“Gabe!”
Whipping my head around, I see a young woman, no older than 21, with fake blonde hair and fake tits. Oh, hell no.
“Gabe! Over here!” she yells.
Breaking from the team, I go over to her. I need to shut this down asap. She’s way too young for me.
“Miss?” I inquire politely.
“OMG, I’m Olivia,” the woman gushes. “You’re my favorite player!” she tells me, grasping my bicep.
I wince. I’m no longer a player. Also, I don’t want her touching me, as that seems way too intimate for someone I don’t know. “Well, I’m a manager now,” I tell her, stepping away from her reach.
“I know! I love it!” she cries, clapping her hands like a child.
“That’s great. I need to go. Take care now,” I tell her, walking away. I don’t even know what her age is and I don’t need to know. I don’t go for girls who are close to my daughter’s age.
“Wait! Can I get an autograph?”
I stop. Fuck, I just want to leave. “Sure.”
She steps up to me and flashes me her chest.
“Sorry, miss, I don’t sign skin,” I tell her, looking away. I don’t want to be labeled a total perv.
“Why not?” she pouts.
“I just don’t.”
“What about my shirt?”
“I can sign that. Turn around.”
She turns around, holding up a permanent marker. Taking it, I sign the back of her shirt quickly, then hand her back the marker. “Done. Now I need to go.”
I start to walk away, but she starts to follow me. You’ve got to be kidding me. Right before I get to the door of the hotel, she steps up beside me. “Invite me up,” she purrs, throwing her arm around me.
“No thanks,” I say, removing her arm from around my shoulders.
“You’re no fun! I just want a quick fuck,” she whines.
I stop in my tracks, turning around. “You need to leave. Now. Before I call security.”
She gasps. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“I would. Now please leave.”
She starts to get angry. “Why won’t you fuck me?” she hollers.
Fuck my life. “Leave now,” I seethe.
“But why?” she whines again.
“Listen up and listen hard. You’re way too young for me. I have a daughter that’s close to your age. I don’t date women who aren’t age appropriate. And you are not age appropriate.”
She’s crying fake tears, outraged she couldn’t bag her favorite player. I turn and walk away, hoping like hell she doesn’t follow me or whip out her phone. I enter the building and she stays outside. Thank fuck. I don’t want to deal with that shit tonight. I’m tired and it’s been a long day. I just want to get back to my room and relax. Alone.
Back in my hotel room, I rinse off quickly and slip into bed. Grabbing my phone, I check my kids’ social media pages and nothing seems off. Next order of business: texting Layla. I feel a little guilty that it’s already been three days since she left me her number. But I’ve played it over and over in my mind and I’ve finally convinced myself to text her. Finding her contact, I type out a text.
