“Well, if we were to cross a line, I couldn’t continue to cover you. So, I agreed to keep things strictly professional until the article is finished. The minute I turn it in, it goes to editing, and I’m finished with the assignment. After that, what I do is my personal business.”
He leaned back, watching my face for a second. I could practically feel his brain working overtime, like he was already ten steps ahead of this conversation. “All right. Let’s finish it.”
Relief hit my shoulders. “Okay.”
I reached into my bag to pull out my calendar.
“Tonight.”
He couldn’t be serious.
My fingers paused, and I blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”
“I want to be done tonight.” He leaned forward, planting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want anything hanging over us. I’m done waiting.”
“You just finished your game two hours ago. Don’t you want to rest?”
How was the man not exhausted? If I walked off the football field after playing four quarters, getting hit, and running plays, I’d be in bed with an ice pack.
“No. What I want to do is speed up this process so we can stop pretending that this thing between us isn’t happening.”
I set my notebook on the coffee table. “I don’t want to rush this, Nate.”
“There’s no rush. We have all night.”
I leaned back against the couch and sighed. Of course, he wanted to finish tonight. That was something a professional athlete with a busy schedule would want to do. It was efficient, logical. It made sense. We would go with that excuse and not the obvious one. Like how there would be no more professional lines to hide behind. No more questions. No more pretending.
I rubbed my temples, trying to shift my brain into reporter mode.
“Okay.” I clicked my recorder on, hating the way he was making me squirm. “Let’s finish this.”
My fingers were shaking as I opened my notebook and focused on the first question. “If you weren’t playing football, what would you be doing?”
He leaned back and stretched his arm along the cushion. “Probably something competitive. I don’t like to sit still, so I would need to keep busy.”
“No kidding,” I said sarcastically. “Can you be more specific?”
He shrugged. “Maybe coaching or broadcasting. Football has become such a big part of my identity. I couldn’t imagine sitting behind a desk all day and doing office work.”
I wrote that down. “So, you always knew you wanted to be a football player?”
He laughed, scratching his head. “Not exactly. When I was ten, I was fascinated with World War II. Our neighbor down the street was a local congressman. We went to Washington one summer, and he took us on a private tour of the Capitol. I was fascinated by history and politics, and I told my mom I wanted to be a history teacher when I grew up. But then I realized being a teacher would be way too much studying and sitting still for my liking.”
We both laughed. “Are you saying that football was a second choice?”
He pointed at me. “Now, I never said that. Don’t go putting words into my mouth. As I mentioned, I’ve always been a competitive person. Growing up, I developed my work ethic and discipline by watching my parents set a good example. They were both hard workers and always made sure our family was financially secure. Those traits stuck with me. But I can tell you the exact moment that football clicked with me.”
I leaned forward. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
He grinned. “I was playing basketball with a group of neighborhood kids. My buddy, Richie, was getting pissed because I kept scoring on him. He told me that while I might have been able to dunk a ball, I could never throw a spiral like him.” Nate started chuckling at the memory. “I have to admit, I had no idea how hard it was, but I knew I had to prove him wrong. So, I attended quarterback camps, watched YouTube videos after school, and practiced hard. Because not only was I going to show him, but I was going to do it better than anybody else.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “That does not surprise me at all.”
He was such a jock, it wasn’t even funny.
“Told ya I was competitive.” He winked. “Now, fast forward to junior high, where I made starting quarterback and Richie didn’t.”
“Ouch.” I laughed. “Do you ever keep in touch?”
