Page 72 of Fair Play
“I wanted to.” I sink down across from her. “We get very little time together and with Bodi gone, I wanted to take advantage of it.”
“Thank you. You really are the sweetest.”
I’m absolutely positive not a single woman in my entire life has ever thought or said that about me. I’ve never been the kind of guy who puts any effort into romancing a woman. As a pro athlete, I don’t need to sweeten the pot, so to speak. Women just want to be with me. Take whatever they can get. Since nothing was ever expected, I didn’t bother. Doing it for Billie was just…instinctive. Like I know deep down in my subconscious that she’s special—and if I want her, I’m going to have to be different than the man I’ve always been.
“So how’s your project coming?” I ask as we dig into chicken parmesan, stuffed cannelloni, and penne in vodka sauce.
“Oh my gosh, I have so much to tell you. Nita made me an offer—we’re talking about me buying a franchise!” Her voice is filled with excitement.
I blink. “Afranchise? Like another diner?”
“We’re thinking somewhere like Burbank.” She gives me a handful of details that make my head spin.
“Honey, are you sure that’s something you want to take on? You haven’t even graduated yet. Do you think you can handle it?”
Her face falls like someone blew out a match on her excitement, and I want to kick myself for not being more careful with how I express my concerns.
“You don’t think I can?” she asks, hurt written all over her face.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I say quickly. “I just mean, isn’t it a huge financial investment? And are you ready to take on that kind of debt right out of school? And what about grad school?”
Her face relaxes a little. “Well, this is all the very earliest stages of conversation. It would probably be a year to eighteen months before we could make it happen, and in that time, I’d be learning everything about running the diner. I could potentially go to grad school at the same time.
“Again, we don’t have numbers or a timeline yet, it’s just a possibility, but for the first time I’m really excited about something professionally. I’ve been floundering, trying to figure out what I’m going to do with my fancy degree and the last thing I want is to work nine to five at some entry level job I have to commute to every day. You know? I mean, you’ve never done anything but hockey—can you picture yourself working a job like that?”
“No. And I’m sorry if it sounded like I doubted your capabilities. That’s not it at all. I just think it’s a lot for someone who isn’t even out of school.”
“By the time any of this happens, I’ll have at least a bachelor’s degree. Nita wants me to work with her full-time so I can learn the ins and outs.”
I don’t know how I feel about that but it’s not my place to tell her what she can and can’t do with her career. Especially since I have no idea what’s going on with my own.
“I might ask Bodi if he wants to invest,” she says after a moment. “Not now, but next year will be his second year on the team and at that point I think he’ll feel more confident about his place here.”
“Is he worried about being sent down again?”
“I think he is. He’d never admit it out loud, but I know him, and that has to be in the back of his mind. He hasn’t had great numbers this season.”
Well, that part I can sympathize with because I have those same insecurities almost every day.
I just don’t want to talk—or think—about them tonight.
“Well, it’s an exciting opportunity,” I say, refilling our wine glasses. “And I know you’ll be good at whatever you decide to do.”
“That sounds like something you say to someone you think is going to fail but don’t want to hurt their feelings.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I think you’re brilliant, hard-working, and motivated. If anyone can do it, it’s you. It’s just a lot of money and probably a lot of sacrifice on your part. And if I’m honest, I might be a little jealous.”
“Jealous?” That seems to catch her off-guard. “Of what?”
“That you’re getting your shit together at twenty-two while I’m still a fuck-up at thirty-five.”
“You’re a professional athlete!” she protests in confusion. “How are you a fuck-up?”
“Someday, if you’re bored and have the time, do a deep dive into my media coverage. Read the things they say about me. How the pundits feel about me being on six teams in ten years or?—”
“Fuck the pundits,” she snaps. “They all hate Taylor Swift too, but they’re just jealous of her success.”
“If I had even a fraction of her success or money, I wouldn’t care either, but almost everything they say about me is true. I’m a fuck-up, Billie.”
