"What?" I finally ask. I'm clutching my toiletry bag in my hands. I'm going to take a shower and then head to BWI andbegsomeone to put me on a different flight.
"You're crazy. Like absolutely nuts."
"I don't like birds. He was taunting me. He was about to attack me." I would go to my grave believing that. I saw the malice in its cold, black eyes. I firmly believe that if I don't run a good offensive, birds will be the death of me someday.
Trent shakes his head. "You know, I don't think this is working."
Screw the shower. I can stink on the plane. I need to get out of here as soon as possible, otherwise, the police may be called back when I rip his pubic hairs out one by one. "Really? What gave you that idea? I'm so surprised. This is my surprised face," I deadpan before shoving everything back in my suitcase.
"What did you expect? That we'd last forever? You don't even live here."
"Um, you were the one who movedhere. And without even asking me!" I mean, we weren't that serious, but you'd have thought he'd at least have discussed it with me. Or, if he wanted to be with me, asked me to come with him. I mean, I work from home. That can be done anywhere. And it's not like there aren't accountants everywhere. Everyone needs their money counted.
Of course, I'm not going to let him off the hook by being all reasonable or anything. "It's been good, Trent. Or actually, it hasn't. Not really. Lose my number."
He scoffs. "I don't think you have to worry about that. I wouldn't touch you again if you paid me to."
I roll my eyes at the loser I've wasted the last eighteen months on and begin hauling my stuff down the stairs. Just like my romantic surprise that wasn't, it's hard to stomp off in a dramatic exit when I’m practically toppling over with my backpack and a suitcase that keeps flipping on its side.
There is aslightchance that I spend too much time lost in the fantasy world of books and movies, and that it's setting me up for a world of disappointment.
And by slight, I mean one hundred percent definite.
Chapter 6: Xavier
Our last game is a home game. It doesn't matter though. We've got the second-worst record in our division. All I need to do is make it through the game without an injury that could jeopardize my place on the team. Or my availability to be traded in March.
I'm in the holding pattern from hell.
The game starts in a half hour. I look around the locker room and take a deep breath, holding it before exhaling slowly. Everyone's going about their pre-game rituals, but I can't seem to get into mine. Ninety minutes more and then I'm onto the next step. It's how I've always looked at things. I identify my end goal and then immediately break it up into small, manageable steps to avoid an absolute panic.
It works.
Most of the time.
I don't like not having plans.
And whether I care to admit it or not, I don't really have plans right now. I don't want to stay with the Baltimore Terrors, but I'm not eligible for trade until March. That's a long time to be working and training with an organization you don't believe in.
My heart thumps a bit harder and my breath becomes more shallow.
Ninety minutes. All I have to do is focus on the next ninety minutes.
I put my earbuds in and pull out my phone. I need to distract myself for a bit before I totally lose it. I open ClikClak. I'm about three swipes in when it pops up. I recognize her disheveled dark hair and oversized fuchsia backpack, not to mention the suitcase rolling along behind her.
Bollocks.
I cringe inside, knowing what I'm about to see. Also, my filming skills leave a lot to be desired. When my career as a footballer dies, I think my chances of being the next Christopher Nolan are slim. Even though I was focused on her, as she approached the couch, I cut to Trent.
The expression on his face is undeniable. It's not shock or disbelief that this woman did this for him. It's not love. No, he's annoyed.
And his hand is completely on Hooter Number One's upper thigh.
Wanker.
But the comments. They're brutal and unrelenting. It's almost as bad as the British paparazzi. The lion's share is talking about Trent's body language. Not that they identify him. But there is a fair number calling her a fool and idiot.
Over a hundred thousand views. In about a day and a half.
