“My past is in the past.” He clears his throat. “I like to leave it there. I live in the present, Delilah. Nowhere else.”
“But the past is what makes us who we are.”
“Bullshit.” His jaw tightens. “The present makes us who we are. The present is all we have. Anyone who believes otherwise is an idiot. No offense.”
“I’ve spent my entire academic career studying what makes people do what they do, and it all boils down to external factors,” I say. “Most of which stem from the environment in which we’re raised.”
His eyes close drowsily and his brows lift. “Good for you.”
“I can quote dozens of scholars and professors who would seriously beg to differ with you. Jung would be rolling in his grave right now if he heard you.”
Zane laughs. “Calm down. Come on. Lay back down. I like you better when you’re breathless and horny.”
“Don’t write me off like that,” I say. “This matters to me. I’m dedicating my life to this field of study, and you have the nerve to brush it off like it’s some kind of hack profession.”
“Now you’re putting words in my mouth.” He sits up and the hammock sways. I nearly roll off, but he braces his arms against mine and pulls me closer. “I’ve got something else you can put in your mouth though.”
I smack his bare chest and scramble to get off the hammock.
“If we’re going to be friends . . . fuck buddies . . . whatever the hell this is we’re doing,” I say, “I kindly request a certain level of respect between us. I don’t make fun of football, so please don’t make fun of psychological analyzation or question its legitimacy.”
Zane swings his legs to the side of the hammock, eyes wide open now.
“Jesus, Delilah. Sorry.” He doesn’t sound genuine. He sounds annoyed at me. “It’s just, I’ve been through some shit. I’ve made some bad decisions. I’ve hurt people. I have regrets. And beg my fucking pardon if I don’t feel like sitting here and rehashing it all with you after I’ve just had some of the best sex of my life.”
I yank the towel off my naked body and throw it at him. “I only asked about Chicago, asshole.”
Plucking my floating bikini pieces from the pool, I redress and head for the gate.
Chapter 18
Zane
I check into the Cougars’ private gym at four on Friday. It doesn’t matter how much I work out this week, I still can’t seem to blow off enough steam. Ever since Delilah stormed off Tuesday night, I’ve been walking around with a giant chip on my shoulder and a perpetual case of blue balls.
“Hey there, handsome.”
I turn around to see Carissa standing behind me, her gym badge in her hand and a water bottle tucked under her arm.
“What are you doing here? You know damn well it’s for players only.” I don’t hide my displeasure.
She laughs, swatting my shoulder. “The rules don’t apply when your daddy owns the team, my love.”
“Anyway, it’s a good thing I bumped into you here because I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” Her eyes light up and her smile is mischievous.
Groaning, I throw my gym towel over my shoulder. “Really don’t have time. I’m on a tight schedule.”
“No, no. You’re going to want to hear this.”
“Make it quick.”
“I overheard Daddy and Coach Roberts on the phone the other day.” She steps closer, leaning in. The overpowering scent of her honey-blossom perfume assaults my lungs. “They’re still talking about letting you out of your contract.”
My eyes squint. “You’re lying.”
“Hand to God.” She lifts her palm flat.
“I’m doing everything they told me to do. They need me.”
“Sweetheart, everyone’s disposable in this industry. Nobody’s a special snowflake. Not even you. It’s all business anyway. At the end of the day it’s just dollars and cents.” Her head tilts as if she’s capable of showing some kind of sympathy, but she’s just as fake as the tits protruding from her rail-thin body like two pointed missiles. “I guess the scout found some promising rookie about to graduate from Central Texas. He’s the best running back anyone’s seen in a long time, supposedly even better than you, and they’ve been wooing him something fierce. Everyone’s after him. They want to make him an offer as soon as possible. But if they take him on, they won’t need you.”
“You’re such a goddamned liar, Carissa.” I refuse to believe some twenty-one-year-old punk who’s never played professionally is going to steal my spot out from under me. He’ll be lucky to be second or third string.
“I’m not lying, Zane.” Her expression darkens to match the storm brewing in her eyes. “I’m telling the truth. They’re trying to get rid of you. The whole party-boy reputation was nothing more than an excuse. They were stacking up the dominoes, waiting for the right time to make them fall.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Her hands press against my chest as she moves another step closer. “I don’t want you to go, Zane. If you get traded to another team, if you move away, I’ll never see you again.”
“I won’t put up with this bullshit.” I stand tall, pressing my shoulders back and taking my phone from my shorts pocket. “I’m going to call Coach Roberts right now.”