Page 11 of Draft Pick

“Maybe I’ll stay all day.”

“You can’t. You have practice.”

“I’ll skip it.”

“The quarterback can’t skip practice. Besides, aren’t you some superstar for the team? Like, ‘all eyes on you’ kinda deal?”

I didn’t need the reminder, but yeah, it was kind of like that. If I skipped practice, Coach McKinley would pop a vein, and then I’d never hear the end of it. The ensuing shitstorm wasn’t worth it. Still… “You never answered my question…you seeing someone?”

Starlie peered at me quizzically but said, “If I were seeing someone, you wouldn’t be in my bed. I don’t do that.”

Implying I did?“I don’t either.”

Her quip, “The faithful star athlete?” rang with playful disbelief. “I don’t think that exists. Stereotypes happen for a reason.”

Maybe I’d been a player at one time, but that scene was starting to rub against my nerves. I just wasn’t into it anymore. No matter how hard my buddies tried to pull me back into the party scene, I’d rather do something — anything — else than run around acting like a whore.

But yeah, stereotypes were a thing, and I’d fallen into one without even realizing how cliche it all was — and it was a routine I knew. I forced a grin, shrugging, “Don’t hate the player, baby; hate the game.”

“Oh my god, you’re so cringe,” she groaned through a laugh. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Did you hearyourselfwhen I was making you cum, seven or eight times? I’m pretty sure the whole neighborhood heard.”

She blushed, biting her lip. “Was I that loud?”

“Let’s just say, I’m surprised the police didn’t show up.”

“Oh god, how embarrassing.”

“Not for me,” I returned with a smug grin. “Get loud, baby. I love it.”

“I bet you do,” she said, rolling away and grabbing a fluffy pink robe to wrap around herself. “No, but seriously, it’s time for you to go.”

“Damn girl, in a hurry to get rid of me?”

She gestured to the tiny bedside clock. “You have plans; I have plans. And a shower is calling my name.”

I wasn’t used to being the one shooed out the door. How many times had I pointedly hinted to an overnight guest— while not so subtly glancing at the door — that fun time was over? Damn, the shoe felt awkward on the other foot. “So…yeah, this was fun,” I said, reluctantly climbing out of bed but not before catching the appreciative glance from Starlie before I scooped up my clothes and started dressing.

“Super fun,” she agreed from the bathroom as the sound of the shower starting filled the small bathroom. “Good luck with your football stuff.”

“If you wanted to come to a game?—”

“No, that’s okay, not really into that kind of thing but good luck with making your goals or whatever.”

“Touchdowns,” I corrected.

With a bright smile, she popped her head out, “Right. Touchdowns,” as steam curled around her. “Break a leg!”

She knew nothing about football. How was that possible? The Wolverines were the No. 1 talked about team in the state right now, all the college football pundits were going on about how this season was going to break records with our current line-up of on-field talent. I mean, not to be an asshole, but was she living under a rock?

“We’re actually pretty good,” I said, unable to resist the urge to throw something out that usually impressed women. “ESPN is covering all our games this year.”

“Did you say something?” She called out from the shower. “Hey, feel free to grab a bagel or something on your way out.”

She hadn’t heard a word.

Logic told me to take it on the chin, but my ego was bruised. Still, I chuckled because, hey, if this wasn’t a sign from God that Starlie wasn’t the one, I didn’t know what was

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