“The football team,” he finished for me.
I twisted my mouth to the side, now realizing how bad that sounded. “Damn, you’re right. I am pretty judgmental.”
“Hey, I’m not offended,” he assured with a shrug. I gave him a look that asked if he was sure. Some part of me knew it’d take a lot to offend Dakota. He was the human equivalent of a river, constantly moving around bends without time to slow down for any rock or curve in its way.
“That’s the cliche, right? Football players are all brawn. I played into that for a while until my senior year of high school. I needed to make sure my grades matched my skills on the field. A full-ride was a must and kind of unheard of where I come from,” he explained.
I joined him on the couch again. “Where are you from?”
“Small town in the middle of nowhere.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Also known as Mason, Kentucky. Known for corn crops and tipping cows on weekends.”
“Does that mean you grew up on a farm?” I wondered, interested in getting an explanation of his love of growing things.
I could imagine him on a farm. Grass-stained jeans and button-up plaid and early mornings. His arms leaned out of a pick-up truck as he made runs into town. In my imaginings, I envisioned myself sitting beside him in the truck. Taking photos of him trying to hide his smile behind his large hands. The fantasy made me long for something that would never happen.
Dakota chuckled at my question. “No. God, I wish.”
My fantasy washed away as soon as it came, replaced with the reality of us sitting in my living room, trying to move past being just friends.
“I grew up in a trailer park not far from a few farms. Sometimes during the summer, I would help out on a dairy farm a mile up the street. Hated Mason, but to this day, I would go back to being in a place with little to no noise pollution.”
“Is that part of your plan post-grad? Getting a farm?” I folded my legs underneath me and readjusted my shirt, making sure my breasts weren’t spilling out on the top. Smaller tops were cute but took some extra attention. They also tended to garner extra attention, which was definitely what I wanted tonight. Dakota seemed to be willing to give it, eyes flickering to my chest for the briefest of moments. He continued the conversation without faltering, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke.
“I wish. But hopefully, it’s the pro league for me,” he said. “I’m already talking to an agent and things are looking pretty good.”
“That sounds great.” I perked up. “Do you have an idea of what team you’d want to go to? I know the drafting process doesn’t always allow you to choose but doesn’t hurt to manifest it.”
He laughed but the noise didn’t sound like it usually did. “Honest? I’ll be fine with whoever will take me. Football and I don’t have the best relationship right now. Never have if I’m being honest. But we don’t choose our blessing. That’s what my grandma used to call my “gift” for running.”
He repositioned his arm and turned his body so that he faced me with one of his legs resting on the small space beside us.
“You don’t like playing?” I frowned and pulled a pillow in my lap to hug to my chest.
“Playing’s fine.” He gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “I like the team we’ve built here. I trust the guys. Your dad’s been great this year. Everything’s great.”
“But?” I smiled when he grinned at my inability to let sleeping dogs lie.
“But, my heart’s not in it. Neither is my head.”
“I know it’s a lot, but maybe you should consider quitting? After school, you won’t need to work hard for a scholarship. You’ll have a degree and—”
“No, quitting is not an option,” he said with a firm voice. “I need the money. Getting a pro league’s salary would be ten times better than any entry-level job.”
“True. But it sounds like it’d make you unhappy.”
“Doesn’t matter.” The statement was spoken so flippantly that I felt my heart sink a little.
“Doesn’t it though? If it makes you unhappy…”
“You know that feeling you get when you’re behind the camera?” he asked. “Or editing? You get into the flow and things feel like they’re second nature. Almost as if you could do the work with your eyes closed?”
“Yeah. The zone. Feels like floating in a place made for me.”
“When I focus on that feeling, that’s where I go. I can block out everything that’s ever happened and pretend like nothing else but the field and ball exists. I might hate the training and pressure but playing levels things out. It’s a decent escape.”
“What are you trying to escape?”
Dakota was open with everyone about everything. He was the guy who’d sit next to you on your first day at a new school. So that’s why I didn’t think my question would be avoided.
