The Cheat Sheet
Sarah Adams
To my best friend, Chris. Thanks for always taking jokes way too far with me, and giving me so much material for my books.
Also, you’re super hot. So that’s awesome too.
Cheat Sheet:
A piece of paper the quarterback has on his wristband to easily reference plays to be called.
* * *
Balancing two cups of burning hot coffee and a box of donuts while trying to unlock a front door is not easy. But because I’m the best friend a person could ever ask for—which I will remind Nathan of as soon as I make it inside his apartment—I manage it.
I hiss when I turn the lock and a splash of coffee darts out onto my wrist through the little hole in the lid. I have fair skin, so there’s a one million percent chance it’s going to leave an angry red mark.
The moment I step inside Nathan’s apartment （which really should not be called an apartment because it’s the size of five large apartments smooshed together）， the familiar clean and crisp scent of him knocks into me like a bus. I know this smell so well I think I could follow it like a bloodhound if he ever goes missing.
Using the heel of my tennis shoe, I slam the front door shut with enough gusto to warn Nathan that I’m on the premises. ATTENTION ALL SEXY QUARTERBACKS! COVER YOUR GOODS! A GREEDY-EYED WOMAN IS IN THE HOUSE!
A high-pitched yelp sounds from the kitchen, and I immediately frown. Peeking around the corner, I find a woman wearing a light pink shorts-and-camisole sleep set pressed into the far corner of the wraparound white marble kitchen counter. She’s clutching a butcher knife to her chest. We’re separated by a massive island, but from the way her eyes are bugging out, you’d think I was holding matching cutlery against the jugular vein in her neck.
“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” she screeches, and I immediately roll my eyes, because why does she have to be so screechy? She sounds like a clothespin is pinching the bridge of her nose and she has recently inhaled a whole balloon full of helium.
I would raise my hands in the air so I don’t get knifed to death, but I’m sort of loaded down with breakfast goods—goods for me and Nathan, not Miss Screechy. This isn’t my first rodeo with one of Nathan’s girlfriends, though, so I do what I always do and smile at Kelsey. And yeah, I know her name, because even though she pretends not to remember me every time we meet, she’s been dating Nathan for a few months now and we have met several times. I have no idea how he spends time with this woman. She seems so opposite of the type of person I would pick for him—they all do.
“Kelsey! It’s me, Bree. Remember?” Nathan’s best friend since high school. The woman who was here before you and will be here well after you. REMEMBER ME?!
She releases a big puff of air and lets her shoulders sag in relief. “Oh my gosh, Bree! You scared me to death. I thought you were some stalker girl who broke in somehow.” She sets the knife down, raises one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows, and mumbles not so quietly, “But then again…you sort of are.”
I narrow my eyes at her with a tight smile. “Nathan up yet?”
It’s 6:30 AM on a Tuesday morning, so I know for a fact he’s already awake. Any girlfriend of Nathan’s knows if she wants to see him at all that day, she has to wake up just as early as he does. Which is why Satin-PJ-Kelsey is standing in the kitchen looking pissed off. No one appreciates the morning quite like Nathan. Well, except for me—I love it too. But we’re sort of weirdos.
She turns her head slowly to me, hate burning in her delicate baby blues. “Yes. He’s in the shower.”
Before our run?
Kelsey looks at me like it grieves her deeply to have to expound. “I accidentally bumped into him when I came into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He had his protein shake in his hand and…” She makes an annoyed gesture, letting it finish the story for her: I dumped Nathan’s shake down the front of him. I think it’s killing her to admit she did something human, so I take pity on her and turn away to set the donut box down on the ridiculously large center island.