Page 16 of Her Game Plan

“There you go, then. You’ll make it past cutdown.” As we move to lighter conversations, I make a mental note to follow up with Kenny next week. If he thought this week was intimidating, wait until all the seasoned players join. That’s when you really start to question what you’re doing. Or, if you’re like me, you see the opportunity and exactly what it will take for you to get where you want to go.

The table quickly fills up with other guys as the one inside spills over. Each year, I bring in a couple of rental tables outside, opting for the high-end ones since none of us fit at a standard picnic table. As the dinner wraps up, the door opens again, a steady stream of wives and kids coming to play and catch up before the season. Later, the families looking to reconnect before the start of the season will be replaced by loud friends and jersey chasers looking for a good time. The bar in the basement comes out at that point.

“You got an old lady?” Kenny asks after another of the players’ wives comes and says hello, pulling me into a hug.

Pitty laughs as I reply, “Nope. Just me.”

“Can’t you tell by his bachelor pad?” He gestures to my large backyard and brick house. “I passed two families on bike rides on my way in, and yet, Devine continues to proclaim he’s going to be a bachelor forever.” My choice in homes is one of the many things about me that Pitt finds hilarious.

“Not forever. Only until I’m done playing. I would never want to put a woman through this.”

Pitty rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because no woman wants to be with the star quarterback who already has a family home and a family car and buys those old lady chairs for his grandma’s friends at the nursing home.”

I shove him playfully. “You know that’s not what I mean. I can’t give a relationship the time it needs right now to build a good marriage, so I don’t want to start down that path with anyone.”

“So, do you not date?” It’s a quiet question, like Kenny’s not sure exactly where the line is with personal information. He’ll soon learn professional locker rooms are as ridiculous as college ones, and everyone tends to know everything about each other.

“I date,” I answer at the exact same time Pitty confirms, “Oh, he dates.”

Glaring at my friend, I demand, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Now that you mention it, is it dating? You simply snap your fingers and, poof, a woman is there, willing.” He turns and looks at Kenny. “He was in these underwear commercials a couple of years ago. As someone who sees him in the locker room regularly, I can confirm there was some generous airbrushing done, but now the women flock to him.”

“Fuck you. There was no airbrushing. That’s all natural.” I catch the small shake of the head Pitt gives Kenny but decide to let it go.

Pitty continues, “So now Devine plays this game where he likes to see how long it takes from him deciding he wants a hookup until he’s balls deep in a chick. His current record is five minutes. And he started counting in his hotel room. Alone.”

“That’s so fucking cool,” Kenny remarks, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“It’s not,” Pitt disagrees. “It’s almost sad to watch.”

“I mean, it’s kind of cool. I don’t see women lining up to ride your cock.” I offer my friend a smirk.

Pitt knows how annoying I find having women everywhere, so he likes to bring it up as often as possible. Though, he’s not wrong about the game I like to play. Not my proudest moment, but it had gotten too easy. I needed a way to bring some challenge to that aspect of my life.

Turns out, I might get a bit of physical satisfaction out of it, but it’s like a slow rot inside me. So, I’ve cut back. Significantly. Like, no one since the season ended. But Pitt doesn’t stick around Denver in the offseason, so he hasn’t been around to witness the new me.

Though I’m not sure what’s going to happen after games. The adrenaline…

Kenny tells us about his girl, who’s finishing up at college this year, the one he plans on marrying. It’s the same story most of the guys on the team have. It’s happened for some of them, but certainly not the majority.

I finally get up and rotate between tables, making sure to talk to everyone I can, from the running back to the rookie punter. It’s my mission that no one leaves without feeling like I’m glad they’re here. Because I am.

The daylight slips away, the Rocky Mountains turning purple and blue as the sky burns orange behind them. When the first girl in a tiny skirt and sky-high heels walks in, all the mamas with babies make a beeline for the door, a number of the players leaving with them. The smart ones, at least.

The house fills with sound, Pitty having finally connected to the Bluetooth system that plays throughout the house. The latest club music is blaring from the speakers, the whump whump beat encouraging you to find someone to get lost with. Or poke your ears out. Unfortunately, I’m only one beer deep, so I’m leaning toward the latter.

Pitty can’t stand my party mix. The one with The Killers and Dr. Dre competing for airtime between Flo Rida and Kendrick Lamar. He begs me to get a new one every time he’s at my house, but that’s not my style. Once I find a playlist I like, I keep it.

I’m leaning against the wall in my living room, deep in conversation with Owen Casey about Dallas’ defensive line this season when I catch sight of a pink dress that captures my attention.

Charlotte Langford.

What is she doing here? She lifts an eyebrow when our gazes meet but quickly breaks it as Brewer pulls her into a hug. Interesting.

I continue to monitor her. Despite his attempts to pull me back into conversation, Casey finally gives up, leaving me to silently watch Charlotte as she makes her way from the kitchen into the living room. Suddenly, she’s right in front of me, as if she’d been making her way over to me the entire time. Though I know that’s not the case. Greeting the host isn’t Charlotte’s style. At least, not when I’m the host.

Charlotte puts her hand on my shoulder, the warmth seeping through the thick cotton of my button-down. My mind is blank. Because that smile on her face? It looks an awful lot like the face women wear when they want to find out if I’m airbrushed. And that simply doesn’t compute.