Page 5 of Loose End

And yeah, I did a terrible job, too. I couldn’t catch the ball to save my life. I couldn’t avoid a tackle. The only thing that resembled a tight end on that field was my ass in these pants.

It can’t keep happening.

There’s no way.

While the Aces aren’t exactly sitting pretty at the top of the NFL, that shouldn’t affect me. I should still play like a star, but every time I get out on the field, I end up looking like a dud. It’s only my second year in the NFL, but still…I should be better.We should all be better.

I just need to figure out how to get my head promptly removed from my ass before the coach does it for me. Or worse, benches me for the rest of the season. Joining the Aces has been humbling. I was top dog at the University of Texas, one of the top teams in the nation, and now that I’m back home in Tennessee, I’m part of a sub par team and I just can’t seem to get it together.

Not sure if it’s me, them, or all of us that’s the problem.

I’m working my ass off on and off the field, but I haven’t got much playing time yet. This season is supposed to be my opportunity to prove myself.

Which obviously hasn’t happened yet.

If I can’t work harder, be the best, it might not. And that’s just unacceptable.

“You know, when I decide to throw you the ball next time, you might want to catch it.” Gunner punches my shoulder as I shove my suit jacket in my duffel and zip it up.

I scoff, slinging the bag over my shoulder, barely suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. If he were anyone else, I’d have told him to fuck off before he finished his sentence. But Gunner Rose is not only my best friend, but one of the two people in this world who get a free pass to say whatever they want.He’s not wrong, but still.

“Maybe next time, throw it somewhere in my general vicinity instead of out of bounds. I don’t think that camera guy was ready to join the play.”

If the terrified expression on his face when the football was spiraling right toward him was any indication, he was not.

Gunner smiles wide, cracking his knuckles before leaning down to tie his dress shoes. “Don’t want to make your job too easy.” He grunts and slips on his suit jacket. “Are you going home or…?”

I’d love to tell him I’m going home, watch some trash TV,and head to bed. I’d love not to see the disappointment seeping into his eyes as I shuffle my feet and glance to the floor, but there it is. He knows exactly what I’m going to do, what I’ve been doing since I joined the NFL—losing myself in some anonymous woman. It’s a few hours where I don’t have to be myself. I don’t have my own expectations pressing down on my shoulders. And I sure as fuck don’t have the oppressive grief threatening to choke me at every turn.

I can turn off my brain. I can be someone else.

I can feel a bit of the freedom I felt before…well, just before.

“I feel like it’s going to be an option B kinda night.”

He shakes his head, smoothing down his suit. “You really should get yourself a girlfriend.”

“Like you?” I fire back, ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest. It’s not his fault, he doesn’t know. No one does. Not like he can talk anyway. He hasn’t had a real girlfriend since…ever. “Besides, you know I can’t do that. If it’s not football, I don’t have time for it.”

Which isn’t untrue.

Gunner throws his head back with a laugh, slapping me on the back. “Excuse me, I forgot you were married to the game.”

Another jab in the chest and I force my brightest smile. Fake it till you make it.

It’s how I survived the past couple years and it’s how I’ll continue in the future.

There are a couple unwritten rules I live my life by. No more falling in love. Football is life. That’s it.

I don’t have time for anything else. No complications. No distractions. No exceptions.

I say my goodbyes to Gunner and make my way out of the stadium to my recently restored 1967 Shelby Mustang GT500R. My own little Eleanor. After watchingGone in 60 Seconds, I was obsessed. But since my mom and I scraped by with what littlemoney my sperm donor left us, there was no way I could even afford a model until I got my first big contract.

As a fuck you to my piece of shit father, I traded in my old piece of shit car and my mom’s old Durango and took over all her living expenses. Neither one of us would depend on him again.

This car is sleek. Powerful. Sexy. It always elicits looks when I’m driving.

Envious looks from men andhow-you-doinglooks from the ladies. Guys want to drive it and women want to drive me in it. Especially that one crossing the street in front of me in a tight little gold dress, throwing fuck-me eyes my way. Her boyfriend looks like he’d object but picking up taken women isn’t my style anyway.

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