Win Big:A Bad Boy Sports Romance(4)

       
           



       

"Come on. We're worked hard for this." He looked deflated, and I was about to cave and agree when along came the perfect excuse. The second Nick and I left the building, I caught sight of Austin Grant and his yuppy tennis friends coming right toward us.

"Just kill me now," I mumbled.

"Is he still bothering you?"

"Not really, but every time he sees me it's his reminder to pick up where he left off with the hounding."

"Maybe I can help."

"How?"

"Follow my lead." I was not expecting this. Nick slid his hand around my waist, pulled me tight into his chest, and he kissed me. I'd often wondered whether kissing him would change the way I felt about him, except standing here at the top of the steps of the Kinesiology and Athletics Building with Austin headed right toward us, I couldn't give it a fair assessment if I tried. Nick was going all out, too. He raised his other hand and clutched the back of my head, parting my lips with his tongue.

The ruse would have worked if I hadn't squeezed my hands between our bodies and pushed him away.

"Why'd you do that, Nick?" I asked, gasping for air just as Austin got to the top of the stairs and charged inside the building without saying a word to me.

"I was helping you," he said with a goofy grin.

"It felt more like you were helping yourself."

"Come on. You know I'd never take advantage of you. Plus it worked. He left you alone, didn't he?"

I took the steps two at a time, with Nick matching my stride beside me. "Maybe it did, but … " I stopped and faced him. "We talked about this. I really like you, Nick … as friends. I don't want to lose that, you know? Promise you won't ever try that again."

"Tell me you didn't feel anything just now."

I hesitated. I shouldn't have paused, but I stopped to think about it. I liked it. My lips still tingled a bit, and maybe my knees were shaky. Still, I couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear. "You want the truth or do you want me to be nice?"

"That bad, huh?" He started walking again, so briskly I almost had to skip to keep up.

"No, it's not like that. You're a great kisser, Nick. I just … I don't feel the same." I hated hurting him like this, but what was I supposed to do? "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad. Look, I'll see you around."

"Don't rush off like that … Nick … Nick wait!"

He was halfway up the block already. Maybe it was for the best. I took a breath, reminded myself I'd just received the best news ever back in class, then nearly sailed home. Powering down the street in the direction of my dorm room, all I could think of was phoning my mother. I didn't want to make that call while I was out in public. I might cry or laugh or start dancing.

My roommate, Kristy, wasn't in yet. I didn't expect her until after dinner. Her family always had Sunday dinner, no excuses, and I had the feeling her parents would have guilt tripped her into sticking around until the last dish was washed and put away. Her absence today was all right with me. I wanted a little peace and quiet before my roommate's energy filled the place. I loved her, but sometimes she could be a real fireball. Which was a bit of a contradiction, given she was working on a double major in French and History so she could become a teacher and follow in the footsteps of a long line of teachers, principals and professor in her family.

I cleared a space on my messy bed and dialed my house number. Mom picked up.

"Guess what? I made it!" I squealed, throwing myself back on the bed and kicking my feet against the mattress. I didn't have to explain what I meant. She knew.

"You did? Oh, sweetheart, congratulations! I'm so happy! I knew you could do it. It was all a matter of that Jeffries fellow seeing how good you are." She sounded so genuinely upbeat, my heart almost broke. It wasn't often we got cheerful in my family.

"Is Dad there? I want to be the one to tell him."

A pause. All it took was that one pause for me to know something was up. "Mom? Is everything all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, sure. He's just in one of his moods right now. I'm actually up in the bedroom, to give him his space."

I closed my eyes. ‘Giving him his space' was Mom's way of saying she was not in the mood to be around him. The man was a doctor and had a nice bedside manner, but when he got home, he could be a loud, mean bastard. Leave it to my father to ruin my natural high without even a word of dialogue. "He wasn't shouting at you or anything, was he?"                       
       
           



       

"No, no, honey. He's never mad at me or upset about anything I did. You know that. It's just one of the NFC semi-finals is on today, and he's … "

I put a hand on my forehead. "Oh, right. I forgot. And remind me how come you're both off shift today?"

"I'm not off all day. I'll be heading in for seven tonight. Don't you worry about me. I'm so glad you got the placement you wanted!"

"Thanks." I wasn't as happy as I'd been before getting on the phone, of course, but I appreciated her intentions. "Do me a favor?"

"Of course, love."

"Go to Aunt Aggie's for the rest of the day. Or Aunt's Edna's. Or go to a movie. Just get out of the house. You know?"

She sighed. "Yes. I have a few things to do, but maybe I will a bit later. You know how he gets when he's alone and his team's losing."

Yes. I knew. He threw food and empty beer cans at the TV screen, and expected her to clean up after him, even though they had a full-time maid. For a highly educated and intensely trained professional, he really did some downright ignorant stuff.

"Mom, I don't like that you're there alone with him. I know he won't do anything completely off the charts, but I can drive back now. We can go to an early dinner." I heard a crash in the background. He was already deep into his nonsense. Sometimes I think he just acted this way to round out the nerd that he truly was. No one could be angry for this long. "I'm leaving now," I said, getting off the bed, gathering my purse and keys. "I won't take no for an answer. Just stay in the bedroom and wait for me."

If anybody ever asked me why I hated football, I would give them my father's name. Every time he watched football, attended a college level or NFL game, or even threw around a ball at the park with his physician buddies, he went all Jekyll and Hyde on us.

I sent a text to Kristy before hitting the road, letting her know that I'd be back late that night.

‘Everything okay?' she texted back.

‘Fine. It's NFC Championship day. Taking Mom to dinner.'

A few minutes later, she replied. ‘Oh. Got it. Give her my love. See you later.'

I didn't need to explain anything to Kristy. That was one thing about being friends since the early days of preschool. She understood without needing to be told.

How old was I when I started hating football? Pretty young. It didn't take long to associate Sundays in fall and early winter with absolute misery. Dad's behavior would start when the preseason rolled around in early August, just when the newscasters started talking more and more about the teams. He'd go from being a relatively stable, mild-mannered physician to a dude who drank too much, swore too loudly and threw shit at the TV with really bad aim. It didn't even help during the years when the Saints had a terrific season and were the analysts' favorite to go all the way to the Superbowl.

Inside, I was groaning as I drove home, and promising myself yet again I'd never be that way. I wouldn't let something at arm's length make me bitter and gripy. He wasn't an athlete, so why did he act like there were such life and death stakes to these games? Well, I knew why, but still, I would never make my family suffer like this. Not when all they wanted to do was love me. No one deserved the crap he doled out. I was kicking myself for even wanting to tell him my good news. It had nothing to do with football so he wouldn't care anyway.

It took an hour to get to the house, and by then he was amped up. I pointedly ignored him, going straight up to the master bedroom, collecting my mother and escorting her out the door. We made it to the Crab Shack at the wharf and had a bite to eat. After that, I dropped her off at the house and waited for her to get in her car before I drove off.

And people wondered why I was hell bent against getting close to anyone. Let alone anyone remotely into the game of football.





3





Evan





"Come on! Work it out!" I ran circles around my buddies as we lapped the football field. "Come on, grannies! You call that a game face? It's weak as shit."

"Dude, you gotta slow the hell down," one of them panted out.

"Yeah, man. We can't keep up with you. Okay? We admit it." I thought that might have been Chad, but I wasn't sure. It didn't matter which one of them it was, really. They were all pathetic.

"So you admit it. Can't measure up. Good for you, but it doesn't mean you don't have to keep trying!"

I took off, leaving the rest of the team in the dust. Why bother trying to get conditioned if you were only giving it a half-hearted attempt? I didn't understand that mentality. My philosophy from early on was to always give a hundred and ten percent to whatever I did. I prided myself on that attitude. Luck didn't factor into winning. I was one of the best players because I worked my ass off and gave it my all, every fucking day, all year round. Yes, that applied to being a loud-mouthed, opinionated asshole too.