Page 41 of Mad Rivals
He freezes at my words, and then he blinks as his brows dip close together as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe he does, but maybe he really doesn’t. I’m still trying to gain my bearings around him and figure out whether or not he’s trustworthy.
“Kinda makes you wonder what secrets he’s keeping,” I say absently, but I can tell Madden’s wheels are turning now.
His jaw continues working back and forth as he stares into his beer bottle, and then he seems to snap out of it. “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Well, I gave up the farm on my secrets about not really being sure if I want to run the family business. You go.” I nod at him and punctuate my sentence with a sip of my drink.
He chuckles. “I’m thirty-five. I was traded in the last year of my contract from a place I loved and didn’t want to leave.” He shrugs. “If I don’t have a stellar season, I’m basically fucked. And there are already several receivers on San Diego who can outrun me. I never asked to run the company when I retire, but it’s always been my father’s plan for me.”
“What doyouwant?” I ask.
When he tilts his head as his eyes meet mine, I get the sense that nobody has ever asked him that before.
“I don’t really know. I guess I never had to think about it because this was always the plan. I majored in constructionmanagement at Purdue and played football, and I guess I’m just biding time to fulfill a destiny that was always meant to be mine.”
“Isn’t that poetic?” I tease, but the truth is I hear the melancholy in his tone. “What about a family?” I ask, and I’d never get so personal with a business associate if it weren’t for the vodka.
He lifts a shoulder. “Honestly, it’s just another thing I pushed off until I was done playing. I guess I’ll have a lot of decisions to make in the next few years.”
“Is there anyone you’d, um…you know. Start a family with?”
His eyes move back to mine, and there’s some heat in there as he seems to contemplate his answer. I shift under his scrutiny. Maybe I’m imagining the heat. It’s only one interpretation. He could just as well be looking at me like I’m nuts for asking something so personal.
He surprises me by saying, “No. I’ve done a pretty good job of setting my personal life aside to focus on football.”
“So you’ve never been in a serious relationship?” I ask, surprised both because he appears to be a pretty damn nice catch and because it’s one more thing we share in common.
“How can I be when I’m committed to football?” he shoots back.
It’s a valid point, but it also seems like that commitment is starting to fade as he stares down what’s potentially his last year playing.
“What about you?” he asks.
I point to my own chest rather dumbly, and he nods encouragingly. “I’ve never really had anything serious, either. I don’t have football as an excuse. I just never found anything worth hanging onto.”
He flattens his lips for a beat, and he squints as he studies me. “Yeah, you look like one of those.”
My brows pinch tightly together. “One of what?” I ask defensively.
“One of those women who won’t settle for less than the best. The happily ever after with the perfect man who doesn’t exist leading her to her storybook ending.” He points his bottle at me. “Right?”
“Just because I haven’t had a serious relationship doesn’t mean I’m seeking perfection.” Does it? Maybe Clem and I will need to dissect that later.
I don’t know why I’m getting defensive. I guess Madden just brings that out in me.
He nods. “Okay.”
“You don’t believe me,” I say.
“And you don’t care what I believe.”
I tilt my head a little in agreement. “True.”
He chuckles, and I blow out a breath.
“I should get home,” I say. I don’t have a real need to, but I think we’ve probably shared enough secrets this evening.
I’m afraid if I stay longer—if Idrinkmuch longer—my lips will get even looser, and that’s probably something I can’t afford.
