One of the dumbasses pipes up. “If she’s available, I’d like to call dibs on a date with Gabby.Ouch. What the fuck, man?”
I turn to glare at my brother’s friends and drag the nice paramedic away by the elbow, pausing when we get to the front door.
“Are those the foot—”
“Never mind them.” I turn him so he’s facing the opposite direction. “Look, I’m sure you’re a really nice guy…”
“Jason.”
“Jason. Hi.”
“The nicest.” He gives me an award-winning smile, one that should do something to my heart, my belly, my pulse,something, except it doesn’t.
“But…” I pause and my attention automatically goes to Rider, which annoys me.
I’m not thinking about Sean, whom I dated for a year. No, I’m thinking about the douchebag who doesn’t give a damn about me. The guy who’s currently nestled against Miranda, a very buxom blonde, who, by all accounts, gives him exactly what he wants, when he wants it, with zero commitment.
While Sean never made my heart race like Rider, he didn’t break it either.
My gaze connects with Rider’s, and there’s nothing there in those stark gray eyes. No apology or regret or longing. Just that enormous wall, the one he erected almost overnight three years ago.
This is the real Rider. The guy who pushes away anyone who gets too close.
And I am one hundred percent sure I’m a fool for still giving a shit about him.
Sometimes I forget he’s a jackass, and I need a reminder so I can keep waving my middle finger at him.
“You know what?” I turn back to Jason and give the guy who actually wants to date me the biggest smile I can muster. “I would love to go out with you.”
5
RIDER
A few ofthe guys walk with me to Connor Hall to grab some breakfast, but they know the drill. I’m fun and laughs and shits and giggles until game day, and then they give me a wide berth. I need to clear my head.
The deeper into the season we go, the more imperative this becomes. Even after six wins, I can’t let myself consider the playoffs or going undefeated, no matter how often reporters pose those questions. The only thing that matters is today’s game against Iowa.
Faces in my path blur. When someone says my name, I nod, but I’m thinking about play completion. Following through on each release. Checking for secondary plays before I commit.
I slip on my headphones and relax into the pounding beat of the drums in my ears that provide another layer of concentration.
In a weird way, I have the shit that went down freshman year to thank for my game day routine. I had to block out all that noise until the only thing I could recognize was the steady beat of my heart.
I had to focus on what I wanted for my life. Everyone else in my family got to be selfish. Why couldn’t I? I had one chance,one, to make my mark, to show Sully I could do my part, and I decided then and there that nothing—not the bullshit with my parents, not the antics of my friends, and definitely not the drama of a woman—would threaten that goal.
By the time we’re at the stadium, my breathing is slow and my hands are steady. Someone could probably slap me, and I’d barely blink. But this is how I know we’ll win. Because my head’s on right, and when the whistle blows on the field a few hours later, I can read the Iowa defense.
One touchdown. Two. A long throw to my wide receiver, who runs it in for another.
Like curtains rising on a stage, the sound of our roaring crowd finally breaks through to me, and I crack a smile and smack Tank on the ass after he plows through the defense, giving me plenty of time to release the ball. “You’re the fucking man. Keep it up.”
“All day and all night, baby!”
By halftime, the nerves are long gone, but I know better than to let up. We need to keep our winning streak going, and the worst thing you can do is relax before the final buzzer sounds.
Tank points to the end zone where Buckee is humping the goal post. “Guess our mascot needs to get laid.”
I laugh, taking a minute to appreciate that the stadium is filled. Everyone is decked out in our colors, and they scream like maniacs whenever we charge down the field. For a kid who was told he’d never amount to shit, this ain’t too bad.
