Page 52 of A Play For The Heart
Indignation swells inside of me. Is football the only thing he cares about when it comes to my life? I’m his only kid. You would think he would want to know what I’m doing. If I’m dating anyone. Who my friends are. Anything outside of football.
“I’m just looking out for you, Henry. I want what’s best for you. Which is a long, successful career.”
I’m shocked at how disappointed I feel by that response. I was hoping he would see where I was coming from, but apparently, I was wrong.
“That's great. But I do have a life outside of football.”
“I didn’t say that you don’t. But the important part of your life is your career.”
I have nothing else to say in this conversation since it's clearly not going anywhere. “Right. Well, I gotta go, Dad. Talk to you later.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I hang up the phone. I drop my phone into my lap and lean my head against the steering wheel of the car. After taking a few deep breaths, I turn the car on and drive on autopilot all the way back to my apartment.
I thought my morning couldn’t get worse, but my dad proving he doesn’t care about me outside of football only made it more frustrating.
I grab my phone from the center console of my car and press answer. The call connects to the Bluetooth feature on the car and Sawyer’s voice fills the speakers.
“Just tell me where we’re going,” Sawyer whines, “so I know what to wear.”
I chuckle at the whining. She’s been texting me non-stop all day to figure out what I have planned for tonight. I’ve kept my lips shut, no matter how much she tries to bribe me. I almost cracked when she threatened to stop making chocolate chip cookies, but I held steadfast. She tried to exploit my greatest weakness.
“Just wear something casual,” I respond, giving her nothing.
I can hear her groan on the other side of the phone, and the sound goes straight to my dick. I need to get off the phone before I end up with a boner and have to sit in my car for ten minutes before I walk into her apartment building. I’ve seen too many people the times I’ve been here to risk running around with a hard-on.
“Be there in ten,” I say, hanging up the phone before she can protest.
A few minutes later, I pull into the parking garage of Sawyer's apartment. I grab the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat and head up towards her apartment. When I was planning the date, it didn’t seem complete without giving her flowers. Does it seem corny? Yes. But my girl deserves all the corny shit, flowers included. It's why I spent the better part of an hour after practice today harassing a florist to create the perfect bouquet. I have no idea what the names of any of the flowers are, but the mixture of purples and yellows and pink reminds me of Sawyer.
I knock on the door, suddenly nervous. I shove my empty hand in my pocket to prevent fidgeting or running my fingers through my hair. I spent too much time making my hair look perfect to ruin it. Before I can get too antsy, Sawyer swings the door open.
“Hi,” I say, shoving the bouquet towards her. “These are for you.”
She looks me up and down, slowly. Her gaze travels from my feet to the bouquet, then to my face. I feel my ears start to heat up from the attention. I never want to get comfortable with Sawyer checking me out. The feeling I get from her perusal is all-consuming.
“They’re beautiful,” she says bashfully, taking the flowers.
Sawyer turns around, heading towards the kitchen. I follow close behind.
“Just let me put these in some water, then we can go to wherever you’ve decided but won’t tell me about.”
Well…she isn't subtle. But she is adorable. Apparently, she’s not done dropping hints about how she’s annoyed she doesn’t know where we’re going.
“How is my outfit? Appropriate for thesecretplace?” she asks while trying to pull a vase down from the top shelf.
I move behind her, grabbing the vase from the top shelf.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Maren forgets that some people in this apartment aren’t six feet tall.”
I chuckle and watch as she shuffles around the kitchen, filling the vase with water and placing the flowers in it. I could watch her do any mundane task and be completely enamored by her. She looks gorgeous tonight. Then again, she looks gorgeous every day. Her hair is straight for a change, and I have to shove my hands in my pockets to prevent myself from running my fingers through it.
Sawyer places the flower at the center of the island then grabs her bag from the stool.
“Ready to go?” she asks, walking past me towards the door.
I snatch her hand as she walks by, pulling her back towards me. She makes a sound of protest as I drag her towards me.
“Henry, what are you—”
