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No matter how badly I secretly want him to be.
Thirteen
Eli
“Eli, you played a fantastic game tonight. This season you’ve been incredibly consistent. What do you credit that to?” The female reporter thrusts the microphone she’s holding into my face, wearing a pasted-on smile.
For about a second, I consider telling her the truth.
I blame it on breaking up with my girlfriend. Really helped me focus on the game instead of worrying about her pretty ass all the time.
Instead, I smile and incline my head toward hers as I say, “I’m having a good season, but it’s not all me. We’ve really come together as a team this year and we’re working well together. We’ve got a rhythm going, but uh, you know.” I chuckle, reaching behind my neck to rub it. “I don’t want to say too much or I might jinx it.”
She laughs, but it sounds fake. “Dreaming about the NFL yet, Eli?”
I hate how she keeps saying my name, like she knows me. She doesn’t. “I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself.”
“The rumors are out there saying you have an excellent chance at being an early draft pick. What do you think?”
Early? I’ve not heard that word used before. “If that happens…” I shrug. “That would be amazing.”
“So nonchalant.” She’s teasing, but damn it, I don’t want to look like an egotistical ass. Which is really saying something because most of the time, I live for this shit.
“Like I said, I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I need to stay focused on the team and finish out the season. Right?” I smile, and it’s just as fake as hers.
“Of course. Thank you for speaking with me tonight. And congratulations again on the win.” She turns to her cameraman and signals him to end it before returning her focus to me. “It wouldn’t make you look bad if you spoke about your NFL chances, you know. I could help you get more publicity.”
“It’s all good,” I tell her. “But thanks for the tip.”
I turn away from her before she can say another word, irritated. Like that chick could help me. She’s some no-count local reporter, how can she help me? If she was from ESPN, then I could at least believe her. Not that I want any ‘help’.
Help is never offered for free. They’d want something in return, and right now, I don’t want to owe anyone a damn thing.
Curling my fingers through the face guard of my helmet, I keep striding across the field, nodding and smiling at people as I pass them by. Most of them offer their congratulations. A group of girls giggles when I smile at them. A couple of girls from the cheer team approach, their expressions flirtatious, and I humor them for a few minutes, basking in their praise and accepting their invite to a party tonight.
Doubt I’ll go, but right now is not the time to discount options. I’m a free agent. I can do whatever the hell I want, with whoever I want, when I want.
Putting a little strut in my walk, I lift my chin at a cluster of people, surprised when one of them darts out toward me, waving her hand so that a man with a giant video camera follows behind her.
That’s when I notice the mic she’s holding says ESPN on it. I come to a stop, waiting for her to approach.
“Eli Bennett.” She smiles. She’s a lot more attractive than the other reporter. Her hair is long and dark, and her brown eyes sparkle as she takes me in. “Just the man I was looking for.”
I hold my arms out, my helmet still dangling. “I’m all yours.”
She laughs. “I’m sure. Have a few moments to speak with me?”
“For you? Anything,” I tell her, brimming with confidence.
She asks the same questions as the local reporter, though she’s not as pushy. The conversation flows easily, and I give credit to my team, to the coaches, to the entire Bulldog football program. This school should fucking love me come Monday morning. I’m praising them so damn much, I bet the athletic director will jizz in his pants when he sees my interview.
“You’re a real team player, aren’t you?” the reporter asks when our conversation is over.
“I try,” I say with a modest shrug. Even a year ago, I didn’t necessarily get it. I was brutal on myself, believing our games rested purely on my shoulders. Mentally beating myself up every time I screwed up, which was often. I had a shit season my junior year because of my behavior, and I was ready to give up on myself and the team.
The one person who convinced me not to was…
Ava.
