Page 23 of Fair Catch
“You remembered his name?”
“Of course.”
“Not many people ask the name of a homeless man,” he remarked.
“He’s an artist.”
My eyes met Zeke’s briefly, but what I found there unnerved me for reasons I couldn’t explain, so I cleared my throat and pointed to the blank wall next to my closet, across from the only window I had.
“There. So the light can hit it.”
Zeke picked up the frame and went to work as I picked through the rest of the boxes.
“I forgot how into this stuff you are. Do you want to be an artist?”
“God, no,” I answered immediately. “I mean, I wish I had the talent to paint or sketch, but I tried when I was younger, and let’s just say stick figures is about as artistic as I get.”
I smiled, pulling out my favorite, textured, earthenware clay vase and setting it on top of my tall dresser. I filled it with dried flowers and herbs next.
“I do think this is where my future is, though,” I remarked. “Art curation.”
Zeke lifted a brow, glancing at me only a moment before his attention was back on hanging the large canvas. “Which means…”
“It means that in my wildest dreams, I’ll work for a museum, and I’ll be in charge of acquiring and cataloging new pieces and exhibits.”
Zeke made a face, but didn’t say anything.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I leveled my gaze. “Out with it.”
He shrugged, stepping back to make sure the painting was hung straight. I handed him the leveler just to be sure.
“Nothing. It’s just… you don’t think you have a future in football?”
The question slammed into me harder than I expected, my throat tightening as I struggled to regain my composure.
“Ha, ha,” I said, sticking out my tongue before I instructed him to tilt the painting down a bit on the left side.
Zeke turned, his dark eyes finding mine, jaw set as his brows tugged inward. I hadn’t taken any time to study him when he walked in, but now, I saw the fatigue he held from the week just like I did. And still, his muscles bulged like he’d just been in the gym for a pump, and his shoulders were relaxed, like it didn’t bother him in the least that we had a game in the morning.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“Then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were.”
“You think just because there aren’t any women in the NFL right now, that there can’t ever be?”
“I think it’s highly unlikely, and not something I personally want.”
That last part felt sticky as I said it, and I reached for the bottle of water on my bedside table, taking a sip.
“Even though you’re as good as you are?”
“I made chart,” I said. “Not the pro bowl team. I haven’t even played in a college game yet.”
“You earned a scholarship to a D-1 university. Do you understand how impressive that alone is?”
I hated how my heart swelled with those words, something akin to pride begging me to let it out, and hope was right there on its heels, waiting for its chance to dash.
But I stifled them both, knowing there was nothing but disappointment waiting for me if I let myself get too far down that imaginary road.
I shrugged, picking at the polish on my nails and thinking I should probably take it off completely for the game tomorrow. “You know why I’m here.”
That sentence sobered both of us, a heavy silence falling over the room.
“I think it’s more than that,” he said softly.
My face warmed.
And then out of nowhere, agitation washed over me, swift and all-encompassing.
How dare he pretend like he knew something I didn’t, like we didn’t both know exactly why I was playing football?
Like the reason wasn’t directly tied to him.
“Yeah, well, it’s not,” I said flatly, turning back to the boxes. “I’ve got the rest. You can go play video games or fuck a cheerleader or whatever it is you were off to do before you barged into my room.”
“I was going to study, actually. This Econ class is really—”
I didn’t mean to snort out the laugh that came involuntarily from my chest, but I did, and it cut Zeke short. I glanced up with an arched brow and smile of amusement to find his expression hardening into stone.
“Sorry,” I said, though I was still laughing a little as I shook my head and pulled a small watercolor painting out of the box. “I thought that was a joke.”
He stood frozen in the corner of my room, and I looked up again just in time to see his jaw flex. Something in his eyes made mine soften, and I opened my mouth to actually apologize, but he was gone before I got the chance.
His door slammed so hard it shook the whole dorm, and I shuttered at the sound of it, blinking as my veins ran cold.
