Running Game(3)

And I’m no fucking home wrecker either.

This girl never wore a ring out on the field, and she didn’t say a goddamned word about the man until after we’d fucked last night. That alone was enough to kick her straight out of my bed, but I was fucking tired and decided to let her leave with dignity in the morning.

“Make sure you’re gone when I get back. I have work to do.”

Her eyes flashed in disbelief, but I shut the door before she could start arguing with me. It was easier this way. Easier to be a cold sonofabitch in these situations. Any sign of kindness was misinterpreted as something more serious, more meaningful, and Jesse ‘Colorado’ Collins didn’t do meaningful.

I had too much shit going on in my life to bother. I’ve been the starting quarterback for the Denver Broncos for the last five years and I’d worked my ass off to get here.

It wasn’t easy, but football’s been my life forever…

Hell, it’s in my genes.

My father was the quarterback at Colorado State even before I was born, and so was my grandfather before him. My destiny was set long before I was a gleam in someone’s eye. Neither of them had ever made it to the pros, though. I was the first in the family to really succeed on that level, and my folk’s never let me forget for a moment how proud they were.

It was a lot of pressure, sure. But I could handle it. I was used to it. Hell, at this point, I’d walked through so much fire, I was pretty sure I could handle anything. I wasn’t cocky, although some might disagree. I liked to think of it as confidence. When you’re mowed down daily by 300-pound defense linemen and you can still walk the fuck away, it tends to build up your ego.

I’m not going to apologize for it, though. I don’t apologize for anything. That’s why I make sure to think everything out before I do it. I make sure all my bases are covered before I make a move. I don’t make mistakes. I’ve never apologized for anything in my life, and I have no plans on starting now. If I never fucked up, I never had to say I was sorry.

My three times rule was in play for a reason. It was part of my plan to stay unattached and happy.

So was my morning run that I made sure to get in every single day before breakfast, no matter where I was. I pulled on my sunglasses, turned on the ‘Map My Run’ app on my phone, put my ear buds in and blasted Bruce Springsteen as I headed towards the elevator. Grady Bishop was waiting for me by the elevator doors. He was my loyal bodyguard, and he’d been doing this long enough to know my routine.

“Morning, Grady,” I nodded.

“Morning, boss,” he replied, following me into the elevator.

He wasn’t much for talking. But neither were any of the members of the Denver Broncos Security Team. That was part of their charm, if you asked me. If they were doing their job right while we were out in public, you wouldn’t even be aware of them… Unless they were needed. Then, in a flash, there they were taking care of whatever needed to be taken care.

Grady was an ex-cop who had dreams of being in the NFL in high school. Once he got into college, he realized he didn’t have that special something that’s required on the field. That didn’t mean he wasn’t big, mean and intimidating.

Well, not to me, because nobody scared me. But to anyone else that encountered him? They would keep their distance.

I’d resented his constant presence in the beginning, but I’d had no say in the manner, so I’d learned to tolerate him. At least he could keep up with me without complaint.

My penthouse was in downtown Denver and twenty-five floors above the Mile High City. The doorman greeted us with a nod as we made our way out of the building. I pulled up the hood of my jacket, hoping that I could get through this run without being recognized, and within seconds I was pounding the pavement of downtown Denver with Grady following a safe distance behind.

I’d started to really enjoy life in the city… And it was a far cry from where I’d come from.

I’d grown up outside of Ft. Collins in a tiny little town called Ault, and I’d been dreaming about leaving the whole time. My great-great-great grandfather, Colonel William O. Collins, had founded the tiny fort town of Camp Collins in 1860, which later became the city of Ft. Collins. My family had stuck around the area ever since, and not one of them had ever gone much further than walking distance from each other… You could say Colorado was in my blood. It was a part of my fabric. Fuck, I’d earned the nickname of ‘Colorado’ in high school because of it, and it had stuck all throughout college at Colorado State and followed me all the way to the pros. The press ate it up and when it was time for the draft, Denver was all over me in the first round. I was tired of the whole manifest destiny bullshit myself. I’d have been just as happy sitting on a beach in Miami…