Before I can formulate a response, Becca’s given him an open invitation to return. “You’re welcome anytime.”
I’ve got to give Reid credit; he seems to be taking Becca’s antics in stride. This sort of thing probably happens to him all the time, because he just shakes his head and gives a half-smile. Then he moves to let himself out and I follow.
So I can lock the door, not because I’m checking out his ass. Obviously.
He turns and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll see you at practice.”
“Sure. Practice.” Okay. This isn’t awkward at all. Are we just going to act like the kiss was no big deal? Or maybe he was so drunk he doesn’t remember it? But no, he wasn’t drunk. Pretending he was would be an easy excuse, a way to explain our actions, but it would be bullshit and I’m not in the habit of lying to myself.
He rakes a hand through his hair, and for a second I think he’s going to bring up the kiss, but he just says, “Until tomorrow then.”
“Until tomorrow,” I echo as he turns to go.
Maybe I’m overthinking it. Ithasbeen a while since I’ve been with a guy and itwasjust a kiss. A super-hot, panty-melting kiss, but a kiss just the same. Hell, I should be glad he doesn’t want to talk it out. It just proves we’re on the same page, that it was a onetime thing, right?
21
AUSTIN
I resetthe game tape and settle in to watch the footage of last week’s Pitt game. I’ve already watched it twice, and most of the guys have called it a day, but Pitt beat us last year. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let it happen again. They aren’t even in our conference.
I press play and the players on the screen leap into motion. It’ll be a tough game and Coach has reminded me every damn day that there will be scouts present, like I could possibly forget. I just need to get my head in a good place. Half the game is mental, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier, and I’ll be useless to the team if I can’t learn from last year’s mistakes.
I’m watching Pitt execute a perfect zone blitz when the door clangs shut. I turn in my seat and spot Carter at the back of the dark auditorium.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, wringing her hands in a very un-Carter-like gesture. “I thought Coach might be in here watching game tape.”
“I’m the only one left.” I point the remote at the projector and pause the film. “Coach took off a while ago and most of the guys were right behind him.”
“But not you?” She tucks her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and walks down the aisle, still looking unsure of herself, which makes no sense since she’s been killing it on the field and at practice. A fact I only know because I check in with the other kickers regularly.
“Nah, I’ve got to be sharp for Saturday’s game. I can’t afford to make mistakes against Pitt. Not unless we want a repeat of last year.”
Carter stops a few seats away and drops down into one of the empty chairs. “What about the rest of the team? I don’t see them in here watching endless hours of game tape.”
I shrug and tap my pencil on the desktop. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since the kiss two weeks ago and even now, three seats away, I can feel Carter’s pull. The urge to drag her onto my lap and show her what she does to me is nearly impossible to ignore.
It’s fucking distracting.
“Yeah, well, they’re not the offspring of the great Derrick Reid. Every move I make is news and every misstep is analyzed to death. I can’t afford to make mistakes.”
She laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “Sounds exhausting.”
“You have no idea.” My phone’s been blowing up this week with jersey chasers who want to party, but all I can think about is Carter. She’s the only distraction I’ve allowed myself and the one distraction I can’t afford. And not just because Coach forbade it. “The last thing I want to do is let my father, or the fans, down. Everyone thinks being a football legacy is a gift, but the reality is there’s a lot of pressure to be as good as my old man. Otherwise, I’m nothing but a failure.”
Carter’s brows flatten and a tiny wrinkle forms in the crease between them. “I guess I never thought of it that way before.”
I stretch my legs, trying to look unaffected by her empathy. I refuse to think of it as sympathy because I do not need Carter feeling bad for me. And why the fuck am I telling her these things anyway? Sure, I think them all the time, but I’ve never voiced them aloud. Certainly not to my teammates. Still, I can’t seem to shut the hell up. “You know that old saying, walk a mile in someone else’s shoes?”
A smile tugs at her lips. “My mom used to say it all the time when I was a kid, usually when she thought I was being ungrateful.”
“Let’s just say it never sounded like a bad thing to me. Hell, I would’ve given anything to walk in someone else’s shoes as a kid.” She tilts her head as if she’s trying to put it all together and I realize I’m fucking it up. Maybe this is why I’ve never been stupid enough to voice my thoughts aloud. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the game, but it always comes first in my family. I used to be jealous of kids whose lives weren’t defined by football.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll bet every kid on your team wished they had your life. After all, who wouldn’t want an NFL star for a father, right?” Carter laughs, but it rings hollow, and I can’t help but think we aren’t talking about me anymore.
“You.” I’m not sure exactly what she’s trying to tell me, but everything I know about her tells me it’s true.
She shrugs. “You got me. My dad was a football player. I’ll see your future Hall of Famer and raise you a washout.” There’s a note of sadness in her voice. It strikes me like a late hit. I want to move closer, take her hand in mine, but I’m frozen in my seat. This…baring of souls is the closest we’ve ever come to a real conversation, and I don’t want to upset the delicate balance. She gives me a wry smile and I give silent thanks for the dim lighting. Our secrets aren’t the kind you share in the light of day. “And my dad? He was the worst kind of washout. The kind that couldn’t accept it and spent his best years chasing a life that wasn’t meant to be.”
