Especially when my sister informs me of where Nadine has been spending so much time.
“An hour every day,” she signs in between bites of breakfast. “She said this guy has been helping her.”
“What do you mean a guy has been helping her for an hour at the gym every day?”
She pauses with the spoon of her Fruity Pebbles halfway to her mouth and stares at me like I have two heads.
“What did she say about him?” I sign, and my sister pops the cereal into her mouth, shrugging.
“Not much.” And then a moment later, she gasps and signs, “Oh my god! You like her! You like Nadine.”
“I do not.” I huff.
“Then why are you being weird?”
“Because I don’t want anyone harassing her.”
“He’s not harassing her,” Paisley signs. “It seems like she likes him.”
“Likes him?”Likelikes him?
At the realization that I’ve turned into a middle-schooler, I push my breakfast potatoes and slice of quiche away. It’s my favorite, packed with turkey sausage, cheese, and veggies, but I’ve lost my appetite for the chef-made breakfast.
“What about Valerie?” Paisley asks, and I sink back against my chair.
“What about her?”
“Are you still with her?”
I scroll idly through my cell phone, finding the last text messages exchanged with her.Nice gamewith an attached photo of her tits. She loves when we win. She loves being on the arm of a winner.
I didn’t use to mind.
Never really cared about having a relationship with much more substance beyond the image. It’s not above me to admit I liked the status of dating a model. I think any twelve-year-old boy who has wet dreams of his favorite model or actress would take advantage of the position I’m currently in. She was in the right place and right time for me.
And I highly doubt Valerie thinks of me any different.
She likes going to games, when the camera pans to her for thejumbotron. She enjoys posting photos of us on her social media. My notoriety brings her more fame and paychecks with every job booked. She went from being a voluptuous runway model before we were dating to a voluptuous actress in cheap thrillers who runs around in white tops with no bra, tits bouncing all over the screen. IfBaywatchwere still a thing, she would have been great in it.
But I’m not really interested in the facade anymore and didn’t respond to her messages, aside fromThanks.
Because I have a not-nanny nanny falling asleep on my couch and making friends with some guy in the gym.
“Are you almost done?” I sign to Paisley. “We’re going to be late.”
“You’re grouchy in the morning,” she signs back then slurps down the milk from her bowl.
I don’t have many days that I’m able to take her to school, but our Fridays before home games start late, so Nadine has the mornings off.
My sister finishes up her breakfast and grabs her things before we head to the parking garage. It’s not until we’re walking to the car that I sign, “What time does she usually go to the gym?”
Paisley rolls her eyes with a snicker. “The afternoons, I think.”
Great. Might make sure to be home in time to check it out.
After a focus on special teams and a quick team meeting, I skip out on the late lunch most of the players are taking in the cafeteria and practically sprint out of the complex.
By the time I storm into the condo’s gym, my pulse is hammering and my gaze immediately homes in on where some blond asshole has one hand on Nadine’s back and the other on her hip as she does reverse flys. He smiles as if it’s no big deal. As if there is nothing wrong with touching her like that. As if it’s totally appropriate to be “training” her alone, so no one couldintervene if his hands continued to find other places on her body.
