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“He what?” I repeated, a little dumbfounded.
I was hearing things. That had to be it, because there was no possible way Rhodes had just casually told me Vic Thompson wanted to meet me. Vic Thompson’s rookie year had made him a legend, but every year after he only seemed to get better. Jude and I had watched old videos of him on repeat.
And Rhodes talked about him like he was just some guy from down the street everyone knew.
“Yeah, Vic is looking forward to meeting you.”
“How does Vic Thompson know my name? How do you know Vic Thompson?”
“You’d be surprised by the people I know,” he said. The cryptic nature of it was almost enough to deter me from the fact that an NFL legend wanted to meet me.
“Vic Thompson? The Vic Thompson?” I repeated, still in shock.
“Yes.” He chuckled. “We’re going to have dinner with Vic, and he’s looking forward to talking with you. He’s watched a few of your videos, and he’s impressed.”
My stomach dropped out.
“He’s watched my videos?” The question came out embarrassingly high-pitched.
“Some of them.”
“Oh, fuck,” I let out, making Rhodes laugh harder. I shifted lower in my seat, dragging a hand over my face as heat rushed to my cheeks. “I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die,” Rhodes assured me.
“No, I’m going to die,” I reiterated. “Please tell me they were good videos.”
“Like I’d show him anything but your best highlights,” Rhodes replied. “I have the whole night blocked off for that, so you won’t feel rushed to wrap it up. I’m supposed to tell you that you can ask him anything you want.”
“Yeah, I’m going to die,” I repeated one more time.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, giving my hand a light squeeze. “This is your future. Besides, I’ll be right there the whole time.”
I looked over at him, still trying to process the fact that he’d arranged a dinner with one of my football idols as if it was nothing—as if this was a normal thing to do.
“Promise?” I whispered, and his fingers tightened around mine.
“I promise I’m not going anywhere,” Rhodes said. “And after that, I’m taking you home to meet my robot.”
“That sounds—did you just say robot?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Like an actual robot?”
“Yeah. I built him.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“I got bored and wanted to see if I could.” He shrugged like it was nothing.
I just stared at him. Of course Rhodes had built himself a robot. Because apparently, the Kennedy brothers shared more than their last name. They both had this bizarre relationship with boredom where they decided to collect weird skills to pass the time.
“Jesus fuck,” I muttered. “You and your brother are one bored weekend away from being evil geniuses who overtake the world.”
Rhodes laughed, completely unbothered by the accusation. And somehow, the absurd fact that he’d built a robot out of boredom only made me love him more.
CHAPTER 53
