Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
I feel like a dick about that, and I feel lonely not having seen her.
“I’m fine. My dad is driving me up a wall, but other than that, I suppose I’m getting used to the whispers and staring.”
“Why is he drivin’ you up a wall?”
Ryann hesitates, choosing her words. “He’s envisioning having a professional football player as a son-in-law. I think he’s already got his first grandson’s name picked out.”
If I had water in my mouth, I’d be spitting it onto the floor right now. “Say what?”
“I’m mostly kidding.” She coughs. “He got excited when he saw us on the news. He’s a huge fan of the Chicago Steam and of football itself. Watches SportsCenter every morning as if that’s all the news he needs.”
“What other news is there?” I tease, clearing my throat. “I remember my brother dated this woman for a few weeks whose friends drove him bonkers. She, uh, was constantly asking for tickets to the games, which was fine, but like—she wanted box seats and suite tickets, and it got so annoying Duke dumped her.”
Users.
So many users.
“I imagine it’s hard for him to find a genuine connection.”
“It was, but now he’s dating a schoolteacher, and she only watches the football games so she can eat cheese and sausage and bake.”
Posey is a riot. My younger brothers and I totally dig her, and the last thing on her mind is being in the spotlight; the only time she’s ever made a public appearance was at the SportsCenter Awards, and she hated every second of it.
“A schoolteacher? What grade?”
“Kindergarten.”
Ryann’s eyes go wide at this information. “Talk about opposites attract.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. I wouldn’t think a famous football player would be interested in someone as low-key as a schoolteacher.”
“I’m not surprised. That’s exactly the kind of home life we want—to spend it with someone normal who isn’t trying to be famous, isn’t fake, has a good head on their shoulders.” Shit, that doesn’t sound good. “Not to say there aren’t plenty of football wives and girlfriends in the limelight who have a good head on their shoulders, but when they cake on the makeup to sit in the freezing cold on a winter day, then spend time on the sideline posing for cameras, it makes you wonder.”
That didn’t come out right, either.
“It’s a good thing you’re not interested in a relationship. You don’t have to worry about any of those things.”
My head snaps up to her face.
Was that a dig? Or is she being serious? Because I don’t remember ever saying I don’t want a relationship—at least, someday—and kids, and a nice house, dogs and stuff.
Pretty sure this topic has come up on more than one occasion.
“We seem to be circlin’ back to this relationship business.” My voice sounds harder than I intend it to, but gosh darn, she’s pissing me off a little. “The only reason I ain’t datin’ anyone is ’cause I haven’t had the time. I’m up to my asshole in shit, Ryann. My agent, my brother—even my mother is on my case about the draft.”
“You barely talk about it.”
“Because it’s complicated. I’m twenty-one and being a professional scares the shit out of me, but if I don’t do it now, I lose the chance. I’m not Kurt Warner—I ain’t gonna spend the next ten years playing farm and semi-pro ball in the hopes that later, when I’m actually ready, someone will want me.”
“Um.” Her voice goes quiet. “I don’t know who Kurt Warner is.”
I sigh, picking lint off the blanket on her lap. “All I’m saying is…I’m not really ready, but I have no choice.”
Ryann tilts her head. “We always have a choice. If it’s not something you want, you shou—”
“I have no choice. The time is now.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
“This wasn’t my point.” I exhale. “My point was I haven’t given datin’ any space in my head ’cause I have other shit occupying that space.” Simple as that. “It’s not because I don’t like women or sex or goin’ on dates, but seriously, who wants to date someone who’s tired and crabby all the time?”
What woman in their right mind wants to put up with my temperamental tantrums? Deal with my frustrations after a loss (which isn’t often) or deal with it when Eli Cohen pisses me off (which is often enough)?
“I deal with big-kid shit. The students on this campus fuck around on the weekends in a way I don’t get the chance to.”
Ryann is nodding again. “I get it.”
Doubtful, but she gets it more than most. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like a bear, but it’s hard, you know? Who would want to take all this on?”
Ryann’s lips part. Her shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “Me. I would.”
She would.
Me. I would.
Me. I would.
The words play over and over again in my mind—Me. I would—as I stare at her, speechless.