Page 8 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

Dean and I met when he was a sophomore in college and a backup quarterback at our university, the University of Miami. I was a freshman and cared zero for his sports title, and only had hearts in my eyes for the boy. A boy with sandy-brown hair, sharp, focused eyes, and a dimple on one side that rarely popped out, but did every time he smiled. A boy who also played on my brother’s football team.

Lance wasn’t a fan. At the time, I thought it was because he didn’t want me with any of his teammates, but looking back, I realize now it wasn’t about that at all. It was about him, Dean. But I loved this boy. He was sweet, funny, kind of shy, and 100 percent mine.

As time passed, our relationship grew, but so did his career. He transferred schools in his senior year, won the prestigious Heisman Trophy, and was selected in the draft's first round. His terms with his current professional team are so extensive that he is one of the highest-paid players in the league ever.

But where does that leave me?

In the same place I’ve always been for the past eight years, cheering for him in the background.

Sure, there are plenty of pictures out there of us together, but for the most part, we agreed to keep our private life private, so there are no pictures of me on his social media pages. It’s not that I mind. I understand the photos are of his career, but they’re also supposed to be about your life, and I’m nowhere on it. Over the past year, I kept asking myself why. Is it that he doesn’t care about social media, like he says? Is it that he truly just wants it to be about him professionally? Or is it that at the end of the day, I’m no longer certain what I am to him?

I’ve never needed fame. I’ve never wanted any sort of media recognition. All I ever told Dean was that I needed him. But as the years have stretched on, I’ve realized that he doesn’t need me.

And that doesn’t feel good. At all.

When I think of love, I want the soulmate kind of crushing love. I have so much to give, but I want to receive it in return. I want a best friend, a confidant, and someone who shares not only their dreams but mine too.

But I digress. Back to the friend.

This friend, the one with the growing family, is not the only one. Year after year, not only have I watched so many others have their dreams come true but I’ve also attended weddings, been a bridesmaid, and even hosted a baby shower.

The question was always the same too. “When are you and Dean getting married?”

One I started asking myself, and unfortunately, I realized the truth a little too late. We probably never are.

We used to talk about having a family one day, but the older we’ve gotten, the more these conversations have slipped away. Even the condo where we live is not a place to raise children. It’s just a place close to the stadium for him and one convenient for his friends.

I used to drop hints or make loving comments to him while attending others’ weddings, but his hackles rose every time. He would call me irrational and tell me he didn’t appreciate me pressuring him, but how many years have to go by for someone to either commit or leave? The expression shit or get off the pot—that’s how this felt. I never needed all this time to know I wanted to spend my life with him, but it felt really bad knowing apparently he wasn’t as sure about me. Not in the way that I needed or had hoped for my life.

And that changes things.

So at twenty-six, while he was away at one of his offseason camps, I packed my things and headed to my parents’ house in Tennessee. It was at their house, and through many tears, I realized that we were over quite some time ago. I just didn’t get the memo. We had grown apart instead of together. We were complacent, and as the pieces of my future fell together, that just wasn’t good enough anymore.

Dean called when he got home from the camp. I’m pretty sure that he saw I had moved out, and not surprising, he didn’t ask me to come back. He didn’t fight for me, for us. Instead, he just said that he would miss me.

Eight years.

Gone.

Pretty much a third of my life.

I’d seen it with others. I just never thought it would happen to me. Football was Dean’s first love, his one true love, and everything else came second. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.

At that moment, I vowed never to date another athlete again.

Chapter 3

Tyler

The past two mornings, I’ve woken up to the smell of coffee floating through the house. I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker, but when I rounded the corner and found Lily standing in my kitchen in what I’m assuming are her pajamas, her very tiny pajamas that showed off her long legs, covered with freckles and smooth skin, my brain short-circuited when she asked if I wanted a cup and I said yes.

Not to be rude, I drank the coffee.

Both days.

Did I hope to avoid her? Yes, but damn if she isn’t an early riser too. Maybe it’s just a habit after being with an athlete for so long, or perhaps it’s just her. I have no idea.

We drank our coffee pretty much in silence, not looking at each other. I made eggs, offered her some, but she declined, and then once she was finished, she would pick up her laptop, wander to the couch, and flop down in my spot. I don’t know what she does on her laptop, but she seems pretty busy. Lance had once mentioned she worked for the Destroyers, but I don’t know what she does now.