Page 20 of Necessary Roughness

But quickly my mind wandered back to Brett.

Ten… eleven…

If I performed enough repetitions, I knew I’d erase him from my mind.

Sixteen…

Still not working.

I abruptly dropped the barbell on the ground which caused a loud thud. Quickly looking over my shoulder, I checked to make sure that Brett hadn’t overheard. I wasn’t sure if he was home. I’d spent the past hour forcing myself not to look into his windows. It was an almost impossible task, considering that we were mere feet from each other.

The sound of crashing waves had done nothing to quell my internal turmoil and my curiosity about what Brett was up to.

Was he writing another piece about me?

Recording another podcast?

I needed to get this man out of my head. Or at the very least figure out why Brett had set up shop in the recesses of my mind.

Ten million dollars, I thought, reflecting on the money I’d lost when I was pulled from consideration for the Monarch Watch sponsorship.

Oh, right. That.

In my defense, it was a vast sum of cash—enough to change most people’s lives. I had every right to be angry. Pissed.

Infuriated.

Anyone else would be too.

It didn’t matter how much I’d already made in my career. I was entitled to earn a living on my own, without interference from some no-good podcaster.

But deep in the back of my mind, I could feel a tingling sensation poking at me, reminding me that there was something else going on.

I had to confront the truth: Brett had seized my attention, and my fixation with him had started to alarm me.

As much as I hated him—loathed him, in fact—he had become a presence in my mind unlike any other pundit I had ever experienced. Sure, if I were to account for the fact that he was my new neighbor, that would explain part of my fury. But I knew it was bigger than that.

My mind started to wander as I picked up the barbell again.

Eighteen…

Or was that seventeen?

Fuck!

I’d lost count of my reps. A recurring theme had started to emerge: Brett had captivated me, and I needed to discover why.

Truth be told, I’d been single for a very long time. Not for lack of offers. When you’re a famous athlete, they tend to throw themselves at you, but at a certain point, you have to wonder who’s interested in you for who you are, versus cash and fame.

And there was no way for me to avoid it. Paparazzi followed my every move, documenting every car I purchased, every trip I took, every store I shopped at.

I had no privacy and no ability to go out to a bar and meet a total stranger. For years I had longed for the kind of romance only found in old Hollywood movies. Someone who had no idea who I was—meeting me in a twist of fate one day, by total happenstance.

Serendipity.

But I was fairly certain that wasn’t in the cards for me. Fame had wrecked my opportunity to find a true spark, a meaningful connection. I’d never meet a stranger, everyone recognized meinstantly, and it was hard to discern the true intentions of anyone I met.

Still, I couldn’t figure out what my fury over Brett had to do with me being single.

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