"How was your workout?" I ask, still wanting to know why he went.
"Fine," he answers, but I feel his body tense.
"Are you going back there? To train with your coach?"
"Yeah. It's what I need to do if I want to play this year."
"Wait." I sit up. "You're saying you're planning to play this year? But what about your leg?"
"I should be off the crutches in a few weeks. I won't be able to play right away but if I'm in good enough shape, Coach said I could be back playing mid-season."
"But don't you have to do months of physical therapy?"
"Yeah, but I can play while doing that. They're not mutually exclusive."
"Have you talked to your parents about this?"
"Why would my parents care? It's what they want. In fact, my dad is the one who pushed me to go to the gym today. He was here this morning."
"Wait—what?" I shake my head really fast. "Your dad was here? This morning?"
"He was here to check out a new prospect he might want as a client. Some high school kid. He stopped by to tell me to get back to training. He'd already talked to Coach about it."
"And you listened to him? You never listen to your dad."
"I do. I just don't always want to. But in this case he was right. My workouts at home aren't enough. I need to be back on the field, throwing the ball."
I look at him, completely confused. "Okay, what's going on here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you suddenly so interested in playing football again? I thought you were done with it. I thought you wanted to do something else."
"I never said I was done with it. I said I liked having a break from it. But the truth is, I miss it. I miss tossing the ball. Being on the field. It's who I am."
"You're more than football, Ethan. You know that. We've talked about it."
"Doesn't matter. Football is what I'm meant to do, whether I want to or not."
This doesn't make sense. Ethan suddenly wants to play football? And make it a career? It goes against everything he's told me since I met him.
"Is this because of your dad?" I ask, assuming his father must have threatened him. "Is he making you play?"
"It isn't about my dad," he says harshly. "It's about me. I have to think about my future, and my future is football."
"Since when? Just yesterday, you were talking about doing something else. And now you don't want to?"
"I can still do something else, but I'll do it later, after my pro career is over."
"But you don't want to play pro."
"I never said that."
I toss my hands up. "Then who have I been talking to the past month? Because the Ethan I know said he didn't want to keep playing football."
He sighs. "I changed my mind, okay? Now can we talk about something else?" He pulls me down to his side and kisses me. "Or not talk at all?" He whispers it by my ear as his hand slides over my hip and up to my breast.
"Ethan," I breathe out, distracted by his touch.
"Yeah," he says as his lips move down my neck.
"I can't do this again. I have to leave."
"I'll be quick," he whispers in my ear.
I check the clock by his bed. "I can't. I don't have time." I attempt to get up but he stops me, his arm tightening around my waist.
"Come back after work."
I pause, considering it. I want to come back but I should really stay in my own bed tonight. I've stayed here every night for a week.
"I think I'll just go home."
"Why? You don't like sleeping with me?"
"I do, but I've been here every night and Mike's giving me a hard time about it."
"So you're letting your brother tell you what to do?"
"No, but..." I'm out of excuses. Mike was it, and although I value his opinion, I don't listen to him when it comes to my dating life. He's too overprotective. If he had his way, I wouldn't even date.
"C'mon." Ethan tugs on my arm. "Come back tonight. Stay with me."
I hesitate, struggling with the decision because this relationship is moving forward at record speed and I'm not prepared for it. I keep trying to deny the strong feelings I have for Ethan, but the fact is, those feelings are there, and because of that, I can't seem to stay away from him.
I smile at him. "Fine. But tomorrow night I stay at my own place."
He smiles back. "Unless I convince you otherwise."
And he does. I stay there again the next night, and again on Thursday. But that's it. Friday night, one of his football friends will be back in town and staying with Ethan for the weekend and I don't want to be there during their boys' weekend.
"Just because Jackson's here doesn't mean you can't stay," Ethan says as I'm leaving for work Friday afternoon.
After being here last night and this morning, I wasn't going to stop here between jobs, but then I did. Ethan convinced me to come over, which wasn't too hard, especially since I won't see him much this weekend.
"I need to spend time at home." I stop at the door and take my keys from my purse. "I have things to do. And you need to spend time with your friend."
"I like this friend better." He pulls me toward him and kisses me.
I laugh, pushing him away. "Okay, stop. I have to get to work."
"At least agree to come over tonight. I want you to meet Jackson."
"I have to work."
"Come by after you're done. Jackson and I will be up playing video games until at least one in the morning. Maybe two if he's beating me. I have to play until I win."
I shake my head. "Boys. I don't get your obsession with video games."
"It's not an obsession. It's just something to do. If we don't play video games, Jackson will get bored and invite people over and I'll end up having a party."
"Which you don't want."
"No." He pulls me close again, his eyes on mine. "A party would make a mess, which would upset the girl who cleans my house."
"It's her job. She's not allowed to complain."
"I'd be the one complaining. Because time spent cleaning is time away from me."
Ever since we started dating, Ethan has kept his house almost spotless. When I come to clean, I run the vacuum, wipe down the sinks and shower, and that's about it. There's nothing else to do, so I spend the rest of my time hanging out with Ethan.
"How about I stop by tomorrow instead of tonight? I don't want to meet your friend when I'm smelling like fried chicken."
"Jackson loves fried chicken. And he loves The Chicken Shack. I told him you work there and how you bring me food all the time. He's totally jealous."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, it's every guy's dream to date a girl who works at The Chicken Shack."
"It is," he says, laughing. "And I'm living the dream."
I smile. "Great. Well, your Chicken Shack girlfriend has to go. I'll call you later, okay?"
He kisses me. "Have a good day. I'll miss you tonight."
"I'll miss you too." I kiss him back, then leave before I end up late for work.
Max sings as I come into the kitchen. "My girl, Becca. Can't stop that smile. Goes on and on for at least a mile."
I laugh. "I wasn't smiling."
He walks past me to get a dishtowel. "You've been smiling ever since you started dating what's-his-name." Max rolls his eyes. He doesn't like Ethan, or more specifically, he doesn't like that I'm dating him. When it comes to guys, Max is just as overprotective as Mike.
"I'd be smiling too if I were dating Ethan Baxter," Tina says as she ties her apron.
Max huffs. "Just because he has muscles and can toss a ball around?"
"He has more than just muscles." Tina winks at me. "A lot more. Isn't that right, Becca?"
I feel my face heating up. "Enough about Ethan. Let's get to work." I grab an apron from the stack.
As I walk to the time clock to punch in, I feel Tina watching me. When I turn around, she's standing next to Max and they're both staring at me.
&n
bsp; "What?"
"You're smiling even more than normal," Tina says. "Is it because of Ethan?"
"I don't get why you like that guy," Max says. "I bet he can't even cook."
"He can't," I say, adjusting my apron.
"See?" Max crosses his chubby arms over his round belly. "Cooking's a lost art. A girl would be lucky to find a guy who can cook."
Tina leans over and kisses his cheek. "Your girl is out there. It's just not time for you to meet her yet." She turns back to me, tapping her lip with her finger. "So...what's with the smile?"
"I'm going to check my tables." I hurry past her to the dining room.
She races after me, grabbing my arm. "You did it, didn't you?"
"Did what?"
"You had sex with Ethan. Right before you came here."
"Could you be any louder?" I ask, hushing her. "Seriously, I think the whole restaurant heard you." I glance at the tables but nobody is looking at us so maybe they didn't hear.
Tina lowers her voice. "I'm right, aren't I? You had a quickie with Ethan before work!"
I can't lie about it. My pink cheeks are a dead giveaway. "Okay, yeah. I did." I don't bother telling her it wasn't a quickie, but an entire afternoon of hot, thrilling, amazing sex. I got off early from my cleaning job and was at Ethan's house by one-thirty.
"Wait," she says, keeping hold of my arm as I try to pull away. "Have you been going there every day?"
"What?" I yank my arm free. "No. Of course not. I clean houses before I come here." I reach under the counter and grab a rag and a spray bottle.
"You get off at four, sometimes three if you work fast."
I walk to an empty table and wipe it down. Tina follows, whispering, "You've totally been going over there. That's why you're always smiling like that." She points to my face.
She's right. I'm smiling again. What the hell is Ethan doing to me? Maybe it's the great sex making me smile. It can't be Ethan making me smile because that would mean I like him way too much. This is only supposed to be a summer fling. Nothing more. And if Ethan really is planning to play pro ball, our relationship will be ending sooner rather than later. He won't have time for a girlfriend.
I finish cleaning the table and turn to her. "Okay, I admit it. I've been going over there. Before and..." I glance around to make sure no one's listening, "after work."
"You've been spending the night with him?" she whispers. "And Mike hasn't freaked out?"
"He did at first but then he gave up because he's been spending the night with Heather."
"Heather's the girl he met when the fire alarms went off?"
"Yeah. He really likes her. And thank God she came along when she did. For a while there I thought he was going to try to get back with Tricia."
"Does he even know where she lives?"
"No, but she sent him a text a few weeks ago."
"Did he call her?"
"I don't think so."
"Waitress!" an older man yells from across the restaurant. "I need the check."
"I'll be right there," Tina says as she scurries away.
Later that night, right before close, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I check and see it's Ethan calling. I'm not supposed to answer my phone during work but Ethan never calls during my shift so I'm worried something's wrong.
"Hey, what's up?"
"I need to place an order," he says.
I laugh. "You got the wrong number. The number for The Chicken Shack is—"
"I'll take a box of fried chicken, a container of slaw, an order of homemade potato chips, and a dozen biscuits."
I laugh again as I go through the double doors that lead to the kitchen. "Are you serious? Do you really want that?"
"That's why I ordered it. Jackson's here and he's starving."
"We just closed. Hold on. I have to make sure we still have some chicken." I hold the phone away and yell to Max. "You got chicken left? Enough for a box?"
"Got all this." He holds up a metal pan full of chicken. "Mike can have all of it if he wants. That boy needs to fatten up."
"It's not for Mike. It's for—" I stop because if I say it's for Ethan, Max will probably toss it out.
"Okay, we have some," I say to Ethan. "Is your friend picking it up?"
"No. We need it delivered."
"We don't deliver."
"Could you make an exception? Just this once?"
"Um, sure. I'll have Max drop it off. Your house is on his way home."
"Sorry, but I only accept orders from one of the waitresses there. Hot brunette with the smokin' hot body?"
I smile. "She's busy tonight. Sorry. If you want the order, Max is your only option."
"C'mon, Becca. I want to see you. And Jackson really wants to meet you."
"I told you I don't want to meet him smelling like chicken."
"He'll be eating the chicken. He won't even notice."
"I'll just leave the food at the door and meet him tomorrow."
"You're worrying too much, but if you're that concerned about the chicken smell, then take a shower when you get here. You've got clothes here you can change into."
It's true. Last week, Ethan gave me a drawer. That's right. A drawer. The ultimate sign you're in a serious relationship. And when he gave it to me, I didn't even freak out. It just seemed logical that I should keep some clothes there because I'm at his house so often and am always coming back from work, stinking like cleaning products or chicken. But the drawer was a big deal, even if I tell myself it's not.
"I'll give you a really big tip," he says.
"Are we talking money or something else?"
He chuckles. "Show up and you'll find out. See you soon." And then he hangs up.
Damn him. I told myself I was going to go an entire night without seeing him and now here I am, going over there again. And the thing is, I want to. I'd miss him if I didn't.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethan
"Fuck, she's hot," Jackson says once Becca is gone.
It's after midnight and she left a few minutes ago. I wanted her to stay the night but she didn't want to with Jackson here. She wants us to have our guy time, which is considerate of her but I'll miss having her in my bed tonight.
She seemed to like Jackson, although she's friendly to everyone so it's hard to tell.
"She's more than hot," I tell him. "She's smart. A hard worker. Easy to talk to."
He laughs. "Told you."
"Told me what?"
"That you're in love."
"I'm not in love." And yet, sometimes I think I might be. I've never felt this way about anyone but Becca.
"Trust me. I've been around dudes in love and you've got the symptoms. The way you talk about her. The way you look at her. The fact that she's been staying here every night. You're in love. No use trying to deny it."
So I don't. I just sit there, staring at the TV, wondering how the hell this happened because I certainly didn't intend for it to.
"What are you going to do?" Jackson asks.
"About what?"
"Becca. You love the girl, and I'm guessing she loves you back, so what happens now? Did you tell her what it'll be like being with a pro athlete?"
"No, because I don't know if it'll happen."
"It'll happen." He takes a swig of his beer. "The scouts are already calling Coach about you, wondering when you'll be playing again."
"Yeah, he told me."
Jackson coughs on his beer. "You talked to Coach?"
"Last week. I went to Laytham to train."
"No shit?" He sets his beer on the coffee table. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I shrug. "Didn't think about it."
"So what made you show up there? Last time we talked you said you weren't going there until you were off the crutches."
"I changed my mind. I'll be going there three times a week starting on Monday."
"I don't get it. I thought—"
"Just forget it, okay? I don't want to talk about it."
Do I tell him the truth? I assume he knows our grades are fake but I don't want him knowing I was naive enough to think I was different. Why the hell did I think that? Of course the professors are going to rig my grades. Like my dad said, I'm the star of the team.
When Coach confirmed it was true, I felt sick. He didn't actually come out and tell me my grades weren't real but he made it clear by repeatedly telling me how important football is to the school. How it helps attract students. Boosts alumni donations. Attracts corporate donors.
As he talked, I lost respect for him. Using his players to make money for the school? It's wrong. But then I realized he's just doing his job. I'm sure it's what all college coaches do and yet for some stupid reason, I thought he was different. I thought he was someone I could trust.
I used to confide in him. I'd tell him how I was struggling with my classes, having trouble keeping up. He'd tell me to hang in there, that everything would work out. And it did, but only because the whole system was rigged to make me a star, both on and off the field.
It's all making sense now. My grades are better than anyone else's on the team because they're creating an image. Coach. My dad. The college president. They want to present me as being the model quarterback. The all-American boy who stays out of trouble, gets good grades, and kills it on the football field. The only thing missing is a cheerleader girlfriend at my side. And of course, a leg that isn't broken. But that's just a kink in the road. My leg's almost healed and then I'll be back on the path that's been chosen for me.
"Ethan?" Jackson says. "You awake over there? You didn't answer my question."
"Sorry. Guess I'm tired."
"So what changed your mind? Why are you back at the gym?"
"I realized I can't keep sitting around doing nothing."
"Did your dad yell at you? Did he force you back into training?"
"It has nothing to do with my dad. Football is my life and if I don't get back to it, I might lose it."
"Finally." Jackson leans back in his chair. "About time you finally came to your senses." He swigs his beer. "For awhile there I thought you were going to quit football. If you had, I would've had your damn head examined."
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