Page 4 of The Longshot

“Grab your things.” Ruby tugs on my arm and pulls me out of sight. “We’re leaving.”

TWO

W I L K S

PRESENT DAY

I’d like to call myself multi-faceted.

My ability to balance my phone in one hand and a 24-inch cake in the other proves that that is the case.

Wait… or is that called multitasking?

Shit.

I don’t know.

All I know is this: I’m a man of many talents.

Let’s rhyme them off. Shall we?

Number one: football. It’s absolutely got to be at the top of my list considering it’s what I do as a profession.

Football has consumed my life for as long as I can remember. I’m pretty sure Mum told me I was kicking on my way out of the womb, that or I never stopped throughout the whole pregnancy.

Regardless, I can’t remember a time in my life when I haven’t played football. It’s a part of me. It’s what makes me, me.

Next, women—a close and honorable second if I do say so myself, and frankly, what more is there to say? Women like me. I like them. It’s a win-win.

There are perks to being captain, and needless to say, I reap all the benefits.

But when I start to think about women, I can’t help but think about why I get them.

Is it my dashing good looks?

Maybe.

Is it my signature smile and irresistible charm?

We’re getting closer.

Or is it my charisma that makes me impossible to deny?

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Gary Wilkinson: The ultimate goat when it comes to stealing your girl.

I’m a cocky son-of-a-bitch. I know that.

But cocky gets you far.

Cocky gets you past third base on the first date.

But as much as I’m cocky, I’m also highly self-aware. I know my faults, and under no circumstance am I immune to seeing them.

There’s a saying that sometimes you can be your own worst enemy. That’s the case with me. As much as I can build myself up, I hold the power to tear myself down. Perhaps that’s why I live in the fantasy that is “Wilks” rather than the reality of “Gary.”

Wilks is the man.

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