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“It’s just a paycheck.” Eric shrugs dismissively.
“I’ll live off my spoils, thank you very much.” I pick up a handful of chips and let them drop one. By. One.
“Ouch, she got you there.” Alex gives me a fist bump.
“You lost, too, my friend.” Erik shoots him a smart-aleck grin.
“Yeah, but I can beat her at everything else, so I’ll give her this one thing.” Alex pulls me to him for a little sideways hug and kisses the top of my head. “You guys ready to head out?” he asks the guys.
“Where to this time? Frat house party? Bar? Strip joint?” I wiggle my eyebrows like I’m teasing, hoping that hides the fact that I’m disappointed to see them go. I’m not surprised, though. I’m one of the guys around the house, but outside it, I’m baggage that messes with their pickup game.
It sucks that there’s a distinction between where and when we can all be friends, but I’m used to it. It’s been that way since I was a little kid who was more interested in playing sports and superheroes than ballet and Barbies.
Back then, Alex and I were inseparable, but as we grew older, he branched out. He included me as much as possible, but neither of us wanted me to be the third wheel on his dates. It makes sharing an apartment somewhat awkward—I frequently have to hear the spoils of his nights out—but he’s my best friend, so I wouldn’t trade it, even if I find myself alone once the guys leave. I’m more comfortable that way than trying to fit in with girls, even my teammates, who I never really learned how to relate to on a deeper level.
“House party.” Alex swallows the last of his beer. “A group of cheerleaders are throwing a bash to celebrate making state or regionals or something. Some of your teammates might be there.” He trails off, the unspoken invite lingering. We both know I won’t take him up on it, though, which is probably why he asked. He’s playing the role of good brother. I love him for it.
“No, thanks. I have a date with that rom com I’ve been wanting to watch.” The guys all jump up to clear the bottles and snacks off the table. Nothing clears out the house faster than those two little words. “Have fun, boys. Don’t call me to bail you out if things get too crazy.”
Eric heads off without so much as a second glance while Alex and Trevor wave and give me a little nod of acknowledgement as they file out the door. Though I’m bummed to be alone, I’m relieved not to be headed wherever they are. I don’t love the meaningless conversation and drinking that goes hand in hand with parties. In fact, I hate it as much as I hate rom coms. I just know how to make sure the guys don’t ask about my evening.
Free to do whatever I want, I change into my workout gear and head out to the gym. Well, technically, it’s the football players’ gym, which I’m not really allowed in, but they forgot to take my key after I got cut freshman year.
I’m not bitter about that—there’s more of a future for me in soccer than there is as the first female kicker for a professional NFL team—but I’d be lying if I said my competitive side didn’t believe I’m better than the guy who replaced me. I figure that entitles me to use the men’s gym.
If the women’s gym had half the stuff the guys do, I wouldn’t have to sneak around, but apparently the athletic department thinks we don’t need free weights. What an insult. I don’t see any guys aiming for the Olympics, hence the need for free weights. That’s what the pros use, and if I go pro, I might get my shot at a medal.
While I’m talented enough to warrant an invitation to the Women’s National Team tryouts, so are dozens of other women. Only twenty-two make it to the highest level, and most of them are already on the pro circuit. I’m one of the top college players, but that doesn’t make me a shoe-in. Not even close. If I’m going to be one of them, I need a real weight room.
Since it’s Friday night, and people with social lives have better things to do, I’m going to help myself to some world-class equipment and work off the funk Eric left me in. I know I shouldn’t let the guy rile me so much, but it sucks to have the little sister label when I see him as anything but brotherly.
My mind wanders down memory lane as I jog to the gym. I noticed Eric freshman year, during my first football practice. He’s taller than me—always a plus—with vivid blue eyes peeking out underneath his perfectly mussed brown hair. And his body—lord, I’ve never seen one like it. Sculpted without being bulky, and a tight little ass that his football pants hug to perfection.
If you could build a man like you can build a bear, Eric would be my creation. But in addition to the whole bro-code thing that makes me off-limits, there’s the fact that I’m not at all his type. By that I mean my 5′11″ athletic frame doesn’t seem to appeal to a guy who prefers petite, busty blondes.
I still can’t wrap my head around the logistics of that. Presuming the rest of him matches his 6′4″ frame, I can’t imagine doll-sized women would satisfy something of that stature. That’s only a guess based on my experience with the opposite problem. I shake off that thought with a humorless laugh. There’s no point wondering about the physics of something I’ll never get to experience. Opening the door to the gym, I trot inside and start my warm-up.
