Page 18 of Falling for the Quarterback
He snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug, but he can’t see me, thankfully. This facility has glass doors and full partitions between each shower, so we have actual privacy; it’s nice. I’ve showered in a room full of dudes for most of my life, but it doesn’t mean I still want to do that as an adult, so a bit of privacy is welcomed.
“She’s not afraid to tell me what she thinks or call me out. The first time I met her, she completely ignored me,” I divulge, making him chuckle. “She even gave me the bird as shedrove off.”
His booming laugh in response nearly has me jumping, not expecting it. After a beat, he says, “Let me guess, she still has no idea who you are.”
I silently groan at the truth of his words. It’s my own fault, but still. “She doesn’t,” I admit on a sigh. I know I need to tell her, but surely a little longer won’t mess things up between us too badly.
At least I hope not.
He drops a bottle of soap or shampoo, cursing. A moment later, he says, “I don’t know how you’ve managed to pull this off, but bro, if you like her as much as you seem to…Well, I don’t think you should be avoiding telling her the truth.”
“I haven’t lied. I just haven’t divulged everything.”
He scoffs. “A lie by omission is still a lie. If she’s as real as you claim she is, she’ll drop you like a bad habit. Unless you start talking, ASAP.”
He’s right. As much as I hate admitting it to myself. I need to take his comment to heart and open up with her about who I am and the lifestyle I live because of my career.
I finish washing, shut the water off, and quickly towel the wet droplets from my skin. The air kicks on, and a fresh wave of goosebumps races over my skin. At least I’ve cooled down, but the hot water also made my limbs feel like jelly. I hurry to my locker and drop the towel in the cubby with my other dirty clothes, then I grab some gym shorts, a team T-shirt, my ankle socks, and my tennis shoes. They’re all the same brand, of course, as they’re one of my endorsements, so half of my clothing advertises their branding.
Dawson’s barely making it out of the shower as I’m headed for the press room, where Coach is no doubt giving them his rundown of things and fielding questions about the kidnapping. I know him, the team owner, and PR manager are thrilled at the headlines, but frankly, I’m tired of them.
I promised Kinsley I’d text her tonight, but my gut twists with worry now after talking to Dawson. I feel like a phone call won’t be sufficient if she sees the game or anything else to point her in the direction of my identity. I need to tell her in person so she can see how authentic I am, how I’m not a bad guy, and that I care about her. Already.
As soon as I step into the press room and next to Coach on the press podium, everyone is on me with questions. Coach continues, unperturbed, “As I was saying, we’re ready for next week’s game. Tonight was merely a warm-up, and with the guys we have on the field this year, we’re expecting great things from them and the team as a whole. Now, I’ll hand you over to JJ, as I know he’s the one you really want to speak to tonight.” The room is filled with quiet laughter when he steps around me.
His hand lands on my shoulder with a light squeeze. “You got this, QB.”
“Thanks, Coach.” I turn to the waiting reporters and journalists in front of me. Releasing a sigh, I dive right in. “I’d like to make a statement before I take questions. Yes, I was at that lumber store you’re all hearing about. Yes, I stepped in to offer my help in a potentially scary situation and offered my opinion to another customer when I thought they might be in danger. No, I will not give out her information, nor tell you any details. She’s safe, the police were quick to respond, and I’m grateful it didn’t escalate past that point. Anyone digging into more than that should stop.”
I draw in a quick breath before asking, “Now, who has questions about tonight’s game?” I glance up from the podium I’m standing behind, which holds the microphone, to be met with stunned expressions and silence as everyone processes what I’ve said. They’re not used to me being blunt about any headlines or rumors, only about football, so it’s the last thing they are all expecting.
A beat later, Joanna McKnight’s hand shoots up. She’s a reporter for Sports Media BS, probably the most well-known sports channel and programming in the world. She’s in a royal blue power suit tonight, giving off the vibe she means business. “There are rumors that you’ve been spotted out with a woman. Is it the same woman from the kidnapping attempt?”
“Next question.” I choose to politely ignore her as I ask the others, glancing around the room. This is a football press conference, not an inside look at my personal life.
Brad Willmington from the New York Bulletin newspaper and online news site jumps in next. “JJ, any comment on if she’ll be coming to one of your games? Perhaps next week?”
Exhaling, I silently pray for patience. I literally told them I would not be answering questions pertaining to Kinsley, yet they’re still digging. “Out of all the questions you want to ask, you really don’t have anything related to the team or our game today? How about next week? Only questions not related to the woman everyone is curious about.”
I get a couple of run-of-the-mill inquiries about how I’m feeling and where I see our season going this year, but in the end, they all allude back to Kinsley. I’m tired, frustrated, and worried she’ll see any of it, even catch a blip of the press tonight, and I’ll lose any chance I have with her. Dawson thankfully takes my place soon after, and then I’m able to escape the facility without running into my coach, the owner, or Parker, so I call that a win. It doesn’t normally bother me to go over the game or whatever with them afterwards, but I only have one thing on my mind, and it’s talking to Kinsley.
I head for my vehicle, already texting my mom that I’ll be staying the night tonight at her place, but I won’t arrive until late. I keep some clothes there in her spare bedroom for when I visit, so I don’t even have to stop by my house before I head out of town. I shoot Dawson a text asking him to grab my dog on his way home, and I’ll beback tomorrow afternoon. He knows I’m stressed, so he won’t mind the short notice. He’s a good dog uncle and friend.
Once I’m buckled in behind the wheel and hitting I-35 south, I finally release an exhale of relief. The drive feels like it takes forever after playing a strenuous game today. I probably shouldn’t have driven this far away from the stadium, being as I don’t pull up to Kinsley’s lot until after one a.m.. I leave the truck running since I’m parked directly outside her gate. I’ll just send her a quick text, and if she doesn’t answer, I’ll come back tomorrow.
Me:Hey, you up? I know it’s late, so I hope I’m not waking you up.
I should’ve stopped by Sonic and picked up a flavored tea or Dr. Pepper for her on my way. Next time. This woman will get used to princess treatment from me if I have anything to say about it.
Kinsley:I’m awake, just lying in bed reading. What are you doing?
Me:I’m parked outside your place. I thought it’d be better if I saw you in person so we could talk.
Three dots pop up as she types. They disappear, then reappear five or so times more, before they stop completely. I’m starting to think I blew it completely by coming here so late. She’s not a booty call, and I never want her to feel like I’m treating her that way. One a.m. is definitely within the booty call timeframe.
My attention’s drawn to the front of my truck as she opens the gate a bit, slipping through. I shut the truck off and climb out, wondering what made me think showing up out of the blue would be okay. People don’t do that. They call or even text ahead of time, giving the other person a warning and time to prepare if preparing is needed.
