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And some are personal, as in I’d like to go on a date some time this decade.
Fine, fine, that’s a reach-for-the-stars goal.
But lately, that goal’s been getting a little more specific. I’ve been entertaining a fantasy of this irresistible guy I met four months ago at a carnival. Ever since I found out my football team would be spending a few extra days in London before our game there next week, I’ve been seriously wondering if I should text the guy who lives across the pond—someone I only spent a few hours with last summer.
Is it crazy to reach out even though we haven’t spoken since that day?
Maybe a little.
But as I run on a treadmill at the stadium a couple hours before our Thursday night kickoff, I can’t stop thinking of him.
I’m picturing a hot evening in Mayfair next week with the charming Brit.
And then a sleepy, sexy morning waking up next to the fun guy before practice.
Oh yeah, this is the hottest workout I’ve had in ages. I’m sweating up a storm as I run faster up this conveyor-belt hill.
Sure, I should be thinking about the lunch in Kensington my agent set up with my sneaker sponsor. Or that dinner meeting Vance planned with the organic energy-bar maker. And of course the game we’ll play in London’s Triumph Stadium next weekend against one of our league rivals.
But, oh well, I’m just not.
I’m busy imagining Hunter’s hell yes text and plotting the logistics of a date-slash-one-night-stand with Hunter Whose Last Name I Don’t Even Know.
But I know this—we were fire together when we afternoon delighted in June here in my hometown.
Except…
It is October now. A guy that sexy, charming, and outgoing is probably seeing someone four months later.
That’d be just my luck.
As I slow the pace on the machine, I slow my fantasies, too, chewing on the unpleasant possibility of a big fat no if I reach out. It’s not the first time I’ve contemplated the no option in the last week. More like the four hundredth. My fizzled marriage should have prepared me for any minor romance setbacks, and yet I’m still gun-shy.
That’s the big reason why I haven’t texted Hunter yet even though I’ve known for a while that I’ll be in London for longer than originally expected.
But the clock is ticking. I take off tomorrow to see a concert in Vegas, then fly across the ocean.
Should I try to see him?
On the one hand, rejection.
On the other hand, sex.
Fuck it.
The chance of sex wins.
After snagging the towel from the dashboard, I wipe it across the back of my neck, composing a text in my head as I finish my cooldown.
Hey there, Hunter. Want to go sightseeing with me next week? I hear the tourist attractions, specifically the one in the penthouse suite at the Luxe Hotel, are worth a visit. But try for yourself to be sure.
Perfect.
I stab the end button on the treadmill triumphantly as I hop off the machine, energized by my workout and my decision at last.
My teammate Jason raises a curious brow as he steps off his treadmill too. “What’s got you chuckling? Your strategy to psych out the secondary?”
That’s a damn good guess. Lately I’ve been messing with my opponents when they try to cover me by flashing them a smile or letting loose a laugh. It’s working too—can’t argue with my receiving yards. “The secondary doesn’t know what to make of it. But nope,” I say, grinning. “I’ve been thinking about the Duke of Hotness. I’ve decided I should reach out to him.”
Jason whistles approvingly. “I was hoping you were gonna say that soon.” He offers a fist for knocking. “You’ve been contemplating that pretty much twenty-four-seven since Reese told us last week they were sending us overseas early, haven’t you?”
Sounds about right. “But in my defense, I’m suffering from Last Dude Syndrome.”
Jason stops at the door, adding that up. “You haven’t been with anyone else since the Duke? No hookups? Nothing?”
I shake my head. “My solo streak has remained unbroken since he returned to England.”
“Man, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Imagine living it,” I say.
He shudders. “Don’t want to.” We head into the hall, and he adopts his play-by-play voice. “All right, folks. Chandler the Ball Handler is back on the field. What will be his plan of attack?”
I laugh at the not-so-subtle innuendo. “Maybe don’t use that nickname if you ever see me with him. Or with anyone else.”
“Noted.” Jason crosses off an item on an invisible list. “Seriously, though. Are you going to take him out while we’re over there?”
My turn to shudder. Dating still feels a bit like opening a present of misery wrapped with a bow of dread and sealed with emotional suffering.
“I’m thinking more like a hookup. When I first saw the schedule I didn’t think I’d have a moment to myself, but now that the trip’s starting early, maybe I can slip in some me time.”
