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21
Brody
Being a pro football player was tough enough. Having a whole bunch of endorsements, too? That cranked my stress levels way up.
Usually, my agent lined up all my endorsements and appearances for the off-season. That way I could spend the season focusing on playing football. But Adidas had spent a whole mess of money to get their shoes in the newest Madden football game, a game which they were rushing to release before Christmas. Which meant I had to drag my ass into a film studio down in Provo, put on this ridiculous green getup, and run around while everyone took computer images of me.
But hey. Like I told Taylor, they were paying me good money to do it. So I couldn’t really complain.
Especially since it gave me an excuse to text her.
I was sitting on my ass in the film studio, waiting for the computer geeks to tweak their code or something before they could record me again. I wasn’t trying to be a creeper on Taylor or anything but my apartment had a pretty good security system. When she stepped off the elevator into my living room, I got a notification about it.
And when I tapped the notification, it pulled up a live video feed on the app.
There Taylor was in all her redheaded glory. She was wearing a nice white blouse, along with a pencil skirt that showed off her curves better than any cheerleading uniform. Yeah, I’ll admit it: this woman turned me on like a damn light switch. She oozed sexual energy without even trying. If she had been my professor back at Texas? You bet your ass I would have had perfect attendance.
“Two minutes, Carter,” one of the techies shouted. I flashed him a thumbs-up, watched a little more of the security feed, then put my phone down.
I spent the next twenty minutes running around the studio. They had me simulate football routes: standing at the line of scrimmage, then darting forward and cutting along a route. They didn’t have a real football, so I had to reach up and pretend that I was catching the ball. Seems like they could have used a real football for that part, but what do I know? I’m just a tight end.
“Take twenty while we process this,” the techie told me.
I went back to my little changing table and picked up my phone. Taylor had sent me a video of Luna rolling around on her back and howling. Her message, I think your dog is broken, actually made me laugh out loud.
I smiled as we texted back and forth. Being stuck here at the studio sucked, but texting with Taylor made it a lot more bearable.
When she returned to my apartment, I opened the app and watched the feed again. Even though I didn’t ask her to, she was nice enough to refill Luna’s water bowl. Then I watched as she followed Luna down the hallway to my room.
There weren’t any cameras in there, for obvious reasons. But right then, I kind of wished there were so I could see what she was doing. I didn’t think she would snoop, but…
After a few minutes, she came out of my bedroom with the leash in her hand. She put it away in the drawer by the front door, then pressed the elevator button.
One thing about my sweet husky dog: she recognized the click sound of the elevator button, and she knew it meant that I—or someone else—was leaving. So as soon as Taylor pushed it, Luna came running out of the bedroom and sliding around the corner. Taylor turned around and bent down, and the dog jumped up at her chest and knocked her back. Despite wearing a pencil skirt, Taylor sat on the ground and rubbed Luna all over, playing with her and laughing while waiting for the elevator.
Now, I really liked Taylor. Shit, who wouldn’t? She was a crimson-haired angel with a body I wanted to sink my teeth into. She was a college professor, so she had the brains to match the body, too.
But seeing her play with my dog, giving her lots of love and affection? I’ve never been so attracted to a woman in my life. That simple gesture cranked Taylor’s hotness all the way up to eleven.
If only she didn’t have a boyfriend, I thought while watching the video on my phone. A smug, professor boyfriend.
*
The next week passed without much drama. The only exception was when Isabella called me on Thursday. I expected her to want to get back together, but she was actually just letting me know that she was putting a box of my things out on the front step of her apartment building.
“Hope someone doesn’t steal it,” she said. “It’s just sitting out there. But I could be convinced to keep it inside until you pick it up if you would just apologize…”
“I’ll be there in five,” I said, hanging up. I certainly had nothing to apologize for. And I had a sneaking suspicion that getting me inside was a trick by Isabella to try to get back together with me. I didn’t even want to be tempted by that scenario.
Because what Kim had observed about me was true: I was in a healthier place, emotionally, without Isabella. She was a toxic person, and having her out of my life made everything simpler.
I drove over to her apartment, and the box of stuff was sitting out on the front stoop, untouched. I hefted it under my arm and glanced up at her window on the third floor. I caught a glimpse of someone there before the curtain shifted back into place.
It felt like closure, and I whistled a tune on the drive home.
Sunday evening we played the Detroit Lions, who were winless on the season and had a nine-game losing streak going back to last year. I rarely paid attention to betting lines, but I heard someone mention that we were eighteen point favorites in the game.
We came out of the gate strong, marching down the field with a series of running plays that the Lions couldn’t stop. That forced the defense to crowd the box, which opened up the midfield for me. Dallas faked a hand-off on the next play, dropped back, and then hit me in the middle of my crossing route. I continued across the field for eighteen yards before being tackled out of bounds.
