "And when I tell you, you probably won't want to tell anyone else anyways."

Mom's shoulders dropped slightly, while Harper sat upright. I kept my eyes focused on Mom but caught Harper's eyes out of my peripheral vision as they flicked between us. Her leg twitched as I squeezed her thigh.

"Harper and I are just sleeping together." I lied the cold, hard truth straight through my teeth, "No strings, Mom."

Two soft gasps were the only sounds between us. Harper's entire body stiffened next to me, like her rock hard quadricep muscle under my palm. A brief flash of surprise was quickly overtaken by the murderous glare cast over her eyes. Under the heated gaze she glared at me, I kept my eyes focused on Mom for her reaction.

Mom's mouth rounded, dropped open, and her eyes were so wide that white surrounded her irises. After a few moments where my breath froze and burned in my lungs, the only sound between us was a rattled clack as she dropped her phone onto the table.

"You - You're... just... I..." After a few moments where nothing but strangled sounds came out of her gaped open mouth, she coughed and choked out, "Oh wow. That's not what I... never mind."

"Appetizers?" Gino's son Max, a curly-haired high school kid, picked the worst entrance moment and dropped a plate of bruschetta onto the table. While Mom and Harper sat frozen still, I nodded thanks at Max, who bowed out without another word.

My heart pounded harder with each silent second that ticked by. Harper's gaze sharpened until the blue in her eyes burned aquamarine. She clenched her jaw so tightly shut that a small dimple creased each corner of her mouth.

After a few eye blinks, Mom finally pushed out in a quiet voice, "Why?"

While Harper's gaze burned a hole into the side of my face, I answered flatly, "So that we're not sleeping with anyone else. I call her my girlfriend for the sake of appearances."

"Oh your... image," Mom murmured as her eyes filled with disappointment, then flicked over to Harper while she still directed her words at me. "Explains how you haven't taken your hand off her leg under the table since we've sat here. And don't get me started on the giant hickey on your neck, Jacob Isaac."

Oh fuck. Forgot about that.

I lifted my free hand to the side of my neck, which prompted movement in Harper's lips. They flinched a moment, then curled upwards. Before I responded, Mom wiped the smirk off Harper's face when her eyes flicked to her direction. "And you're okay with this... arrangement?"

"I have to be," was Harper's oddly strained answer. I stared down at her for any hint of what she actually meant with those four words, but she masked every emotion behind a vacant eye gaze and polite smile.

Internally, my chest squeezed tighter at the faintest possibly Harper meant she wanted more than what she agreed with. Unfortunately, right now the more important conversation was with Mom.

"Mom, it's -" I started when she lifted both her hands off her cheeks and flashed them at me in a 'stop' gesture.

"I know what it is," she murmured quietly and folded her hands into her lap. "I'm not a child."

"Mrs. Harrison," Harper started with an unusually hesitant tone of voice. "Sorry, it's -"

"It is what it is," Mom replied simply in a tight voice. "And I get the sense you don't want my opinion, so I'll keep it to myself."

My eyes rolled before I caught them because, even without therapy, I recognized Mom's passive aggressive approach. In as kind of a voice as I gathered, I told her, "Spit it out if you want, Mom. Otherwise yeah, keep it to yourself."

"I think you're making a mistake and I'm worried about you getting hurt," was all she replied, tugged the plate on our table towards her, and grabbed a piece of dried bread topped with tomatoes. The loud crunch that erupted as she bit down echoed through the silence that followed her words.

"Mom..." my voice faded as her eyes darkened at me over her second bite. That one sharp look snapped my mouth shut.

A soft, warm hand enclosed over mine, which now held a death grip on Harper's thigh. Right when I relaxed my grip on her, she leaned over and whispered, "Ballsy move, Jake."

I exhaled sharply through my nose and nodded my head a few small times. But based on the now murderous look Mom shot me, I wondered if brutal honesty had been the right move.

Bite by bite, Mom's angry gaze dissolved. Harper abruptly shifted the conversation topic to, of all people, Ellie. She assured Mom that we told Ellie ourselves, in person, when she and Logan were here for game five. Mom huffed slightly when I stressed that she needed to keep her mouth shut but had agreed.

Gino's vegetable manicotti smoothed over some of the awkwardness in our subsequent conversations. Thankfully, by the time his tiramisu arrived, I sat back and watched as Mom and Harper chatted casually again. A smile even crossed my lips when they hurled a few insults in my direction.

Mom really is comfortable with her.

After Harper dropped off me and Mom, hugged Mom, punched me in the shoulder and told me to be thankful she hadn't gone for my balls, she peeled out with screeched tires on the street. Mom and I awkwardly waved goodbye before she turned to me with a heavy look in her eyes.

"Jake..." Mom looked up quietly at me from outside the football house, where she'd parked her minivan in the driveway. Thankfully, since the guys had a house party tonight, it was still untouched.

"I'd say thanks for tonight but I'm heading back to my hotel." Her eyes lifted up to the nearest house wall, which practically throbbed with music beats. "I have a headache."

"Mom, I'm sorry," I mumbled because both of us knew that the music had nothing to do with how she felt at this moment.

"Look, Jake," she started with her voice full of hesitancy but kept her eyes fixed on mine. "I've always turned a blind eye to what you did with girls..."

"Mom," I started and crossed my arms over my chest because the last thing I wanted was a lecture over Harper. "It's -"

"Jacob, you say whatever the hell you want in front of Harper but don't lie to me," she shot back at me with an index finger pointed at my nose. The hardness in her voice softened, "Just be careful... People with abandonment issues are tough nuts to crack."

Mom's accusation drew my eyebrows together. "Harper doesn't have any issues."

"It's no secret that I'd always hoped you two would be more but..." She paused and retracted her finger. Her eyes shifted sideways, like she searched for the right words. "Guess I just have to do the hardest thing and step back."

"What do you mean?" I asked, although honestly if Mom hadn't fed Harper any more craziness, then all three of us were all better off.

"If I've learned anything from my mistakes with Ellie, it's..." Mom's chest expanded with a slow, deep breath in. "You need to work this out yourself."

Before I responded, she exhaled sharply and slightly narrowed her eyes. "As for me, it's a longass drive down here Jake. Do you really need me at your games anymore?"

"Do I..." I mumbled quietly as a frown tensed my forehead. Since I wasn't sure what her angle was, one of my hands rubbed over the back of my neck. "Selfishly, I... like you here?"

Mom huffed quietly and rolled her eyes at my confusion. "But do you need me? If you get a scrape, I don't patch it. Today after you scored touchdowns, I wasn't the first one your eyes searched for. And I... think you need to focus on your priorities, figure out what you want."

"Mom," my voice strained with tension because I had no idea what the fuck she meant. "I want you here, I always do. It's -"

"Jake." Her hands closed around my upper arms and her eyes, so dark they were almost black under the pale moonlight, looked straight into mine. "Now that your father's gone, I also need to figure out what I'm doing with my life. I've made a lot of mistakes, especially with Ellie, and I'd like to make up for what I can. You don't need me. She doesn't either but I... need to figure some things out."

At the near begging plea in her eyes, I realized Mom asked me for permission, not told me what she'd already decided. A tightness squeezed the center of my chest, I unfolded my arms, and wrapped them gently around her. "Of course, Ma," I mumbled over the top of her head. "Do what you need to do."

Her palms patted my lower back as her body relaxed in my embrace. With her voice halfway between a whisper and a sigh, she replied, "Thanks Jake. I'll come down for your last home game, promise."

When my lips parted for my response, she rushed out, "I can't say I understand but please... figure out what's important to you, Jake. What's really, truly important."

"I will," I whispered back and hugged her tightly.