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“Time to talk?” she questions with an eager grin as her camera man walks around the backside of me, already setting up.
“Strictly business this time, Linds,” I warn.
Her lashes flutter as she shoots me a sultry smile. “Now, Lake, we both know business pairs well with pleasure.”
Before I can respond, she slips into professional mode. Like the flip of a switch, the plastic face covers her already plastic face, and the interview process begins.
19
Dylan
Mycellphoneisburninga hole in my pants.
My new pants. I'll admit, I love the new fit. I feel like I’m officially a part of this team when, in reality, I’m still just an outsider looking in.
As Clark introduced me to the working staff on the field, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude. It was a glimpse of a career and a future I'd once envisioned for myself. One I never thought I'd see. I'd made it so far on my own, but couldn't even finish school to get my doctorate the way I'd initially hoped. Funds run out fast when you're doing it all on your own. Loans upon student loans built up so high that if I didn't get the job with Greg when I did, I'd never have been able to afford to keep our apartment. I’m still barely holding on—the lawyer fees, the credit card debt, the mistakes with finances made at such a young age. My path is far from a straight one.
But here I am yet again, looking at a future that was always just out of reach.
After warm-ups are over, the team reconvenes on the sidelines, the players getting into the headspace they need to be in to crush the Arizona Cardinals on live TV for Monday Night Football.
I don’t need to look for Lake. His ridiculously handsome face is plastered above me on the stadium’s big screen. They’re talking about how, with him being injured, the Cardinals had some sort of shot against the weakened team, but his faith in his team of brothers seemed to contradict that entirely.
His eyes seem lighter from a distance, his smile so easy and relaxed, but I know just how dark those eyes can smolder close up, how sexy that chipped tooth looks beneath that easy grin. I hate that these are my thoughts. I also hate how they don’t matter. I can’t focus on him or how he makes my stomach flip when he says my name. I shouldn't focus on the fact that no one has ever made my skin tingle with an unresolved desire to have his hands on me like he does, or that his smile reaches parts of me I didn't know existed.
That handsome grin is still stretched across his face as I walk back to an interview he is having with an eager reporter. I watch his lengthy form from a distance as he talks about the game, his injury, his recovery, and he even mentions his therapist and progression. He chuckles when she asks if he is receiving all the attention she thought he deserved, clearly flirting with the man of the hour. But he brushes it off with an inspirational message about getting up and fighting for what you want despite the setbacks.
I can understand the endorsements. He’s the guy that fits the role to a T. Handsome as all hell, young, hungry for the game, driven, and yet somehow seemingly approachable. I can see him slip into that role while he talks animatedly with the reporter, but there’s something beneath the facade that speaks to a deeper part of me.
There’s a bigger reason for this. His primary goal isn’t just to become a legend, is it? His heart is truly in this, but is it only for the love of the game?
After the interview, his face falls hard again as the beautiful reporter leans in to whisper something into his ear. He grins and chews on his bottom lip. The interaction looks flirtatious, and I can only imagine all the many women who've fallen victim to his charms.
The thought is even more of a reason to nip my stupid little crush in the bud. He isn’t a one-woman man. No, women flock to men like him, hoping to be the one he'll choose forever. But men like that don't need to make choices in love. Sex is handed to them on a platter. What do they need love for? Relationships are a waste of energy to a Greek God like Lake.
His eyes somehow find mine in the crowd of players and coaches as the reporter grips onto his muscular shoulders, whispering something else along his neck. His mischievous smile returns as she pulls back to face him. He oozes sex, and it seems Little Miss Reporter is picking up on that recent development. I quickly glance away, feeling like I've been caught looking at something I shouldn't.
This is what Lake does. This is his life. Sports and women.
I duck off behind one of the medical tents along the sideline, peering up at the fans cheering in the stands nearby. I smile at a young boy waving down at me. He’s wearing a Bear’s t-shirt in the warm Arizona sunset, his arm linked through his father’s, who holds him proudly. The sight of something Colin and I both deserved to have had in our lives makes me wince. Parents who loved us for who we were, sharing experiences together, and making memories that would last a lifetime. But no, not us.
Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I try to call Colin immediately. Technically, he's still working, but I thought by some chance maybe I'd catch him. The machine picks up and I sigh, feeling a jumble of twisted-up nerves for my older brother.
I need to talk to him tonight, even if it means slipping out of here early.
“What are you doing back here?” Lake’s voice rumbles, startling me.
I quickly pull the phone from my ear and place it in my side pocket. I don't think he noticed.
“Ready to watch this game with me, or what?” he asks, his hard eyes fixed on me.
I suck in a breath, plastering on a smile. “Yeah, of course.”
My legs shift restlessly as I stand behind the players, watching as the game begins. My eyes focus on the field, but my mind is on Colin. Every time my phone buzzes with a notification, I turn and check it without being too suspicious. No, April, I don't care about your baby boy's weekly fucking photoshoot. I click to close the notification, sighing in frustration.
“You good?” Lake asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
“I'm great, Lake. Thanks for continuously checking.”
