Page 39 of Lucky Baller
“No.” I laugh. “She’s not a cleat chaser.”
“Good. Where did you meet her?”
“Through the new kicking coach. She’s best friends with his wife.” I go on to tell them about her wearing a Mavericks shirt to training camp.
“I like her already. When do we get to meet her?”
“Slow your roll, Momma Bear,” I tease. “I don’t know that you ever will.”
“Why on earth not?” she asks.
“She friend-zoned me.”
“Of course, she did,” Mom agrees, like it’s the most reasonable thing she’s heard in her life.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look, Landon, you’re my son, and I love you more than anything, but I’ve seen you in action. Everything comes easy toyou, even women. This one, I assume, isn’t, and you don’t know how to deal with that. You keep yourself closed off. I understand how hard it must be to know if someone is being genuine with your career, but, honey, how are you going to know unless you try?”
“I have tried. She keeps shooting me down.”
“Son,” Dad chimes in, “I think what your mother is trying to say is that you need to get to know her. For all the fear that you have of her taking you for a ride, or your bank account being her motivation, think about it from this girl’s perspective. From what you’ve told us, she’s not someone who has ever been in the spotlight. Having your attention has to be surreal to her.”
“Exactly. You have to take your time, nurture the relationship. She might want to be friends now, but I can bet that’s her way of protecting herself.”
“She doesn’t need protection from me,” I scoff.
“We know that,” Mom says soothingly. “But does she? Think about it, Landon. You’re a professional athlete. Seen in the tabloids with a new woman on your arm at every event, and you’re focusing your attention on her. I can only imagine she thinks this is a game to you.”
“What?”
“Landon, do you like this girl?”
“More than I should,” I grumble, and they both laugh.Traitors.
“Then nurture the relationship. Be her friend. Show her you’re not the guy to hop from bed to bed. At least you better not be.”
“Honey,” Dad admonishes Mom. “He’s a grown man.”
“And I can still take him over my knee. All six foot four inches of him,” she counters.
“Anyway,” Dad moves on. “Your mother’s right. You have to show her that you’re not that guy. You have to show her that her heart is safe with yours.”
“What if that’s not what I want?”
“Then that’s something you’ll be able to figure out as you get to know her. You’re either going to not be able to stop thinking about her, or she’s going to become a friend that you value. Either way, it sounds like she’s a good person, and you win.”
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” I admit, and Mom squeals.
I groan, knowing I’ve opened a huge can of worms. Mom has been asking me when I’m going to settle down for years, and now that she has the hint that I might be thinking about it, she’s never going to leave me alone about it.
“Take the time to figure it out, but, son, you can tell her all day long. You have to show her,” Dad advises.
“Thanks. I need to go. I’ll talk to you all soon.”
“We’ll be there for the season opener,” Dad assures me.
“Love you,” I tell them.
