Page 6 of Hard to Score

I’m impressed with his response.

Even more so with his dedication.

“Are the Raptors too cheap to turn the lights on for you?”

He laughs. “No, I don’t want them on. Lights mean people look and I don’t want people to look.”

“Why not?” It’s a legitimate question, but perhaps I’m a little overzealous in the way I say it, because Drew’s head jostles at the words. “From what I just saw you’re every bit as good as Justin is. In fact, I’d put my money on your accuracy percentage being higher. I don’t know your other stats but I’m not exactly sure why you’re complacent with sitting second string here when you could be starting with so many other teams.”

“Humph.” It’s all Drew says as he rises from his seat and gives a sharp shake of his head. “That’s the same question I’ve asked myself for years. Wonder why that could be?” Sarcasm laces his tone and every part of me stills at the words.

“Do you really think it’s because . . .”

“I’ve been contracted in the NFL for seven years, four of which have been with the Raptors. I find it interesting that numerous people have said the same thing you just did—that I’m good enough to be a starting quarterback—and yet backup is all I’ve ever been.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Don’t try to. The mental gymnastics is exhausting, and you never reach a definitive answer.” He looks over to the person helping him. “You good, Steve?”

“Yeah. We should be set to go again in a few minutes,” Steve says.

“’Kay.” Drew turns back to face me. “It was good to see you again, Brex, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Yes. Sure. I . . . it’s great to see you too.” We stand a few feet apart, eyes locked, with a sudden unease taking hold. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought you were Just—”

“Justin Hobbs. Yeah, I figured that’s who you thought I was.” There’s a trace of annoyance in his voice as he pulls his helmet back on. “For the record, Justin never puts extra time in. If you’re here to recruit him then you should know that.”

“Who said I’m recruiting him?” I ask, suddenly wondering why I haven’t set my sights on Drew.

“Everyone.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks for the tip,” I say and take a few steps back, hesitant, almost as if I don’t want this conversation to end—despite its sudden awkwardness. I feel like there are so many things I want to say, and yet, I haven’t seen this man for almost ten years. In fact, the last time I did, he was wearing board shorts with floppy surfer-style hair and I was watching him from afar, wishing he’d notice me as someone other than a family friend’s daughter.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he says and then jogs back onto the darkened field without another word.

I stand and stare after him for a moment, stuck in the weirdest feeling of indecision. Wondering how a conversation that started out so playful and fun ended up giving me a sour taste in my mouth.

“Well . . . okay then,” I mutter to myself as I kick an imaginary rock with the toe of my shoe and head off the field the way I entered.

As an agent, I know better than to annoy a player when he is practicing. I do. Then why is it so damn hard to make my feet move one in front of another and walk away from him?

I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, turn my key in the ignition, sit there, and stare at the darkened lights towering over the practice field where Drew is.

Maybe I lost track of him on purpose. Surely we’ve crossed paths before at some point considering we work in the same industry. Of course, there are thousands of athletes and agents, but perhaps us missing each other wasn’t just a coincidence.

Maybe just like his life had been turned upside down when the shitstorm surrounding his dad happened, mine did too when my mom died two weeks later. Did he feel the same way? Like a part of his life—his innocence—was over, and everything he’d known as normal had changed? Was it easier for him to walk away and never look back?

Then again, maybe he’d already broken my heart way back when without ever knowing it, and therefore I avoided thinking about him, my first unrequited love.

One thing is for sure . . . the teenage boy I used to have a massive crush on ended up growing into an incredibly handsome man.

A man who seemingly doesn’t care about time lost.

And yet, there’s me, the woman who can’t stop thinking about him as I drive street after street on my way home.

CHAPTER TWO

DREW