Page 37 of Fake Out

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me? How did I become a sports agent?”

“Ha-ha,” she says dryly. “No. What’s your real relationship with football like? Did you always want to go pro? Did you, like, have your room decorated in football posters as a kid?”

She takes a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving mine. It’s my turn to share, and I can feel the weight of vulnerability hanging heavy in the air.

“Football was the first thing that ever made me feel… worth something,” I admit. It’s not too sensitive of a topic, but still I get emotional thinking about it. “I wasn’t exactly a model student or anything, but I excelled on the field. When I got drafted right out of high school, it was like all those years of struggling to find my place had finally paid off.”

“Losing that validation must’ve been really tough for you when you got kicked off the Thunderhawks,” she muses quietly, her gaze searching my face for a reaction.

“Maybe,” I concede, shrugging it off. “But let’s not dwell on the past, okay? We’ve got enough serious stuff to deal with as it is.”

My attempt at lightening the mood works. Marissa smiles, and the air around us feels lighter once more.

“Fine, no more serious talk,” she agrees.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” I raise my hand for another round.

With two fresh pints in front of us, Marissa raises her glass in a toast. “To enjoying the present.”

“To the present,” I echo, clinking my glass against hers. We both drink, and as I lower my glass, I decide to just go for it. “You must work a lot, but… tell me about your dating life. How is someone as amazing as you still single?”

I expect her to tell me that’s an inappropriate question, but instead she blushes and gives me a playful shove.

“Oh, stop it,” she admonishes, but I can see the appreciation in her eyes. “I’ve dated here and there, but nothing too serious. I’ve always been so focused on my career.”

“What about that guy you told me about?”

“Who?” Her brow furrows in confusion.

“You said you were in love once.”

“Oh.” Her face darkens. “It didn’t end too well.”

“What happened?” My heart races. It’s crazy, but the prospect of hearing more details about her life is exciting.

“It’s a long story,” she begins, looking down at her glass with a heavy sigh.

I’m relieved when she doesn’t stop talking. “We were young. He was my first real love. And then… he got signed to a big-league team. His ego went through the roof, and I got left behind.”

She looks up at me then, her eyes reflecting a hurt I recognize all too well.

“Wow,” I say simply. “So he… he was an athlete?”

“Yep.” She purses her lips and nods.

“Let me guess. Football?”

“No,” she answers, shaking her head with a bitter smile. “Baseball. Star pitcher.”

I wince, understanding now why she might be keeping me at arm’s length. To her, I’m just another potential heartbreak, suited up and ready to take the field.

“But you… you’re different,” she adds hastily as if reading my mind. The sincerity in her voice gives me hope. A hope that tells me not all is lost.

“Am I?” I ask, my voice softening.

She nods and looks straight into my eyes. “You are.”

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