Page 13 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
Wyatt nods in understanding. Luckily for me, he knew that photo was bullshit from the minute it came out on the internet. Apparently, he was one of the loudest advocates for me to our coaches and gave a full description of what actually happened.
Yet again, Wyatt coming to my rescue. I guess the least I can do is sing some Dolly and Kenny.
“I understand,” Wyatt says. “Did Katie ever figure out how that photo got out?”
“She has no idea,” I say as I make my way back to my room. “I’m just glad it blew over as quick as it did.”
The hospital visit I did earlier this week helped a ton in that department. The photos that Katie took and posted on my social media, along with the others that families posted on their own, made any headline of the not-fight fade away. I also jumped on a few podcasts and radio interviews where I talked about the season, wanting to repeat what I, and in turn the Fury, did last season, and when they asked me about troubles from my past, I made sure to say that those days were far behind me.
And I mean that.
For my entire football career, I’ve been this guy with nine lives. I’ve survived suspensions and punishments. Not being drafted and living off of practice squads. Every time I think I’ve had my break, I do something stupid to ruin it. I might not be the guy who graduated at the top of his class, but even I know I can’t have that many lives left.
Which is why I know I can’t fuck this up with the Fury. Brad is still injured, so I’m walking into the season as the starting tight end. But he’s on the mend and is set to come back sometime during the year. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when their ten-million-dollar-a-year player comes back, but I do know that if I’m playing my best ball, it’s going to be hard to bench me. And even if they do decide to go with Brad, if I put together goodenough film and make myself an asset on offense, then another team will sign me.
But that’s only if I put the bad decisions of my past behind me.
Which is why tonight I have to make sure that I can have fun with no trouble. No bad decisions. Minimal drinks. Certainly no women. I don’t have time—or spare lives—to have distractions leading me down paths I don’t know if I can navigate. I want to say that I’m at a point in my life when I can make good decisions and stay on the right path, but I also know I’ve said that before and failed miserably.
I can’t fuck this up. I have too much riding on this season.
And I have a feeling I’m on my last life.
guide to love rule #92
Be careful what you manifest. Sometimes it can be a winning lottery ticket. Sometimes it’s your horrible ex.
5
ainsley
Dear world,what did I do to tick you off?
All I wanted was a night out with my bestie. When Mia and I made plans, it was because we had the same night off for the first time in months, with a corresponding day off tomorrow to recover. I might not drink, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to sleep in after a late night out.
But as the week’s gone on, and the more into my “Ainsley is super-duper single” depression that I’ve got, the more I was looking forward to this. I don’t know if it was the talk with my siblings, or the still-unanswered text I received from Jonathan, but it felt like every day the cloud above me got bigger and bigger.
Which is why I wanted a nice, quiet night out with my best friend where I could enjoy her company, forget about that I’m extremely single, have no prospects, that my ex texted me, and the most action I’ve gotten from a man in a really long time is when I ran into a football player this week.
Is that too much to ask for?
Apparently that answer is yes. Because we’re sitting at my favorite bar, and everywhere I look, I’m smacked across the face in my aloneness. Couples as far as the eye can see. Bacheloretteparties in droves—even more than the usual for a Nashville Friday night in August. Even my favorite bartender is now sporting a wedding ring.
Sometimes I wish I did drink, because I don’t think the song “Crying in the Club” meant crying into your club soda.
“Okay, what gives?”
I pick my eyes up from my sad mocktail and look to Mia. ”What do you mean?”
The look she shoots me clearly says that she’s not buying my fake confusion. “We’ve been here for a half-hour, and you haven’t smiled once. That in itself is very un-Ainsley-like.”
I start to defend myself, but she holds a finger in the air, signaling that she isn’t done. “Now, if it was just that, I wouldn’t be panicking. But you’ve barely said two words. The ones youhavesaid were asking about me and giving me one-word answers when I ask you anything in return. And while I love that you’re the best listener I know, tonight I feel like you’re purposefully not talking.”
She knows me too well.
“So,” she continues. “You’re going to tell me what has my best friend in the biggest funk I’ve ever seen her in, or I’m going to go into great detail about Cleopatra’s sister and her role with?—”
“Please no!” I moan. I love Mia, but I really don’t understand her fascination with this portion of history. “You wouldn’t.”
