Page 128 of Tight End

She tapped her beer glass against mine. “You’d better.”

We both took a long sip while smiling.

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “Now that the craziness of the Super Bowl is over, and I had some time to think by myself, I wanted to apologize to you.”

I frowned. “For what?”

“Your career is extremely important,” she said. “And it has a level of pressure and stress that I can’t even fathom. Back at the beginning of the playoffs, I was prioritizing my own career over yours. Over you, too. I can see why you wanted to be with me without any other bullshit, and—”

I waved a hand to cut her off. “Stop. Don’t ever apologize for caring about your career.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, but nothing. That’s part of why I love you, Foxy. You know what you care about, and you won’t back down from it. You’re smart as a whip. And driven. Hell, by the time I retire you’ll probably be running the Paleontology Department.”

She pursed her lips. “You sure?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m sure. I want a woman who has her own aspirations and goals and life. I’m proud of you, Taylor, and I want to keep being proud of you. I don’t want a trophy girlfriend who stands around lookin’ pretty. Though you’re real good at that, too.”

Taylor cocked her head as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re something special, Brody Carter.”

“Oh, I know,” I said with a grin. “Always have been.”

“Modest, too.”

“Hey,” I said. “You’ve got to be a little cocky in my position.”

The waitress arrived and put a plate of cheese fries in front of us. When she was gone, Taylor said, “Speaking of cocky, I was watching replays of your performance in the Super Bowl.”

“Better than porn, right?” I joked.

She rolled her eyes. “I noticed you didn’t do any big celebrations after your touchdowns. You spiked the ball, or handed it off to a ref, but you never did anything more.”

I shrugged and picked at a glob of cheese fries. “Been thinkin’ about getting on your pop’s good side. Don’t want him thinking of me as a cocky Texas boy.” Before she could comment on that, I pointed at her and added, “Speaking of that, my parents are itching to meet you.”

Her eyes widened. “Are they?!?!”

“Yes ma’am. I might have talked you up the whole week I was there.”

“You didn’t build up their expectations too much, did you?” she asked.

“What can I say? I kind of like you and stuff.”

Taylor chewed on a French fry while thinking that over. “How about when the semester is over? Early June.”

“You’re willing to visit Texas in June? You must really love me.”

“I don’t know about love,” she said, “but I do kind of like you and stuff, too.”

“What about spring break?” I suggested.

“That’s in two weeks.” She took a pull from her beer. “I don’t have any plans. Although I spent this afternoon daydreaming about spending spring break in bed with you, only leaving to take long baths together and to eat.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” I declared. “My parents can meet you in ten years.”

She giggled. “Assuming you still want to be with me in ten years.”

“I was underselling it,” I replied. “The real number is more like fifty years.”

---