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That means working longer and harder than I ever have in my ball career. It all comes down to this year. It means a strict schedule, a whole lot of self-deprivation where the extra-curricular is concerned and cutting all distractions. I’m so damn close. With my stats what they are and the promise of a decent upcoming season, I may just pull it off. I’ve already put in my mandatory field time to enter the draft but didn’t pursue it last year because of my obligations at the ranch. That hesitation may have cost me, especially with the way the season ended. Now it might be too late. Only a small percentage of college players are picked to join the league. Regardless of what Miss Priss decided about me, I refuse to let arrogance guide my quest or my temper destroy my chances. This year, no mistakes. I’m a changed man and my ability to withstand that character breakdown without blowing a fuse proved as much.
When they aren’t hosting geriatric jazzercise in the dank gym, this is my place to unwind. It’s the only time I get to nail the bag, to let my anger rule so I can exorcise it to the point it’s beneath me, not a weakness I can’t manage. The rest of the week I’m stuck in practice, lifting or training to milk out the rest of the summer before school and regular-season starts.
Every single day I remind myself why I’m here, and it’s to save that ranch. To save my parents the embarrassment of losing everything and to protect three generations of blood, sweat, and tears. It’s all up to me.
Twinkle toes had been on the receiving end of my latest blow, which was the shit news that my father had gotten a fair price for my Silverado. A truck I don’t have a replacement for. I’m now a man without a horse, but it bought the one thing my family seems to have very little of lately, time. Not only that, it will cover the room I’ve rented for my last two semesters. As far as getting around, I’m on my own, but my family has what they need, so it’s worth the sacrifice. Selfishly, I’m still pissed at the fact that I just lost the truck I’d work
ed five summers for. All that effort gone in a blink. So yeah, I’m pissed, constantly stressed, and always frustrated. The future swings over my head like a bladed pendulum.
As many truths as she nailed, I could fill a book with the shit she doesn’t know.
Movement draws me from my thoughts as I glance over at the tiny girl and watch her choreographed steps.
The way she moves shows she’s comfortable in her own skin and the way she told me to fuck off says she’s got a backbone; but when I’d approached, her shaky demeanor alluded that she may be on the inexperienced side.
Jake told me the room was mine. If he thought this chick would be a welcome surprise, he’s wrong. I do my best thinking isolated, and this girl is buzzing in circles around me. I can’t adjust the bag to get a different view, and even if I did, I can see her in my peripheral, in the reflection of the long-ass eyesore mirror that takes up one wall of the gym.
This is jacked.
I pound away, doing my best to ignore her…until she catches fire. She’s dancing like a pro, her body made for movement.
It’s fascinating…and distracting.
Heavy bass no longer thrums out of her impressive little speaker, but you wouldn’t know it with the way she’s stepping into every beat while manipulating her form in ways that have me dizzy.
Motherfucker!
I thrash at the bag, my nerves fraying as she slides, glides, sashays, and then cuts the song off abruptly. It’s on the edge of my lips to protest with “why did you stop?” before she restarts the music.
Irritated, I watch.
I can’t help myself.
I watch.
Lance
I take advantage of my position both on and off the field, which at times makes me a hypocrite, falling into the one and done stereotype. Callie slides on her panties and eyes me over her shoulder, a bright smile on her face. I grin back at her.
“Well, someone had some issues he needed to work out tonight.”
Feeling the pull of sleep, I punch my pillow and position it behind me.
“You can stay.”
Callie’s eyes run appreciatively down my chest. “Sweet, but no. I don’t want to meet your new roommates after that show we just put on, and you’re out of toilet paper.”
“Sorry,” I offer, unsure if said offer was obligatory or selfish. If she stays and I get a second wind, it’s convenient. I’m not much for conversation, sharing my bed is about as intimate as I get, and Callie understands that about me. It’s an unspoken agreement between us.
I’ve been seeing Callie for a few months. She’s nice and we get along well enough. That’s really all I need. She graduated last spring and decided to stay home for the summer before joining the workforce. She comes with perks, meaning she’ll be gone soon, so no commitment pressure, with the added bonus of no baggage—win/win. I’ve been down the monogamy road in high school, and it was nice—while it lasted—but a relationship hasn’t been a priority with the amount of shit I have going on. The minute I stepped on Texas Grand University campus, I decided women had to take a back seat. I had enough expectations to deal with. I’ve kept that promise to myself for three years. With my focus solely on ball and saving the ranch, I refuse to jerk any woman around.
“Night,” she leans over, her hair tickling my face as she takes my lips in a parting kiss. “Damn,” she whispers with a grin, shaking her head when she pulls away. “It’s a good thing I know better about you.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” I can’t help the edge to my voice. I’ve dealt with enough judgment for one day.
“I just know if I catch feelings, I’ll be messing up.”
“So, don’t.”
