I flail like a drowning victim for another lifeline.
“Ace says you’re a player and would break my heart.”
15
Matty
“Does he?” That asshole. I can’t believe he’s breaking the locker room code. Maybe it’s all friendship to Luce, but Ace hasn’t gotten the message. Jack’s not this way with his sister, Ellie, and Hammer’s been trying to pawn off his little sister to any teammate willing, despite the unwritten locker room rule of no sisters, no girlfriends. None of us has taken him up on this. His little sister is fucking terrifying.
She gives a small, noncommittal shrug as if she’s slightly embarrassed she brought it up, but now that it’s hanging out there, I want to address it. At least I know what some of the things are in her con column.
“I don’t know that I like hookups more or less than any other guy,” I say diplomatically. But what in the hell am I supposed to say? I’ve had my share of hookups, but what college guy hasn’t?
She makes a humming sound, which doesn’t sound like approval or disagreement.
“I mean, I’m not a virgin, and I don’t believe in the whole myth that sex saps your energy.”
She hums again. Christ, could she say a few words? I’m dying here. If I had a collar, I’d be tugging on it. “I make sure everyone has a good time. Remember rule number one?” She nods, another wordless gesture. “You can jump in here anytime.”
Lucy swallows and smiles a perverse little grin. “No, I was enjoying the show.
“You little shit.” I grab her knee and squeeze it through the blankets. She doesn’t even flinch.
She takes another baby sip of her orange juice. “Can I ask you another question? I don’t want you to be offended.”
“Well, we are besties…” I gesture for her to continue.
“Why is it so many of you athletes are such…well, players? Ace showed me that Instagram feed. I agree hookups aren’t a bad thing. I’ve had a few of my own, but that many?”
My first reaction is to growl at the thought she’s had any guy but me, but then I realize how frickin’ hypocritical that is. It never occurred to me that the multitude of times I’ve had my picture taken with a pretty girl would slot me into the risk category.
I scratch my head, trying to think of the most non-offensive way to explain this. Because me saying I just take what’s offered to me on a nonstop basis isn’t going to win points. Not with this girl. Hell, probably not with any girl I wanted to have a relationship with.
And is that what I want? A relationship?
I guess so, because I wouldn’t be chasing after Luce this hard if all I wanted was a lay. I knew where to get that, how it feels to have that non-emotional hookup. Somewhere along the line, maybe after I heard her sigh the second time at the coffee house, I thought I want to be the one to make this girl sigh with happiness, not with frustration. Then she slayed me with her soft eyes and her smile and her hilarious risk assessment ideas.
I need to find the right words to make her understand that I belong in the reward column.
“Football is hard,” I start. “To be a college athlete at this level, football is your number one focus. Sure we say we’re student athletes, but we spend six hours a day doing football crap and two hours doing schoolwork. Our job is on the field. That’s what we’re paid to do. We go to practice, travel to the games, work with the trainers, watch film, and when we’re not doing those things, we have to be lifting, so there’s not enough time to develop a relationship.”
“But they do happen. I mean, Ahmed’s been dating someone his whole time here.”
“Ahmed’s girlfriend is one he had from high school. In fact, most of the girlfriends are pre-college. Or maybe the guy met his girl during his redshirt season where he didn’t travel and wasn’t playing every weekend.”
Her head tilts to the side as she considers my words. “So you’re saying it’s just easier to sleep with multiple people? Why not the same one over and over?”
“Because you sleep with anyone more than a few times and it gets messy. Feelings start to develop and then everyone ends up unhappy.”
Her voice is low, soft when she says the next unexpected statement. “You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.”
I swallow and look away from her. Her words stir up a few uncomfortable memories. But somehow I find myself spilling them. My mouth opens, and the words fall out, as if I need her to know that I tried hard to be something other than the prototypical college athlete. “I dated a girl during my redshirt year. You don’t do much as a redshirt because you aren’t going to see one down of football on the field. The most important task is strength and conditioning and learning the playbook, but it’s not the same thing as actually playing. She was a fun chick and the relationship thing seemed doable. Then I started the second game of my redshirt freshman year after Donovan Highsmith got injured. I never gave the position back. Coach noticed me and told me I had a real chance of going pro, but I had to give it my all.”
“And your girlfriend didn’t understand?”
“She…yeah, that’s a nice way of saying it.” Megan, my only college girlfriend, had turned from being a sweet, fun girl into an unhappy, demanding one. I could never spend enough time with her.
She wanted to go out and I wanted to go to bed at nine so I could be alert and energized for a 6 a.m. run. The only time I drank was Saturday after a game. Never before. My classes were designed to accommodate my football practice and playing schedule. She wanted me to take classes with her.