Page 22 of Fumbling for Perfection

Feeling the rejection of her silence, I end our conversation with a friendly send off. It’s what I do. Despite my lack of communication, I’m not a dick.

ME: No pressure on dinner. It was great seeing you again. I fly back to San Fran in the morning. If you’re ever in the city and need a tour guide, send Oh God a text.

I add a few emojis to lighten my tone and drop my cell in the cup holder, then crank up the speed on the treadmill. I crank out four more miles before my phone vibrates.

PERFECTION: Sorry. Minor crisis at work. Left my phone in my office while I dealt with it. If you haven’t had dinner yet, I’m leaving in about an hour and can meet you wherever.

My stupid grin is back. I power off the treadmill and hop off, wiping my face with a towel and the treadmill with sanitizing wipes before replying. I don’t want to come off as too eager by texting immediately.

I grab my things and head to the elevator. The doors haven’t even closed before I’m succumbing to the need to respond.

ME: Sounds good. I can pick you up at work unless you want to go home first. I can meet you there.

Meeting at her apartment could go one of two ways. One, lust takes over and we rip off each other’s clothes and say screw it to dinner. Not a bad scenario. Or I could pick her up and we head to a restaurant and have a nice leisurely dinner and I stare at her gorgeous chocolate eyes and wide smile while she tells me stories of her childhood. Of her job. Of her life.

Yeah. Both options sound pretty fucking perfect.

PERFECTION: I can meet you at the restaurant.

Message read. She doesn’t want me to know where she lives. I get that. I respect that. I already shocked the hell out of her by showing up at her work.

ME: Perfect. I can Google places to eat, but do you have any recommendations? The only food I don’t like is... scratch that. I love food. No allergies. No dislikes. What about you? I know you like burgers and fries. ;-)

PERFECTION: Thai?

ME: Place and time?

PERFECTION: Where is your hotel? I can find a place close to you. Boston can be tricky to navigate.

Hm. She’s either asking out of kindness or it’s her way of wanting to know where I’m staying. Either way, my dick hardens. I text a reply with my location, not minding one damn bit if she decides to make a surprise visit. Hell, I’d give her my room number and key card if I didn’t think it would freak her the fuck out.

I decide not to tell her I chose a hotel that was closer to Boston Strong than it is to the stadium where my tour and meetings were taking place.

She sends me the name of a restaurant, and I tell myself I’m not disappointed about not learning where she lives.

As soon as I’m in my room, I strip out of my sweat-soaked clothes and drop them on the floor of the bathroom. The water isn’t even lukewarm when I step into the shower. There’s no rush. It doesn’t take me more than ten minutes to get ready, so I tell myself to slow down.

I tip my head back and let the water spray my face, remembering the shower Riley and I shared in Rhode Island. Shower sex had never been a fantasy of mine, mostly because it meant a woman was spending too much time at my place or hotel room. If she wanted to clean up before leaving, she was more than welcome to use my bathroom, but I never joined her.

It was too intimate. Getting dirty with a woman, sure. Getting clean? Not interested.

Until Riley.

Eventually, I want to learn everything there is to know about her, but I’m not ready to offer her the same opportunity. She’s athletic. She’s around athletes all the time. She hasn’t recognized me yet, and I’m okay when and if she does, but I want her interest in me to be because she likesmeand not the NFL player.

I’m pretty sure the only reason I’ve been able to fly under the radar in Boston, and even Rhode Island, is because San Fran and Boston are in different divisions and rarely play each other. I’ve been able to avoid this city while playing for Arizona and San Fran.

I thought avoiding everyone and everything that has brought me pain in my life for the past fifteen years was the only way to cope with the fuckery of the family I’d been born into. But I’m thirty-two fucking years old. I’ve pushed away relationships of every kind for too long.

Eventually, I’m going to retire from the NFL, and then what? It’s not like I’m looking for a wife, and I have no desire to bring kids into this world. Not with my family history. But being alone is getting...well, lonely.

All it took was one night with Riley to realize how alone I’ve been. While the sex was phenomenal, talking and laughing with her was...nice. Comforting. Natural. Once she loosened up and wasn’t so nervous about going back to my room, we just clicked.

I get that she’s confused right now, with the one night hook up that you didn’t expect to ever see again showing up at your work and wanting to get together. Hell, if any of my past hookups showed up at my doorstep, I’d panic.

Fuck. I rinse the soap off my body and shut off the shower. If I want something more with her I need to slow the fuck down.

Dinner. We’ll have dinner and conversation, and if she lets me, I’ll walk her back to her place. I won’t push. Ball is in Riley’s red zone.

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