Page 9 of False Start

“Even if you could, you’d never be as good as me.” I shot her my most charming smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just be honest: I help people, you entertain them.”

The bartender returned with our drinks.

“Thanks,” she muttered, running her finger over the top of the glass before picking it up for a sip.

“What do you think?”

She set down the glass and the edges of her lips turned up in a smile. “About the same as the cheap rum.”

A loud gale of laughter sounded from the crowd of kickball players at the tables. I’d bought Kit a drink and played nice for a couple of minutes. I could slink off for better company.

But I stayed.

“So, if you already work in a hospital, why do you need school, anyway?”

Her shoulders fell a little, the hint of a smile sliding off her lips. “The pay bump, mostly. I have an associate’s degree, but I’d make a lot more with a bachelor’s degree.”

“You didn’t go to college?” Even as the words poured out, I winced, wishing I hadn’t said them. I sounded like an asshole.

Everyone in football had a degree. Unlike other sports where a trip through the college level was more of a “nice to have” rather than a “necessity,” there was only one way to get to the NFL, and that was through college. Even with homework sessions, private tutors, and arrangements with professors, I couldn’t claim to haveearneda degree, just received one.

What little goodwill I’d built up with Kit in the last few minutes crumbled in front of me. “It’s probably hard for you to comprehend, but not everyone can afford a four-year degree.”

“I know. That came out wrong.”

She rolled her eyes, bracing her hand against the bar. “No, I don’t think it did. Thanks for the drink.”

In a flash, she took her drink and skated back to Derek. He pulled his attention away from a conversation, his eyes flitting from Kit to me. My half-hearted grin didn’t stop a frown from forming on his face. I sighed, raking a hand through my hair.

Well, I certainly fucked that up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, providing a momentary distraction from the mess I continued to make. I pulled it out, greeted with a picture of my best friend, Frankie, standing by the beach, blue water behind him, palm trees on each side and a message, “You’re missing out!”

Maybe I should have spent the summer in Puerto Rico.

But even though Frankie and I had been attached at the hip since the combine, I could feel my worst habits grating on him. The drinking, the partying, the women, the drugs. He spent a season keeping me out of the ditches and was exhausted by his effort.

I didn’t want to lose my NFL career and my best friend.

Pocketing my phone, I slid off the bar stool and walked toward my teammates.

“Thanks for the drink. I’m off,” Kit said, squeezing Derek’s shoulder as she stood up.

“More studying?” Derek asked.

“Just a little while longer.” Kit scooped up her empty glass as she took the long way around the table.

“And then you’ll have a life again,” Derek said.

“Or at least I’ll have enough time off for our trip. Have a good night! See you all at practice!” Kit waved to the rest of the table, keeping her eyes away from me as she slipped out the door.

“Trip?” I asked Derek, distracting the conversation away from my disastrous drink with Kit.

He shrugged, taking a sip of beer. “It’s a car rally. Kit’s idea. We’ll be gone for two weeks. Virginia to Florida.”

“Really?” I’d have pegged Kit as the type to go on vacation in the mountains. Somewhere off beat, like an amusement park or a roadside attraction. She was too fair for the beach, clearly not athletic enough for a strenuous vacation of mountaineering or hiking. But a car rally? “She likes cars?”

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