Page 6 of The Run Option

“What? Your grandfather wasn’t rich when I married him, but he had ambition. A man should either be rich or have a good work ethic. Preferably both, but you can settle for at least one.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

“What youshouldbe doing is putting on a little dress, going out, and taking my advice.”

“I came here to visit with you and you’re kicking me out already?” I ask, earning an eye roll. No wonder I’m sassy, this is who helped raise me.

“I’d like to see my great-grandbabies before I die. You’re my only granddaughter, and you’re wasting all the beauty I gave you.”

I laugh. “Granny, it’s aTuesday. No one is out on the town.” I repeat her lingo from earlier.

“How would you know? You never go out.”

I give her a flat look. She smiles back at me.

“I went out last Saturday.”

“And it was a dud. Maybe if you went out on a Tuesday, you’d find someone better. Like a handsome, rich football player who wants to settle down right away.”

“I’m not going to date anyone on the team,” I say with an exasperated sigh. “If something goes wrong, it would be too messy.” My spoon clinks against the bowl as I dig in for another bite. “Can we drop this, please?”

“Fine, but only because I need you to help me fix my television. I can’t figure out how to get my shows to come up in a list like you had them before.”

“I’ll fix it.” I smile, grateful to be done with the dating talk.

I’d love to give my grandmother some great-grandbabies to spoil, but the chances of that happening anytime soon are slim. It’s not like I’m old though. Twenty-three isn’t ancient. But I’m also not a fan of going out on date after date, only for it to end the same way–an awkward goodbye and a deleted number. I wish I could skip to the part where I find my soulmate. For now, I’ll have to keep doing what I’m doing. It’s not like I have any other choice.

My little one-bedroom apartment isn’t nearly as cozy as my granny’s house. While the main reason I offered to live with her is to help take care of her, I’d also love a house like hers.A place with breathing room. Homewood, Alabama is no New York City, but it’s still too crowded for my liking. I’d love a house on a big piece of land where I could ride horses like I did with my grandfather. I’d even settle for a place in a little suburban neighborhood like the one I grew up in back in Canada. Anything is better than listening to my upstairs neighbors’ kids treat the floor like a bounce house every evening while I’m trying to relax.

I hang my keys on the hook by the door while I slide off my tennis shoes. After a long day of editing content, meeting with interns, and then talking with Granny for a few hours, I’m ready to curl up in bed. But I still need to check on all the content I posted today. My nightly routine consists of eating a snack and responding to a few comments per post so that the team seems accessible. Then I go to my own social media accounts and do the same.

Only a month into working with the Lions, people discovered who I was. I’d posted a few videos and photos on my personal accounts, but I was so focused on the Lions that I didn’t fuss with it. Until I did a video interviewing the players and showed my face. Suddenly, thousands of people were following me. I decided to capitalize on that and build my own brand. Now, I post lifestyle content as well as some behind-the-scenes of what it’s like being a social media manager. It practically doubles my workload, but it also adds to my paycheck through the small brand deals I’ve gotten so far.

I head into my kitchen and rifle through the cabinets for an adequate snack. While searching, I remember the Twizzlers I’d found in my backpack right before the game on Sunday. I still haven’t had a chance to begrudgingly thank Jason. I don’t know why he hides them or how he found out I love them. But since they are my favorite…I walk over to my backpack and pull out the half-eaten pack. The five-dollar bill is still attached, making me roll my eyes the same way I did when I first saw it.

After settling in on the couch, I open up TikTok and watch a video featuring none other than the man plaguing my thoughts far too often lately. It’s rather difficult to avoid him when he’s the quarterback and the most famous player on the team.

The comments are a slew of praise, mixed in with a few nasty hate comments. I delete those when I come across them because even though I don’t like the guy, some of them are downright venomous. I’m about to respond to a few of the most liked comments when one from Jason himself pops up. He replied to a comment where someone credited him with the win.

@JasonTheKing: The whole team did amazing on Sunday! They deserve all the praise. Thanks for the love.

I like the comment–because it would look bad if I didn’t–and move on. Athletes give credit to their teammates all the time, but it doesn’t mean they’re sincere. I’m sure it’s some kind of ploy to rebuild his image after years of partying. He probably doesn’t even run his own account.

I click away from the video and shake off all thoughts of Jasonthe King. He doesn’t deserve to take up space in my head.

Chapter four

Jason Kingsley

It’s probably weird that killing is therapeutic to me. But shooting down digital aliens is helping to lower my stress levels significantly–that, and the hilarious argument my friends are currently having.

“Golf is not harder than hockey.” Shaw’s voice sounds through my headset. “I can’t believe you’d even attempt to make this argument.”

“Just because it isn’t a contact sport doesn’t mean it’s not difficult,” Miles replies.

“Golf is difficult, sure, but not more than hockey,” I chime in.

“See? Jason agrees. You’re an idiot.”

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