Page 79 of Second Down Fake

TWENTY-SIX

DIEGO

“God, I fucking hate bye weeks,” Rob grumbled into his locker Wednesday. “We’re just about to not suck and we’re benched for a week.”

“Not suck” was a bit of an understatement. We’d lost only one game in our first eight, but a week nine bye week would leave us cooling our heels rather than maintaining momentum.

“Don’t you have something fun to do at home? Like hang out with your kid?” I sat at my locker. I wasn’t sure what Rob did besides play football, play video games, and parent. He rarely attended our team’s community projects unless someone forced him and he certainly didn’t join us at the clubs or bars.

“Nope.” He ripped off his jersey, throwing it into the dirty clothes basket in the center of the locker room before grabbing a towel. “She’s in school, which sucks, and Noa’s leaving, which also sucks. I need a fucking hobby is what I need.”

“You can join Frankie and I for bye week, big guy.” Trent punched Rob in the arm.

Bye week wasn’t exactly a vacation, but it was as close as we got during the season. Light practice Monday through Wednesday and then off until the following Tuesday. The newer players often traveled back to their alma mater, taking in some college football and beers while the older players jetted off for a weekend away. The beach or maybe the city. Just a change of pace.

And I was going to Mississippi of all places.

Rob glared in return. “Sounds miserable.”

“Says the guy whining about having nothing to do.”

Rob rolled his eyes and stomped off toward the showers.

“You know he targets you in practice every time you antagonize him, right?” I asked Trent.

Freshly showered with a towel slung around his waist, Trent shook the water out of his hair and grinned. “Yeah, but he has to catch me first and that guy can’t run worth shit.”

Trent rifled through his locker and pulled on a shirt. “So, what are you doing this weekend? Oktoberfest? Mexican Grand Prix? You better be taking Cassie, because she turned me down flat when I asked her to come with me.”

I threw a towel at Trent’s face. “You know that’s my girlfriend, right?”

“Oh, it’s like that, now?” He pulled the towel off his face and lifted an eyebrow. “Because that’s not what I heard.”

I stood up, annoyance morphing into anger. “Then you better get your hearing checked.”

“Fine.” Trent held both hands up with an amused smile. “I guess I misheard.”

He pulled on sweatpants and shoved his feet into a pair of shoes before shouldering his bag. “I thought Cassie was too smart to date a fuck boy like you, Diego. But guess I’m wrong. Happy bye week all! Stay out of trouble.”

A fuck boy like me.

The words stung.

Cassandra had left everything to do with us sleeping together behind in Las Vegas almost effortlessly. She came over most nights and we’d eat dinner and play video games on my couch until late enough that I’d offer to let her stay the night. And then she’d yawn and say that’d be nice, but she should get back, and we’d repeat that cycle every third night or so.

Which was the deal we made. Hell, more than the deal we made. We’d agreed to some game appearances and enough press to make it look like I was dating someone who didn’t get invites to the Oscars or the Grammys. She could have come out to two games, held my hands after, and been on her way.

But somehow, actually having slept with Cassandra was a million times worse than just imagining it. Sure, I would have walked around half-stiff every time she got near me, anytime I got a waft of oranges and cloves. But the reality had turned out so much better than the thoughts that kept me up all night.

Now I had memories of an all-too perfect reality of what I could have every day. If she’d agree to date me, which she didn’t seem overeager to do. Instead, she’d switched right back to the way things were between us. And my poor approximation of acting normal felt more and more forced as the weeks went on.

I pushed out of the stadium, digging through my bag for my phone and car keys. Paul, my mother’s husband, provided the perfect excuse to spend bye week with Cassandra. I’d been racking my brain for ways to recreate the energy of Las Vegas and while Lone Tree, Mississippi was about as far away from Vegas in terms of entertainment, at least I’d have her mostly to myself.

I palmed my keys and illuminated my phone, checking for messages. I scrolled past one from Paul, reiterating his offer to pick us up from the airport, and onto Cassandra’s.

CASSANDRA

Packed and ready to go.

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