Page 8 of Falling for the Quarterback
“Dawson,” I greet when I hit accept. Of course, it’s FaceTime; this man only video chats, and I think it’s probably his one flaw in life.
“QB! You home?”
“Yeah, why?” I ask as I notice in the background he’s obviously walkingsomewhere.
“Good.” He flashes me a grin on screen, then hangs up.
With a sigh, I glance at my dog, then down my long driveway. Sure enough, here comes Dawson’s big frame, hoofing it down the long stretch. “Where’s your golf cart?” I shout.
He was adamant about needing a golf cart so he could drive over whenever he wanted. I was the rational one who told him we could walk or use our vehicles like grown-ups, but he wasn’t having it. You know what he got me for Christmas the same year he built his house on the acres of land next to mine? A matching golf cart. His is bright green with oversized tires and every other bell and whistle you can think of, while mine is bright blue. I’ll admit, while I didn’t want one to begin with, it’s grown on me.
He waves me off. “Sanderson told me to get more cardio in when I can.” Sanderson is his position coach, as my buddy is on offense with me and needs to be able to outrun the opposite team's defense if he expects to catch anything from me.
“Rookie running backs?” I guess.
He nods, growing serious. “Yeah, a few are close to my times.” I know he’s worried; it happens to us all, but he doesn’t need to be. He’s the best in the league, and it’s not changing anytime soon.
I clap his shoulder, “You’re still faster,” I reassure him.
I used to stress over each Draft Day, wondering who was coming for my position and if it’d be my last year in the pros. One thing I’ve learned with time is that I can only work to the best of my ability every day. If one day it’s not as well as someone else who plays my position, then I have to make peace with the fact that they’ve earned it. Ever since I came to terms with it in this sense, I’ve stopped viewing everyone as a threat, but rather, as my backup if I ever need a break. Sometimes, I really need that break. It’s helped me remain focused and train smarter, not harder. I just finished off one of the best years I’ve ever had because of it.
“QB.” He stares at me with hearts in his eyes, making me shake my head.
“Jesus, why are you looking at me like that? I don’t bat that way, Dawson.”
He snorts, chuckling. “You know I’m all about the ladies.”
I roll my eyes because everyone in the league knows he’s woman crazy and always has a new flavor on his arm. “Yeah, yeah, so why are you staring at me like that, then?”
“Uh, because you’re a real-life hero, bro. Everyone should be staring at you the same way, or else they’re an idiot.”
I check the closest tomato plant for something to do, needing to look busy and distracted. I don’t want to get into this again, and Dawson knows how I get about the public digging into my personal life. “Not this again,” I groan. “Did you just speak to our PR manager too?”
He crosses his arms, the move only lasting a minute before my dog nudges him enough that he drops his hands and pets him. “No, what are you talking about? Does the team have a new fundraiser? They know I’m down for anything.”
“Nothing new, but you just missed Parker.”
“She was here?” He glances around as if she’s going to jump out of the closest bush and rips his shirt off, rubbing it across his face.
“Should we swim? It’s hot as balls.” I ask, since my buddy’s face is already turning pink from the heat.
“No, I can’t burn that many calories until I eat again, unless you plan to feed me too? And, don’t change the subject.”
“Not feeding you, I’ve got my portions in the fridge and I’m not sharing them. Anyway, it’s just this wholehero thingbeing blown up in the news. It’s not what it seems.”
“Did you or did you not save some chick? I mean, I read several articles from legit news places, not trashy tabloids.”
Ugh, why does it irritate me for her to be addressed in such a manner? I wouldn’t care otherwise if someone’s called a chick, but when it’s her, it rubs me wrong. “She was walking out of the store when I noticed the zip tie trick some smugglers use to lure women into compromising positions to kidnap them. I stopped her from going to her vehicle, and we called the cops, end of story.”
“Who even are you, bro? I mean, how do you know about tricks that traffickers use? I’ve never heard of zip ties being on cars. Is this a southerner thing?”
“Because of the charities I’m involved in. I research everything they put out. Don’t you?”
“My charities send me emails, but unless the subject line says attendance requested or donation, I trash them.”
“Dawson,” I sigh, exasperated. “You are the stereotypical baller, making the rest of us jocks look bad.”
He laughs, “Screw you. My dates find me charming, funny, and good-looking. I can be attentive; I just need a little nudge sometimes.”
