Page 41 of Filthy Player
And when the game was done, and I was back in Raleigh, I was fucking calling Paige.
Then I’d deal with her, too.
***
I turned on my phone as soon as I slid into my truck in the valet parking garage.
We’d won the game. We came back, won twenty-one to fourteen. I played a second half that felt like instinct and not work, the ball sliding from my fingers on every pass, perfectly aimed for my target. The defense held Atlanta to less than sixty yards in the second half and had kept them from getting close to even kicking a field goal.
We ended the game feeling good, playing like we were trained and paid to do, like we loved to do, but I had other things on my mind as we dressed, boarded a bus and went straight to the plane. Three hours after the game ended and I was back in Raleigh.
I had one more play in mind for the night.
My phone pinged with incoming texts as soon as it was powered on and I quickly scanned the few from Shannon.
OMG you suck. What’s wrong with you.
Get your crap together.
My sister. So supportive. Those were all during the first half. I was used to her running commentary and since I hadn’t blown the game, I shook my head and kept scrolling.
Better, dipstick.
Amazing pass!
PS — Did you see how good Oliver looked in those pants tonight? Scrumptious.
Supportive and disgusting. I shook my head and went to her last text.
Woo-hoo! Knew you could do it baby bro.
I flipped through a few texts from Shannon’s best friend, Melissa, congratulating me along with a handful more from guys I played with in college.
Then two more showed up. My breath caught as I saw Paige’s name on the screen.
Great game.
Home from hospital with my dad. He had surgery.
Shit. My chest burned with worry. I’d gone so far as to call the hospital on Friday when I didn’t hear back from Paige but they wouldn’t tell me anything. I’d considered driving to the garage and seeing if I could find out information there, but then I picked my balls back up.
I was falling for a girl who slammed a door in my face. No way was I showing up at a garage with a bunch of men looking like a pussy.
Another text came after that and it took me a minute to process it.
Can we talk?
Oh. We were talking.
I pulled into the nearest parking lot and pressed the phone icon, dialing Paige’s number.
Pick up. Pick up.
Good God. I was desperate for the sound of her voice falling from her sweet lips.
“Hey,” Paige said, her voice quiet and breathy. “Good game tonight.”
“Is that why you called me tonight Paige? To talk about the game?” I couldn’t keep the coolness out of my tone. My fingers were tapping the steering wheel so hard I could punch a hole through the wheel.
