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“Nah, my mama wasn’t lettin’ me leave school without a degree,” he answered with an amused grin that I matched as he continued, “Maybe if I would’ve been a top draft prospect or somethin’. But I’ve never been in position to not need a backup plan.”
“Not even now?”
“Hell nah,” he groaned. “This football shit ain’t forever.”
“Tell that to Tom Brady’s ass,” I quipped.
“It’s a lotta niggas who thought they were gonna have Tom Brady-type careers only to be out of the league in less than three years and broke as hell now,” Kendall explained with a bit of somberness. But his mood notably picked up a bit once he added, “By the grace of God, I’ve already outlasted that first number. But if for whatever reason shit goes left, I’ll be damned if I’m out on my ass.”
Even without knowing the details of his plan, it was incredibly endearing to know he had one at all, the topic intriguing me enough to inquire, “Okay, so if football ended tomorrow, what would you be doing?”
“First of all, I’ma need you to knock on some wood or somethin’,” Kendall chuckled. And after hearing my little raps against the bedside table, he finally continued, “But to answer your question, I’d more than likely be in veterinary school.”
“Veterinary school?” I repeated, both surprised and amazed when I questioned, “You wanna be an animal doctor?”
“Wildlife surgeon, specifically,” he stated, his smirk turning arrogant once he insisted, “I tend to work well under pressure.”
Glancing away from the screen, I muttered, “Unless there’s a playoff game on the line…”
“Wowww,” he groaned in response. But it was obvious he was just pretending to be offended by the jab I only knew about because of the internet when he frowned and pouted, “Just when I thought we were becoming friends.”
“We are,” I sang. “I was just playin’ with you, Snoopy.”
My admittance brought his dimpled grin back, even as he asked, “How you gonna make a nickname outta my nickname, though?”
“Cause that’s what friends do,” I explained with an exaggerated smile.
“Yeah aight,friend,” Kendall replied, yawning again before he said, “I have an early morning walkthrough, so I should probably get some sleep. We should link up some time, though. Maybe when this preseason shit is over with?”
Quickly taming my excitement, I responded, “I’d be down. Just hit me up.”
“Aight, I will.”
That should’ve been the end of our conversation. But it was like neither one of us really wanted to hang up, the entire thing feeling incredibly elementary in the best way as I decided to pull the trigger with a sing-songy, “Goodniiiight.”
“Goodnight, Shaky.”
“Shaky?” I repeated, snorting a laugh before telling him, “Nah, we’re not doing that.”
Tiredly, he asked, “What’s wrong with Shaky?”
“What’snotwrong with it?” I challenged.
“Aight, fine,” he conceded with a final yawn. “Goodnight,Shakira.”
“Goodnight, Snoopy,” I replied sweetly, ending the call before I was tempted to sit there and actually watch him fall asleep. But even with his fine ass face no longer on the screen, it was still very much in my head, the thought of it and our conversation giving me butterflies as I fell back onto the mattress with a grin…and then reached for my vibrator.
