Page 3 of (La)Crosse My Heart

Then again, he was leaning on me way more than the other way around.

“Okay, if you’ll send me any of the contact information for the team you have, I’ll get to work on making appointments and go from there.”

“Perfect. Thank you so much, Jessa. And just a note of warning. We frown on relationships with our clients, so please keep things strictly professional.”

I try to keep my expression neutral, wondering why she would even mention that when we’ve only talked three or four times.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I say, grinning.

Me falling for Clark? That’s laughable.

Daphne nods. “Perfect. I’ll get that information emailed over to you. Good luck.”

We end the call, and I immediately slouch. My mother would be furious if she saw me, but this is something I didn’t see coming.

Am I a little bummed I’m not working with a hockey or basketball star? Maybe. This will just have to be a step to get to those bigger clients.

I’m a professional. How hard could it be to work with my brother’s best friend?

2

Clark

Ifind my bag from the baggage carousel at the airport, grateful it’s one of the first ones out. All I want is a shower and a good long nap. I’m exhausted after my early flight from Chicago. Maybe it’s more than the flight that’s causing me to wish I could sleep for the next seventy-two hours.

As excited as I was to find out I’ll be receiving endorsements from a few lacrosse gear companies, some of that waned when I realized I’m not the best actor in the world. Actually, a dried sponge has more personality than I do when a camera is in my face.

I knew it was a possibility, but spending an entire weekend to not be finished with the media kit they wanted is humbling. Not finishing even one section of it is demoralizing.

Lacrosse players don’t make the money football or baseball players do, but we’re slowly clawing our way up in the world of professional sports. For the past three years of my professional career, I’ve been a firefighter during the off-season. It’s weird to think I might not have to go back in the fall.

But a miracle will have to happen to fulfill my end of the bargain.

I feel like instead of making improvements with each take, I only got worse when the camera turned on. I’m an athlete, not an actor.

I came out of the dressing room at one point and heard one director say, “He might be a pretty face, but he won’t sell anything with that attitude.”

I didn’t think I had an attitude. And it wasn’t like I didn’t try to take instruction. I’m an athlete, so most of my life has been listening to a coach or a mentor. The only way to get better is to try new things.

They wanted me to stick around for another few days, but practice starts this afternoon. I’m not missing that if I can help it. My years are numbered playing this intense sport, and I want to soak up every opportunity while I still can.

Which means I need to go to therapy or something to help with my nerves.

Maybe I don’t look approachable when I’m just hanging out, but that’s not the worst thing in the world, right? So, I’m supposed to fly out again before games begin. I guess I should learn a few pointers on how to be a better spokesperson.

At least I’m home.

Well, it’s kind of home. Right now it’s got more space on the inside than most homeowners, but I’m still kind of a college kid at heart. No, I haven’t pulled a recliner from a dumpster to use daily, but I’m trying to wait until I’ve got a little more in my bank account to get a few nicer items.

The house is my first big purchase, one that only slightly makes me feel like an adult. But it’s better than throwing away money on a rental and I’ve got a few of my teammates helping with the costs. Did I think I’d be a landlord by the time I was twenty-five? No, and while it sounds cool, we’ve had to have theplumbers come out twice since we moved in six months ago. I might need to get toilets that can handle a bunch of men who are barely out of the teenage years.

The rideshare driver drops me off in front of my house just as the sun peeks over the mountains to the east of my house. As much as I love the east coast, where I grew up, there are so many advantages to living here. This place is beautiful.

I take a moment to breathe and then glance around. Nora, our ninety-one-year-old neighbor, is already outside with her walker, bent over her flower garden. I’d love to get some sleep before practice, but I’d rather keep Nora out of the hospital for as long as possible. She’s like my adopted grandmother.

“What do you have there?” I say, setting my bags on the front porch and walking over to her.

She must not’ve heard me because she startles when she turns to see me a foot away.

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