“What if I’m starting to want it?” I ask quietly.
Her head whips in my direction, and I see brake lights in front of us, so I gesture toward the cars. She slams on the brakes.
I blow out a breath.
“What the hell are you saying?” she asks.
I don’t know what I’m saying. “Never mind,” I grunt.
We sit in silence the rest of the way back to our building. We take the elevator up together with no further words exchanged, and we disappear into our separate condos without so much as a goodnight.
Morning dawns, and her car is still in the parking garage when I take off for the Complex, and I feel conflicted as to whether I actually wanted to run into her this morning or not.
Once we board, she sits with the team staff up front, and I can’t see her from where I am toward the middle of the plane. I sit beside Brandon Fletcher, who will be starting thegame tomorrow, and he makes small talk as I grunt replies and try to get a view of the gorgeous woman sitting up front.
When we land, we’re taken by bus to the team hotel, and it’s after we’ve gotten our room assignments and most of my teammates have started to disperse toward their rooms that I ask Coach Nash for a special favor.
“I know this is a bit unorthodox, but since I’m not taking the field, I wanted to ask if I could take the time between practice and dinner to run an errand.”
His brows dip together. “What sort of errand?”
I clear my throat. “My mother lives about five miles from here, and I’d like to pay her a visit.”
His eyes soften a little. He knows nothing of my situation with my mother, but what I know of him is that he’s a family man and he’s very close with his own mother. “Of course, Mav. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you.”
Everleigh is waiting for me near the elevators after I finish my conversation with Coach. “What was that about?” she asks as she pushes the button for the elevator to head up.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
She narrows her eyes at me, but she lets it go. “I’d like to touch base with you after practice.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” she asks, indignant.
“I have things to take care of. I’ll be back for dinner. We can talk then.”
“I want you to eat with the team. We’ll meet after dinner,” she says.
“Fine.” I sigh as we step onto the elevator together, and she pushes the button for the eighth floor. “What floor?” she asks.
I glance at the envelope holding my key that has814scrawled on it. “Eight.”
She glances at my envelope. “I’m 816. Looks like we’re neighbors.”
Can’t escape her at home. Why would on the road be any different?
I don’t make that comment aloud, but the truth is that tonight I’ll be going to bed thinking about how her headboard is against the same wall mine is. I’ll be thinking about how she’s just on the other side of the wall in that tight gray tank top that I shoved up to her neck and those tiny black shorts I pushed to the side as I sank my fingers into her hot, wet cunt.
Great. Just exactly what I want to be thinking about when my only option is to push away what I’m feeling and bury it down good and deep, never to feel or speak of it again.
We enter our separate rooms right beside one another, and I call my mother’s facility to let them know I’ll be visiting in a few hours.
I attend practice in my street clothes and watch from the sidelines as I stand beside Coach Richards, the quarterbacks coach. We confer on a few of the plays, and he seems to admire my play-calling abilities. I guess that’s something, anyway, to hold onto for the future.
Could I work with quarterbacks when my playing days are over?
