Page 46 of The Player's Obsession

“I’ll send you my W-2s and my—”

I hang up on him before he can finish the sentence. Knowing him, he’s laughing at his own jokes all the way to baggage claim.

My brother loves to play pranks and stir the pot with quasi-predictability. I learned long ago not to tell him stuff unless I want it to be blasted to the moon. Now I’m worried he will slip up and say something that could expose my fake relationship.

Michael also likes to get under people’s skin. He once upset an old girlfriend of mine because he kept talking about my past relationships at the dinner table. The girl excused herself and returned with bloodshot eyes and a red nose five minutes later. Clearly, she had been crying. I continued to date her, but she never got over the fact that I wasn't a monk before I met her. Eventually, we broke up, but it should have ended that night when I realized she was that insecure.

The funny thing is, I found out she got married shortly after we broke up. I’m not saying it’s impossible to fall in love overnight, but I’m beginning to think I’m the problem. Melanie is the second woman who’s married the next guy she dated after me. I’m like the dentist in the movieGood Luck Chuck.Everyone I sleep with finds their husband after they had sex with me.

Shit, I’ve become a cliché.

Am I arrogant and conceited? Well, yes, to an extent. It seems to come with the territory for us jocks, this sense of self-importance, but it's not just about ego. Mental resilience is just as crucial as physical strength in professional sports. I take pride in being the best tight end on the team, leading in touchdowns this year. My daily workouts and strong work ethic are badges of honor for me. It's a trait I find admirable in Penelope too. Her willingness to work two jobs to make ends meet speaks volumes. This thought brings me back to a lingering question: why is she struggling financially? I need to find some answers.

My phone dings. It’s an email from Penelope with the non-disclosure agreement attached and signed.

She’s efficient. Good. She’s taking our arrangement seriously, and for that, I’m grateful.

Me: When are you available to leave? We have a two-hour drive ahead of us.

I wait anxiously as three dots appear. Then, the text pops onto the screen.

Penelope: I took the day off. I had tons of vacation time to burn. When will you be picking me up?

I smile, imagining her getting excited about spending time with me.

Me: Is two o’clock good? That way, we’ll have time to change for happy hour.

She responds with a heart and— See you then, honey.

My coffee is ready, and I push the button to dispense it into my cup. Sipping the hot beverage, I lean against the kitchen island and flip through social media feeds on my phone.

I managed to track down the videos Travis and Michael mentioned. Scrolling through the comments, I'm struck by the wave of support and compliments from viewers. One clip in particular catches my eye: it shows me smiling up at Penelope in the stands. She's waving down at me, her face alight with happiness. As I watch, I can't help but notice the sparkle in her eyes. Could it be? Might there be a chance that she has feelings for me?

Someone in the tunnel must have snapped photos of us, as that's the only place we were together. Another video surfaced, cleverly editing clips of the two of us with captions insinuating that I'm falling in love again, complete with little hearts fluttering next to our images.

I must admit the pictures make it look like we’ve both been stung by the love bug. I’ve seen that crooked smile on my face before. It’s when I’m crushing on someone, but the lines between fake and real are beginning to blur.

I never intended for this to become national news. My mom will have a million questions, and my dad will want to meet her. I can’t lie to them, can I?

I dump the last of my coffee in the sink and return to my bedroom. I always pack for road trips, and yet I’m standing in the middle of my enormous closet, wondering what I should wear.

Fuck.

I call Penelope.

“Hi, honey, I was just thinking about you.” Her voice is as warm and relaxing as a bubble bath.

“Did you know we went viral on social media?”

“Lucinda mentioned something. I haven’t seen it.”

“Well, they’re calling you the mystery girl in my life.”

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

Is it? I’m beginning to feel more like a fraud than a prankster.

“Sure,” I mumble with uncertainty.

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