by Lex Martin
As he puts down the food, his eyes land on me, and he waves. We’ve never really met before, but I know he’s the lead singer of a popular local band. Sandy blond hair waves in his eyes, and he has that whole rocker vibe going on with black jeans and a faded Aerosmith t-shirt.
Ryan points to me and says, “You must be Daren’s girlfriend.”
My shoulders sag. Seriously, at this point, I’m pretty sure the postman in the next county over knows we’re dating, because Daren’s friends suck at keeping secrets.
Jenna runs up to Ryan and plants a wet kiss on his mouth. “Hi, cutie pie,” he mumbles against her lips.
She turns back to me and shakes her head. “I swear he’s the last person. No one else knows. Just us.” She motions around the room to the three couples.
I laugh in defeat. “Okay, that’s fine, but you really can’t tell people about us. I could lose my job. It’s a major conflict of interest. That’s why we can’t do anything together in public.”
Gavin clears his throat and smooths back a long strand of hair from Clementine’s face. “Maddie’s serious, guys. She’d get fired for this. You can’t tell anyone.”
He’s a journalist, so I’m sure that’s why he’s backing me up right now. But my stomach falls hearing someone else confirm my worst nightmare.
Clem must sense I want to hurl my breakfast because she nudges my shoulder. “You can trust us. I promise.”
“You really can’t go out together?” Dani asks, a concerned look on her face.
“No. We really can’t. I mean, he took me out last week, but it was all undercover and sneaky.”
“That’s so weird considering you interview him on TV every week. Those segments are great, by the way. I’ve learned so much about football. Like how to call a play and how you need to hold the ball.” She freezes in that iconic Heisman position, a serious expression in her eyes.
Jax chuckles. “You don’t need any help holding balls, babe.”
A wad of paper goes flying and hits him in the face. “Jackson, stop. I just threw up a little in my mouth.” Clementine makes a gagging sound, and everyone laughs.
The camera cuts to the crowd, and even though they’re playing in Atlanta, there are a number of Rebel fans dotting the stadium. Mostly women. Wearing Daren’s jersey. And here’s a random fact. His jersey set a record for sales, selling more this summer than any other professional athlete’s.
A shot of several women decked out in Rebel gear flashes on the TV. Their jerseys have been modified for maximum cleavage, and they’re bouncing up and down in unison, their boobs waving at the camera. They’re screaming for Daren, and one holds up a sign that says, “Marry me. We’d make cute babies.”
Hysterical. If it didn’t make my stomach turn in on itself, I’d be tempted to laugh.
But I try to focus on what’s important. Daren. The game. Wanting him to do well. Because those women don’t mean anything for our relationship, right?
Before I can head down that path of doubt, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I told Daren I trusted him, and I have to believe he won't hurt me.
Forty
- Daren -
When Coach tells me to warm up after the third quarter, we’re up by six points.
A few weeks ago, he mentioned he wanted to move to a two-quarterback system, switching off between Brentwood and me the way we did in preseason, but I kind of thought he was full of shit. It’s not unheard of at the pro level, but it’s definitely unusual, especially if the starting QB is effective, and Brentwood is, the bastard.
I’ve sensed some unspoken urgency to get me ready, but with Brentwood in his prime, I still don’t understand why. It’s tricky maneuvering into the second QB spot, bumping the guy who had the job last year into a third rotation permanently.
Coach motions for me with eight minutes left in the fourth. “You’ve got this, Sloan. Keep that head of yours calm. And don’t forget to check all your options before you commit.”
I nod and snap on my helmet.
Quentin and I stand on the sideline and wait to take the field at the same time. As Brentwood struts by, he grabs my shoulder and leans in. I’m thinking he’s going to say something encouraging. Instead he grunts, “Don’t fuck up.”
I laugh. Because this guy is known as a legendary inspirational speaker. And he is in a huddle. I’ve heard him pump up the guys. But I guess I don’t qualify as someone worthy of that positivity.
When the ref blows the whistle, I jog on. And I’m unprepared for the applause that greets me. It’s so overwhelming, it damn near brings tears to my eyes. I know I had a good track record during preseason, but I’m pretty sure my national appeal grew tenfold when Maddie’s segments got picked up by ESPN.
And damn, I want to make that girl proud.
“Don’t fall for your own PR, man,” Quentin jokes, whacking me on the back.
“How else will I know how awesome I am?” I tease.
“You are awesome, motherfucker. Now let’s kick some ass.” He fist-bumps me, and after the huddle, it takes a couple of plays to calm down. Adrenaline is an interesting chemical. I feel like I could hoist an SUV off the ground right now, but it’s also messing with my accuracy. Finally, after two shaky first downs, I spot my chance when I drop into the pocket. I feel it in my gut as I watch my opponents spread on the field like chess pieces. When Quentin jukes the defense and breaks free like his ass is on fire, I step back and release the long pass, knowing that Q will hit his mark.
When he catches the ball in the end zone with a minute and fifteen seconds left on the clock, firmly putting the game out of reach for our opponents, there’s only one person on my mind. And I love that she’s watching.
Actually, I just fucking love her.
I send her a quick text as I head for the showers. We won.
She texts back almost immediately. You kicked ass, Clutch! Muah!
I may have just played my first regular-season NFL game, but all I can think of is getting home to celebrate with my girl.
By the time we’re done with the after-game interviews, I’m wiped out. Quentin is still grinning from ear to ear as we reach our hotel rooms.
“I think we make a good team, Sloan.” He pats my back as I reach for my keycard.
“Back atcha, Q.” I’m about to open my door when giggling on the other side makes me pause. I double-check the number on my key, which matches up to my door.
I stare at my door again, straining to hear, but there’s only silence.
Did I take a hit to the head this afternoon? I swear I'm hearing things.
Turning to Quentin, I call out to him, “Dude, have you been pranking me by signing me up for porn sites?”
“Nah, man.” He chuckles. “But that’s funny shit.”
“Yeah, it was fucking hysterical until I had to change my number.”
When I get my door open, the giggling starts again. I hit the lights, and two very blonde, very buxom, very naked women are sitting on my bed.
Shit.
Running my hand over the back of my neck, I groan. “Okay, ladies. I’m both flattered to find you here and a bit perplexed by how you got through security.” It’s not as though I have a room under my own name. Only a handful of people know this is my suite. But the girls have my number painted on their faces, so they clearly knew I was staying here.
One starts to talk, and I wave her off. “I need you to get dressed. As lovely as I’m sure you both are, I’m not interested.” I look down at my watch. “You have three minutes to leave before I call security.” Grabbing my suitcase, I check to make sure the nudists aren’t also kleptos.
Just then, my phone buzzes. My stomach turns over when I see Maddie’s name. Because this is not the shit I want to explain her. Especially after what her ex-douchewad did to her.
By the time the girls leave, my head is pounding. I call Maddie and we talk for a few minutes. She asks if I wore the t-shirt she got me. I reach into my carryon and pull it out. I tell her it's my good luck cha
rm, and she sighs into the phone. It's wistful and sweet, and I wish I could see her face. But I hear the fatigue in her voice. I know it's late there, and she has to get up in a few hours, so I tell her to get to sleep.
I wish I could do the same, but I toss and turn half the night. Because I really do think honesty is the best policy. I’ve fucked up before, and I don’t want to do it again. If I hope to stand a chance of something real with Maddie, I need to be up front about the stupid shit that happens, even finding fangirls in my bed. But I hear the guys in the locker room complain about this all the time. That their long-term girlfriends can't handle the shit that goes down in the NFL, and before too long, they break up.
My worst fear is Maddie will be overwhelmed by it all and call things off. Between the pressure she faces at work and the insanity I just found curled up in my sheets, I don't want her to give up before we've given this a chance. And honestly, I know I’m crazy about her, but I have no fucking clue if I’m more invested in this than her.
I laugh humorlessly, the sound echoing in my silent room. I got into this not wanting strings. Just some good company. Some hot sex. In other words, something easy. Yeah, basically I was delusional.
The worst fucking part is I’m scared we’re going to tank before we ever get started. This should be the honeymoon period with candlelight dinners and long nights by the fire. Except I can’t take her anywhere because of her job. Because two nights ago I asked if we could sneak out again for another date, and she said we couldn't. That she was too scared we'd get busted. Apparently, our vibe is too good during our interviews, because her boss, that dick Spencer, told her the other day she'd better be keeping the flirting with me on camera.
My jaw clenches at how fucked up things feel all of a sudden.
In the morning, as I board the team’s bus to the airport, Quentin gives me a what-the-fuck face when he sees me. “Dude, you look like shit. Aren’t you supposed to be reveling in your win yesterday?”
Rubbing my palms against the stubble on my face, I groan. God, I just want to unload. And Quentin is one of the happiest-go-lucky assholes I know next to Jax. Well, Jax post-meeting Dani.
Quentin drops into the seat next to me, and his eyebrows arch. “Wanna talk about it? Wait, let me guess. Chick problems?”
“Actually, yeah, I could use a little advice.”
“Dude, did you fuck those girls in your room last night? Because that shit won’t go down well with your girlfriend. Maddie does not look like someone who lets that go.”
“What?” My heart slams in my chest, and I lower my voice. “How the fuck do you know I’m dating Maddie? And of course I didn’t fuck those girls. Christ.” My temple throbs, and this conversation just started.
He chuckles, the smug bastard, and he grips his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Well, one, I see how you guys look at each other when you think no one is looking. It’s kinda cute to be honest. Two, I see how you don’t look at all the girls who fling their boobs in your face on a daily basis. Three, you look panicked this morning, so I’m guessing it had something to do with those girls in your bed.”
“Fuck.” I scrub my face harder. “I kicked them out. Of course I kicked them out. How did you know about them? Did you have something to do with that?”
“Nah, man. Not my style.” He holds his hands up in defense. “So get that scary look out of your eyes. I wouldn’t do that shit to someone. The only way I knew was because I walked down the hall to get some ice as the girls were leaving.”
I blow out a breath, wishing for a do-over, starting from the time I got to my hotel last night. What I would do differently, I’m not sure. But I can’t fuck this up with Maddie. That much I do know.
“Okay, Q. Lay it on me. How do I handle this? I think I should just tell Maddie what happened, but I want to do it in person.” This isn’t shit I can talk about on the phone.
“Fuck, no.” He looks at me like I might be insane. “Nothing happened, right?”
“Swear to God. I didn’t even look at them once I noticed them on my bed. Just told them to get dressed and get out.”
“Dude, no need to be a fucking Boy Scout.” He pats my shoulder like I’m some pathetic loser. “This is why you can’t tell her.”
I lean forward, hoping I can figure this out before our plane lands this afternoon.
“It’s elementary, Daren. If you tell her this shit, you plant the seeds of doubt. Then, every time you have a road game, which is pretty fucking often, she’s going to wonder if there are naked girls in your bed. So even though you had nothing to do with this situation, if you tell her, you’re still gonna pay the price.”
Yeah, I can’t deal with that again. Because Veronica constantly accused me of cheating on her. Although I never even considered it, if a woman came within a ten-foot radius of me, Veronica immediately assumed I wanted to fuck her. It was exhausting trying to reassure her.
Groaning, I sink deeper into my seat and turn toward the window where rain starts to pelt the bus. “Fuck. How did everything get so fucked?”
He chuckles. “Welcome to the NFL, the land of endless pussy and irrational expectations.”
Forty-One
- Maddie -
I can’t put my finger on it, but Daren’s different. When he came home from his first away game, I expected to see unbridled enthusiasm. I thought he’d be bursting with details about the game, the way he was during preseason. Like a kid in a candy store.
Instead, he seemed so buttoned down. Measured. Careful.
When I asked if something was wrong, he hugged me and said he was just stressed. That he hadn’t realized how much pressure he’d be facing.
So I try not to make any demands. Because I hate those girls who want their guys to live and breathe the air they exhale. There’s nothing I want more than for Daren to succeed, so if that means we have to spend less time together this fall, so be it.
I know how much this means to him, and I’m okay making sacrifices. As soon as this first season is up and I stop covering sports, he and I can be normal people and go out for real. I’m sure he’s tired of hanging out with me at his condo all the time. I feel bad about turning him down for another date, but I can't take that risk. Not after Spencer made that comment. I swear he scrutinizes our footage in a way he hadn't in the past. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but my instincts tell me I need to tread very carefully.
To help Daren focus, I’m trying to text him less during the day so he can direct all of his attention on practice. And I’ve stopped staying over as much so he can get more sleep. But I miss him. So much.
With his schedule, he’s gone a lot. For practice, games, travel, promotion, and charity events. We still do our weekly interviews and the station is promoting the hell out of the bachelor contest, which is around the corner, but I miss our quiet times together. A month and a half of the regular season has felt like the blink of an eye and a lifetime in equal measure. Work keeps me so crazy I can barely breathe, but not spending time with Daren makes me watch the clock and wish for an end to this misery.
But I’m doing my best to suck it up. So tonight, I’m hanging out with a few friends from college to get my mind off Daren. But when I realize where we're meeting, my heart sinks. The Bottom of the Ninth. Because the last time I was here, I was with Daren.
Midway through the evening, when I head back to the bathroom, I can’t help but think of how he pressed me to the wall and kissed me senseless. The memory is so strong, it makes my heart ache more.
As I head back toward my table, I hear laughter and turn to see Daren on the opposite side of the restaurant with a small crowd of people. He’s sitting with several teammates and a few girls are squished in with them, hanging on his every word.
Right at that moment, I’m so insanely jealous of not being able to do this, of not being able to have something so simple as a dinner out with Daren and his friends, tears sting my eyes.
Blinking quickly, I dart back to my table and scoot into the
booth. I’m in my own world, nodding when my friends speak even though I can’t process a word. So when the waitress brings a giant cake lit with candles and places it down in front of me, I’m altogether speechless.
And then everyone sings Happy Birthday. To me.
Holy shit. It’s my birthday.
Tears stream down my face, and my friends hug me and hand me presents, all the while thinking I’m crying because I’m happy. But everything inside me feels numb.
Because there’s only one person I want to spend my birthday with. And he hasn’t a clue it’s today.
I don’t pick up the phone when he calls later that night. I know I’m being immature, but I’m too emotional to have a conversation. What’s crazy is I know those girls were probably with the other guys. But why do they get to enjoy his company when I can’t, and I’m his girlfriend?
I’m dying a slow death of a million small cuts.
During my mid-morning break the next day, I put on a happy face and call him. We chat for a while, and he tells me about his evening out with the guys and mentions everyone who was there. It matches what I saw, and I feel like shit that my feelings could still be so fucked up despite his willingness to tell me everything.
I don’t mention my birthday. It seems a little pathetic, so I decide it’s not important.
Really, it isn’t his fault he didn’t know. I hadn’t thought about it until my friends broke out the cake. But for some reason, this doesn’t make me feel any better. Between the distance created by our schedules and my stupid birthday fiasco, my heart feels like it’s in tatters.
Deep down, I know the answer, why I’m such a train wreck right now. My birthday has always been rough since I lost my dad. My uncle Patrick always tried to make it special, but it never took the emptiness away. He left me a message last night, too, telling me we needed to hang out soon so he could give me my presents.
I wipe away a few stray tears. I need to get a grip. Be strong. Or get out of this relationship because this can’t be healthy. I feel like a crazy person.