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“You’ve got a lot on your plate. I get it. You’re feeling overwhelmed, and it looks like the only thing you can cut is…”
“Women,” I finish for him.
He sighs, shaking his head. “You are a different breed from me, I can tell you that.”
“The difference is, you fell in love with Mom when you guys were really young and that was it. You two were set for life.”
I don’t have that. Not even close. And I’m not mad about it either. I don’t want to settle down. Hell, I’ve been having the time of my life the last three years, getting as much pussy as I want from an endless list of willing women.
But there’s more to life than having sex. What about a conversation? And not just about football either. Yes, I live and breathe it, but maybe there’s a woman out there who’s worth getting to know. Not that I’m looking for her at this moment.
“Best life I could’ve ever had too.” His gaze grows distant, his smile on the dreamy side. Like he’s thinking about Mom in ways I don’t really want to know.
“What you guys have is great, but I don’t want that.” I pause. “Not yet at least.”
“Can I give you some advice?”
If I were to tell him I don’t want to hear it, he’d tell me anyway. Not that I would ever say that. My father gives great advice.
“Go for it.”
“There’s something about having a woman by your side from the very beginning of your football career, whether that be in college, or when you go pro. Hell, someone you’ve dated since high school is good too, though I know you don’t have that option. When you find a good woman, who’s known you before you found success, someone who believes in you and isn’t dazzled by all the bullshit, you can’t go wrong. If you’re in a solid relationship like that, she knows therealyou.”
“Dad…”
“No, let me finish. Your mom and I have known each other since we were practically kids. We grew up together, and yeah, we had some growing pains, but I know her love for me isn’t because of what I was or how much money I made. She knew me when I was a broke-ass joke who smoked too much weed.” He chuckles and I do too.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen for me,” I admit. “And who’s to say I’ll go onto the NFL?”
“You’re going,” he says firmly, in that tone that says he doesn’t want any arguments. “I know you are. I have faith.”
We end the call, and I know he was trying to pump me up and make me feel good but…
His words just freak me out. Put more pressure on me that I don’t need. What if I don’t make it into the NFL? What then?
His disappointment—and mine too—will be monumental.
* * *
“What doyou think of that one?” Derek asks me, his pointy elbow nudging my ribs. “She’s a fine piece.”
I don’t bother looking. We’re sitting at a table in front of the student center grabbing a quick lunch. The place is packed, swarming with students doing the same thing we are and I don’t think I’ve seen the campus this full of people ever.
And there are so many new girls. Like, women everywhere. It’s still warm outside, though the weather could turn on a dime, and they’re all clad in skimpy tops and shorts that show off their long legs. They flip their hair behind their shoulders when they laugh, their smiles big. What the hell was I thinking, going celibate now? When I’m a freaking senior on the football team and can get as many women as I want?
I’m an asshole. An asshole who’s half-tempted to hand Derek a grand and be done with this bet shit. Hell, I can hand over a grand to Cam as well and have a clear conscious. I owe both of those fuckers, since we all made the bet together.
Money-wise, I’m lucky, and I’m aware enough to realize it. My father had a successful NFL career and played for nine seasons. He made a lot of money and obtained solid endorsements that lasted at least five years after he retired. Our parents set aside money in a trust for each of us, and I came into mine recently when I turned twenty-one. I haven’t spent much of it, but when do I have any time to go out and spend money?
Never, that’s when.
So I’ve got plenty to hand over to my friends to get them off my back because, holy shit, I’m already over Derek trying to tempt me on a constant basis. We only made this bet less than twenty-four hours ago.
“She’s not his type,” Cam finally pipes up, his gaze on his food and not the woman Derek is trying to point out to us.
“You didn’t even look at her.” Derek’s voice rings with accusation.
“I just know.” Cam shrugs.
