Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall Book 3)

by S. R. Grey

  Whoa.

  Recognizing the need to tread carefully—hey, I’m not too drunk to see that—I brush her comment off by changing the subject.

  “So, uh, what brings you to Delaware?”

  My tactic works.

  Moving away to a more respectable distance—phew!—Mandy says, “I’m visiting my aunt.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  Raising a brow, she asks, “Why are you in Dover?” She nods to the two guys still at the table, talking amongst themselves. “Is this like a football player gathering or something?”

  I’m sure as hell not about to tell her I may end up here.

  Nothing is a done deal yet.

  And who knows who she could talk to.

  So I just mutter, “It’s something like that.”

  That seems to appease her.

  Nodding, Mandy says, “You guys seem like you’re having a lot of fun.”

  I shrug. “It’s been okay.”

  Raising a brow, she asks, “Is it better now that I’m here?”

  When I hold her gaze, she flutters her long lashes at me. Though she’s trying to pretend she’s kidding around, I sense Mandy is quite serious.

  To be honest, it is better now that she’s at the table. It was kind of getting boring with Mike talking to the safety and the other guys leaving to go to the bar to hit on women.

  So yeah, this is better.

  I answer honestly, “Yes. I’m having a better time now that you’re here.”

  “Why, thank you,” she says, looking pleased.

  We talk for a little while longer, until I realize I have to pee like a racehorse.

  “I think all the beer has caught up to me,” I explain, standing. “Can you excuse me for a minute? I’m going to run to the men’s room.”

  “Okay.” Mandy points to my empty bottle. “Would you like for me to order you another beer?”

  “Nah.” I shake my head. “Just a glass of water would be fine.” I point to her beer. “I still owe you a drink, though, so pick out whatever you want and have the waitress put it on my tab.”

  She lifts her bottle and takes a sip.

  “Thanks,” she says, setting her beer back down on the table. “But I think this will be my last one too. I’ll just ask the waitress to bring us both water.”

  “Great,” I say.

  I head to the men’s room, making my way through the thinning crowd.

  Yeah, what the hell time is it, anyway?

  It seems like I’ve been here forever.

  I check my pocket for my phone, but realize I left it back on the table.

  Eh, it can wait.

  On my way into the men’s room, I run into Mike.

  “Hey,” he says, propping open the door. “I noticed you met a new friend.”

  He chuckles knowingly, but he’s dead wrong.

  Waving my hand, I say, “It’s not what you think. She’s just someone to talk to and pass the time with. I mean, she seems nice. Cute too. But I have a serious girlfriend back home.”

  Mike appears unconvinced. “You might want to tell her that. I think she’s really into you, dude.” With a sly smile, he adds, “Are you sure you don’t want her to drive you home?”

  Is he crazy?

  “Fuck, man, no way.”

  “Okay, just checking.” He sighs. “In any case, I’m leaving soon.”

  “Hey, that’s fine with me. I’ll be ready to go once I get back to the table.”

  “Sounds good,” he says, letting me grab hold of the door.

  I head into the restroom, and he leaves.

  Once I’m taking a leak, I think about what Mike said about Mandy being into me.

  Fuck, I don’t want to lead her on.

  It is definitely time to go.

  When I return to the table, Mandy shoots me a sour look.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  Huffing, she says, “It would’ve been nice if you’d told me you have a girlfriend.”

  I scowl over at Mike, and he shrugs. “Sorry, man, but she asked me point-blank. What was I supposed to say?”

  He’s right.

  I’m not even really mad at him.

  I just don’t want to end this night on a bad note.

  But it appears that it will end exactly like that.

  Mandy, with a weird smirk I can’t discern the meaning of, pushes her chair back roughly and stands.

  “I’m out of here,” she says. “And for the record, I hope you get hurt out on the field.”

  Jesus, that’s harsh!

  And I thought she was nice?

  Clearly the beer and shots have messed with my judgment big-time.

  At least I came out unscathed.

  I pick up my phone and check for a text from Becca.

  That’s when I discover there are actually several from her.

  But the one that stands out the most is the one she sent less than five minutes ago.

  The one that says: Go fuck yourself, Lars! WE’RE DONE!

  Go Fuck Yourself, Lars!

  Okay, obviously I can’t sleep. I am far too worried about Lars.

  As I toss and turn, I think about calling the hotel where he’s staying and have them do a welfare check.

  Is that too much?

  I don’t want to be one of those nutty, fly-off-the-handle-drama-type girlfriends.

  But at two minutes to midnight, that’s exactly what I’m about to become.

  Then my phone dings.

  It has to be Lars.

  Finally!

  Relief floods over me as I reach for the cell on my bedside table, muttering a grumpy, “It’s about damn time.”

  I check the screen, and all my relief turns to instant fury.

  Sitting up ramrod straight, I cry out, “What the hell? This can’t be right.”

  But it is.

  There are several texts from Lars’s number.

  But they’re not any kind of sweet messages or even updates. They are freaking selfies of some bitch I’ve never seen before in my entire life.

  She has long dark brown hair and big green eyes.

  And she’s smiling like she just got one over on someone—me.

  Shaking, I unlock the phone so I can more thoroughly examine the pics from this unknown twit.

  Let’s see…

  Here’s a close-up of her with her full red lips puckered.

  And one of her slinging back her hair, nose in the air like the bitch she so clearly is.

  “Why in God’s name would Lars send me photos of some duckface bimbo?”

  I then scroll to the worst one, where this demon from hell—er, I mean chick—has her red lips wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.

  Great, this one has an accompanying text.

  So much fun when the guy you plan to blow like this tonight—namely your boyfriend, you dumb bitch—lets you borrow his phone.

  “What?” I roar, seeing red.

  Lars is supposed to be out with the guys, not picking up a random woman and letting her text me this disgusting crap.

  I look over the photos more closely.

  It’s clear they were taken at a bar.

  So Lars is doing more than hanging out with the guys.

  And to think I gave him my blessing!

  A million thoughts run through my head.

  Or at least it feels that way.

  Maybe it’s all a big misunderstanding?

  Or maybe Lars really is out cheating?

  Is murder legal?

  Wait.

  No, no it’s not.

  And that’s not me, anyway.

  Lars obviously just doesn’t care.

  He’s not worth it.

  Maybe he never did give a shit?

  Why else would he let this bitch have access to his phone?

  It would seem I was right all along in believing that it was all too good to be true. I mean, haven’t I thought for a long time now that real love just isn’t in the cards for me?

  T
his proves it.

  I’ve been had.

  Choking up, I take a last look at the worst of the selfies, the one with the bottle.

  Blowing out a disgusted breath, I think about calling Lars’s stupid phone.

  Maybe I can FaceTime him and catch him in the act.

  But do I really want that?

  No.

  It’s not worth it.

  He’s not worth it.

  Instead of calling, I send one simple text that encapsulates exactly how I feel: Go fuck yourself, Lars! WE’RE DONE!

  I turn off my phone.

  And then I start to cry.

  Control

  I pick up my phone and stare at the cryptic text from Becca.

  Go fuck yourself, Lars! WE’RE DONE!

  Okay, I guess the message is not so cryptic.

  Becca’s words are pretty clear.

  But why would she say that?

  Mike asks me what’s wrong.

  He’s standing next to where I’m seated, ready to go.

  “I’ve been trying to get your attention,” he says. “But you just keep staring at that thing like it’s mesmerizing. Did you get some sort of bad news?”

  Shaking my head, disgusted, I reply, “Yeah, you could say that.”

  He sits back down. “Hey, tell me what’s up.”

  I run my hand down my face. “Remember that girlfriend I told you about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She just sent me this.”

  I hold up the phone so he can see Becca’s text.

  “Dude,” he mutters. “Fuck, that’s rough.”

  “Right?” I lower the phone.

  “Jesus, what happened?”

  I tell him, “I have no idea.”

  Tilting his head, he asks, “Did that message from your girl just come through?”

  “Yeah,” I confirm, double-checking the time. “Why?”

  “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I saw that chick you were talking to messing with a phone when you were in the men’s room. I assumed it was hers, but maybe not.”

  “Whoa, what?”

  Shit, now that I think about it, I did forget to lock my phone.

  And now it’s clear why Mandy was smirking at me when I returned from the bathroom.

  I begin going through the full message thread from Becca.

  Two seconds in, I’m exclaiming, “What the fuck?”

  “What happened?” Mike asks.

  “Dude…” I shake my head in disbelief. “You have got to see this shit.”

  Turning the phone to him, I show him how Mandy clearly hijacked my phone and texted a bunch of selfies to Becca. One particularly provocative pic includes a message on how Mandy plans to do to me what she’s doing to the bottle.

  When Mike sees that one, he says, “Holy hell, man. She actually sent that to your girlfriend?”

  Feeling sick, I reply, “It would seem so.”

  “Fuck.” He scoffs. “You are gonna have some major explaining to do.”

  “You got that right.”

  As I pocket my phone, he asks, “You ready to go?”

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  Man, I wish I’d never gone out in the first place. The sooner I get back to the hotel, the faster I can fix this.

  In fact, I better start now.

  Once I’m in the passenger seat of Mike’s car, I call Becca.

  But I’m sent straight to voice mail.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  Mike looks over at me. “She’s not answering?”

  “No. Her phone’s turned off.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It sure does,” I murmur quietly.

  I’m hoping Becca is just making a statement and that she’ll turn her phone back on soon. But even after Mike drops me off at the hotel and I’m back up in my room and in bed, every single attempt to reach her, I am sent straight to voice mail.

  It’s not what I want, but I finally do just leave a message.

  “Hey, it’s me. I saw what happened with my phone. Those selfies and that message, you know? Shit, of course you know. Anyway, it sounds lame, but the girl who sent that crap to you hijacked my phone while I was in the bathroom. Nothing happened, Becca, I swear. I just went out with the guys like I told you I was planning to do. She’s just some girl that sat down at our table. I talked to her briefly, and that was it. Please call me back. We need to talk. I love—”

  Beeeeep.

  I’m cut off, having reached the maximum length for my message.

  This fucking sucks.

  I hate that I’m in Delaware.

  I can’t just drive over to Becca’s house and fix this shit.

  My phone is about to die, so I plug it into the charger.

  I keep it by the bed, just in case Becca calls me back.

  I guess I should try to get some sleep.

  I still have practice tomorrow.

  At least I’m not drunk anymore.

  This sure has sobered me up. It’s also made me reach a decision—I’m not going out with these guys for the rest of my stay.

  It’s going to be all work for me.

  There’s also going to be a lot of praying that my relationship can be saved.

  A Tough but Necessary Decision

  When I said I was done, I wasn’t kidding.

  I am finished with Lars.

  One thing I learned while growing up with a bunch of brothers is how to take care of myself when it comes to men.

  They would say things like “Don’t give it up too fast, Becca” and “Make a man work for it.”

  They didn’t mean just sex.

  They wanted me to be careful with my heart.

  Guess that’s why I’m so cautious, though I sure slipped up with Lars.

  I should’ve never put so much trust in him.

  Another sage piece of advice passed down was to not allow myself to be walked all over.

  It feels like Lars just did that.

  Even if he didn’t cheat—and really, how can I ever know for sure?—he let that nasty bimbo use his phone.

  Okay, maybe he didn’t actually give her consent. I realize that. But the fact she was able to access his cell long enough to take selfies and to send a rude message to me speaks volumes. I’ve told him a hundred times he should enable auto-lock on his phone.

  In any case, Lars had to have been hanging with the girl.

  I sigh as I roll to my side.

  Yeah, I’m still in bed.

  I don’t need to be at work till noon since I stayed late yesterday with Skye.

  I stare over at my phone on the bedside table, pondering what to do.

  What should be my next move?

  I don’t know if I ever want to turn the phone back on.

  I’d like to at least keep it turned off for a few days.

  But that’s not possible.

  I need it for business.

  “Crap.” I sit up, bunching the covers around me as I reach over and grab the phone from the nightstand.

  I power it on, rolling my eyes as soon as it springs to life.

  Just as I suspected, there are numerous missed calls from Lars.

  He even left a voice mail.

  “Oh, lucky me,” I grumble sarcastically.

  I decide to listen to what he has to say, so I place the phone on speaker.

  “Hey, it’s me. I saw what happened with my phone. Those selfies and that message, you know? Shit, of course you know. Anyway, it sounds lame, but the girl who sent that crap hijacked my phone while I was in the bathroom. Nothing happened, Becca, I swear. I just went out with the guys like I told you I was planning to do. She was just some girl that sat down at our table. I talked to her briefly, and that was it. Please call me back. We need to talk. I love—”

  He’s cut off, having run out of time.

  I blow out a breath as I tap the phone to my chin, thinking.

  So the girl did take his phone.

  But he someho
w made that possible. He must’ve been talking with the girl if she was at their table.

  How’d she know I was his girlfriend?

  He either told her, or she had time to check out his texts.

  It wouldn’t have been hard to figure it out.

  If Lars left his phone on the table when he went to the bathroom, that bimbo must have been sitting right next to him.

  He did say he talked to her.

  About what?

  And what were they doing?

  Flirting?

  Thinking about hooking up?

  I recall how Lars was no angel when I made a move on him at the theatre. He was more than ready to roll.

  We haven’t discussed specifics of his past all that much, but I know he’s had some wild times.

  Placing the phone back on the bedside table, I decide not to call him back.

  Nor will I send him a text.

  There’s no point.

  My mind is made up.

  He’s not getting away with making me look like a fool, damn it!

  I tell myself Lars is probably going to leave town soon anyway.

  Why drag it out?

  But then a sob escapes me. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  I’m torn.

  Despite my better judgment, I listen to the message from him once more. Really it’s just to hear his voice, and to drive the knife through my heart a little further.

  I don’t doubt that he loves me, but I can’t live like this.

  It’s clear that if Lars is traded, our relationship will never work.

  I’d always be questioning what he’s up to.

  So yeah, no, my text to him last night stands.

  We are over.

  Backing Off

  I’m up half the night, waiting to hear from Becca.

  We have to straighten this out.

  Finally, when my phone remains silent, I fall asleep.

  Morning comes, and the first thing I do is check it again.

  “Fuck.”

  There’s still no word from her.

  Tired as hell, I somehow make it to practice on time.

  I check my phone constantly as I suit up.

  Still nothing.

  I really think Becca might be done with me.

  Tossing my phone into my temporary locker, I focus on football, going through the motions, running my routes, trying to shine for the Sharks.