I silently wonder what it feels like to really love someone in this world and for them to love you. I’d give anything to know that feeling.
I linger on Rosita’s shoulder for a second longer before dragging my long legs into a standing position. One of the only things my biological parents gave me was the gift of height. I stand six feet tall, and yeah, some of the time I feel like a model, but mostly I feel like an absolute oaf.
“Honestly, maybe that girl at the bridal salon was right. I need shoes that shrink me.”
“Shoes that shrink you?” Rosita wrinkles her nose. “You mean flats.”
“No. Flats are too high. I mean shoes that actually make me shorter. Maybe ones with concave bottoms or something. You know, where they sink into the ground.”
Rosita snorts with laughter. “All because Joel said you made him feel small? There are no shoes that shrink you.”
“So what’s my solution?”
“You need a man who’s on your level, honey. That’s why you and Joel didn’t work out. He wasn’t the one.”
I make a face. “My experience with Joel was a clear sign that some people are meant to live alone. I’m twenty-seven, and I haven’t come close to finding a Mr. Right.”
Rosita stands up and faces me. “Just remember, honey, it only takes one good man to erase a lifetime of bad ones. And you never know where you’ll find him, sometimes in the most unlikely of moments…”
“I made my first and last attempt at a commitment when I stupidly got engaged to Joel,” I say to her firmly. “I thought I could be like other people. You know, normal people who marry and have families. But now I know I was right all along. Some people are just meant to be alone. So a fling in Arizona? Possibly. The real thing? Not in a million years.”
She tsks at me. “Are you afraid, honey?”
“While I appreciate your concern, I assure you I’m okay.” I turn and usher her into the hallway. “Make sure to text me every day about the kitties. I’ll miss you, and I’ll see you when I get back. ALONE. Bye!”
I go into my bedroom, throw the rest of my clothes into the suitcase, and sit on top of it to get it to shut. With all of the sculpting clay I have in there, there’s not much room left for apparel.
I hear honking. Knowing it’s the cab, I grab my suitcase and go to leave, calling out goodbye to Bessie and Balaster as I go. As soon as I reach the door, though, I turn back. I run into the bedroom and, for reasons inexplicable to me, I grab an unopened box of condoms from my bedside table drawer. Just in case a small miracle happens in Tucson, Arizona this week.
As I walk out to the cab, the wind blows so strongly it knocks the cab driver’s hat off.
“Winds of change, maybe, huh?” he mutters as he grabs it back off the ground.
Doubtful. I climb into the car and take a romance novel from my purse. If I can’t fall in love, I might as well read about it.
* * *
Dylan
My alarm goes off too early as usual. I roll over and look at the time.
Then I remember—football season is over.
For the next few months, I don’t have to jump out of bed and try to beat the Los Angeles traffic to make it to practice on time. I don’t have to come home and eat enough food for three men in order to keep up my strength. I don’t have to let the hot shower pound over my body that’s so sore from taking a beating in Sunday’s game. Or Thursday’s game. Or a hard full pads practice. Until training sessions start up again, I can do whatever the hell I want.
I lie on my back with my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling. The thing is—what I want to do is football. It’s always been football. I’ve loved the sport since I was a kid messing around with my four cousins, plus Jenson—my best friends—who’ve been there for me through all the ups and downs of going from a “regular” guy to a celebrity. Comes with the territory of winning a championship and being named MVP. And I’m beyond lucky that one of those cousins is my teammate, so we’ve been able to take this crazy ride together.
My cousins are my touchstones. When the world of media and fame tries to poison me with alternating adulation and criticism, Cam, Brayden, Colton, and Ayden remind me of what really matters. And Jenson may not be a cousin, but he’s at every party, every get-together. Anything that matters, Jenson’s there. He and Colton met as kids at football camp, and he grew up with us, too.
But other than them, I’m kind of flying solo. I always thought by twenty-eight I’d be with someone, a woman to share my home—and life—with. But any woman I bring into my life will be entering a fishbowl. I can’t protect her against every false tabloid rumor, rude reporter, or rabid fan. So I’ve stopped looking for anything real. I hate set-ups and, whenever a teammate or worse, my agent, has tried to fix me up, the results have been disastrous. The few times I’ve met women on my own have been just as bad.
I’m starting to think it’s not possible to meet a woman who can handle all the bullshit that comes with my job and who genuinely likes me for who I am and not for the fame and money. Not anymore. Maybe before I won a championship. Maybe before I got that hundred million dollar contract. But now the people who recognize me nearly outnumber the ones who don’t, and I no longer know who to trust.
I reach over to my bedside table and turn on my cell. It rings immediately.
“Hi, Tim. I’m up.”
“Dylan, the plane leaves at nine-thirty sharp.” My agent’s nasally voice comes through the receiver loudly. “I’m going to try to set up an interview for you while you’re in Tucson. If I get it, I’ll fly in and meet you at the hotel.”
