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He’s right.
If this speech causes one person to decide to come to the groups regularly, to seek help, to accept support through the most difficult period of their life…it will be worth it.
“I need to get going soon. Was there anything else?”
“Nope. Just making sure you hadn’t run from the event.”
“Not yet,” I joke. “Talk soon.”
I hang up, then run a hand through my hair, closing my eyes and taking a moment to prepare myself.
There’s a story to my life that results in exactly what Bryce said. More dollars to the people who need them. It’s the entire point of charity, the same way football is all about winning.
People forget that in both.
They forget their purpose and let ego take over. Or they decide they want to feel special and think their wishes are more important than the game.
But nothing is.
That’s why I have to bend the truth.
* * *
“Thirteen years ago,” I say, trying to think of that man.
A twenty-eight-year-old football star who never wanted fame or the attention his abilities brought him. He was nothing like the man I am now, getting photographed at least once a month, always with a different woman on my arm to stir up some buzz. The fact is, all anyone cares about are my dates and reputation rather than anything I’vedone.
Thinking of the women asdatescauses my stomach to stir uncomfortably.
“I lost everything.”
My voice booms from the speakers, filling the relatively small room. Fifty or so people are crowded here, Trixie smiling at me encouragingly from the back.
I’m about to go on when the door opens.
“Sorry,” the woman mumbles when she realizes it’s already started. “I’m so sorry.”
She stands at the very rear. The room is small, giving me a full view of her, and suddenly I’m glad for the podium.
Do not get hard, I think, as I wonder if this is what ‘love at first sight’ feels like.
She looks young, with a flush to her cheeks, her wavy brown hair pulled down to partially cover her face. She’s wearing denim jeans that turn her wide hips into a feast, making my hands twitch, and her strappy top gives a glorious outline of her breasts.
I find myself wondering who she is, her name, everything about her.
This is new.
She looks up, and briefly meets my gaze.
I can’t stop staring.
It’s the nervous way she stands, with her hands holding each other, the tempting redness making her cheeks bloom for me.
To kiss those lips…hold her at the same time, cradle her as I kiss her deeper, more intensely, until she’s shivering against me and begging for me.
My woman, my mate,mineforever.
Where did that come from?
