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“Only child. What about you?” He lifts his arm to scratch the back of his neck, giving me a perfect view of his sharp, defined muscle.
“Are your parents together?”
“Slow down there, Rory. I thought we agreed...” My name on his lips does something funny to my insides and I do not like it at all.
“I have a younger sister,” I reluctantly answer.
“How old?”
“She’s six.”
“Six?” His eyes widen. “That’s quite an age gap.”
“I know.” I resist the urge to say more. “Are your parents together?” I repeat for the second time.
“They are. Been married for twenty-two years. What about you?”
I feel uncomfortable telling him about my life, mainly because I don’t want to give him any ammunition to use against me, but also because I’m not one who shares a lot about my personal life with people, especially people I don’t know very well.
“Most people don’t know how long their parents have been married right off the top of their heads,” I feel the need to point out.
“Well, I should know, considering they got married when my mom found out she was pregnant with me.”
“I guess that makes it easy to keep track of,” I admit, setting my list of questions down on the table in front of me before picking up a pencil and shifting toward my easel.
Perhaps this will be easier if I have something else to focus on.
Like the last time, I start with the curve of his jaw.
“What about your parents?” He doesn’t seem the least bit irritated that he has to ask again. In fact, he seems so at ease you’d think he was sitting across from a good friend and not a practical stranger.
“Um... They’re still together.” I drag my pencil along the paper, drawing the outline of his shoulder. “You transferred here from another school. Why?”
“Simply put, they couldn’t appreciate how good I really am.”
“That’s a cocky thing to say.”
“Not cocky if it’s true,” he states simply. “I spent two years playing second to a guy with half my talent. When I found out they had no intention of giving me the number one spot going into my third year, I did the only logical thing a player can do—I found a coach willing to let me prove my worth.”
“And Coach Cook was that for you.” It’s not a question.
“He gave me the shot I’ve been fighting for since I was young. People have had a bad habit of underestimating me. It feels good to finally prove all of them wrong.”
I wish I could say hearing him tell me this didn’t soften my opinion of him, but it does. Only ever so slightly, but it still does. He understands what it means to be underestimated and to have to work hard to prove you’ve got what it takes. It’s what I’ve been doing since I got here, trying to prove that I belong. That I’m just as good, if not better, than everyone else. That I deserve to work for Laboe or any other design company I choose because I have what it takes.
“And now here you are, the savior of Trojans football,” I say borderline sarcastically. “Seems like you’ve adjusted to the limelight just fine.”
“Some people were born to shine. There’s no shame in knowing you are one of those people. I always knew I’d get here and here I am. But make no mistake, I’m far from done.”
“So you have plans to play pro then?”
“More than just play pro. I plan to be the best.”
“I’m sure there are hundreds of other players who think the same about themselves.”
“Maybe so, but they aren’t me.”
“You don’t lack confidence, I’ll give you that.”
