I nod. “You’re the best assistant and friend I could ever ask for.”
She grins. “Back at you.”
She heads out, and I flip from looking for somewhere to live to somewhere to store my stuff while I’m in mystarting overera.
CHAPTER 3: Ford Bradley
A Little Cliché
I sip from my glass of whiskey as I glance around the bar. I turn thirty in a couple months, and the last time I had this much whiskey, it took me a couple days to recover.
I don’t have a couple days this time. In thirty-six hours, I need to be at the stadium warming up for a game.
It’ll be fine. I’ll sweat it out tomorrow. It might be a little painful, but life’s fucking painful, so I’ll get over it.
I should call Everleigh. I’m closest to her out of my six siblings, and I will. I’ll let her know about Tatum and Archer, and depending on how the conversation goes, I might even tell her what Tate slipped about Archer’s involvement with Dad. I’ll get to the bottom of it all eventually.
If the FBI doesn’t beat me to it.
I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s late, and I don’t need to ruin her Friday night with something I’m not super clear on as it is. Maybe I’ll talk to Tatum again before then so I can clarify a few things.
But tonight, as Cole said, isabout regrets.
I spot a perky blonde walking toward me, but let’s be honest. This part of Florida is filled with perky blondes. I could likely have my pick, but it’s not my style the way it is for my brother Dex—you know, before he went and fell in love. He was always the player of the Bradley boys. Liam might be a close second. Nobody knows where Archer falls on that list since he was with Tatum for so long, but I’d probably come next, and Madden last.
I wouldn’t characterize myself as a player, necessarily. More of a man who’s searching for something he hasn’t been able to find, but not for lack of trying. Not for lack of sampling. It’s the only way to find out if I’m compatible with someone, after all.
I guess it comes down to two things. One, I have this horrific fear that I’ll find someone and fall in love only to find out they’re just using me for my money, connections, or place on the field, that it was all a lie the whole time.
And two…none of them are Tatum.
That’s all I’m looking for tonight. A sample for me. A regret for her. How can it be anything else when my heart is stuck on a woman I can’t have?
“You’re Ford Bradley,” the woman says matter-of-factly when she slides into the small bit of space separating me from Cole, who’s on the barstool beside me.
“I am,” I agree. “You look familiar.”
She sticks out her hand. “Elena. I cheer for the Beasts.”
“Ah,” I say. It’s a little cliché, isn’t it? The football player and the cheerleader. I tend to avoid those sorts of entanglements, mainly because getting involved with a cheerleader is bad for the team. It leads to gossip and media attention—something I have enough of given that I hail from the Bradley clan. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s amazing to meet you,” she says. “I come here every week on Thursday and Friday.” She leans in a littleconspiratorially as she says it, like she’s letting me in on a secret. Only I don’t know exactly what she’s getting at.
Maybe she just drinks a lot.
“Why’s that?” I ask, taking the bait.
“I’ve heard this is where players hang out after practice.”
“And you were waiting for players to show up?” I guess.
She raises her brows. “Not players. Just one.”
“Me?” I guess, and she nods.
She doesn’t look away or seem at all embarrassed by that fact.
“Why?”
