Page 111 of Wildcat
“Yeah, okay.” I give him a look that tells him I know differently. He never thought it was a good idea, and I guess I get his point, but it isn’t like I chose to fall for her. It just happened. Nothing could have stopped me after that one night together.
“What the fuck do I know?” He shrugs. “This team is my whole life.”
Jack doesn’t date, at least not seriously. I never bothered to ask why. It always made sense to me before. The schedule, the travel, and everything else that comes with the job make it an easy excuse. But now I know that he just hasn’t met the right person. Or fuck, maybe he did and screwed it up like me. Our job might make dating tricky, but we’re playmakers. We know how to make things work if we really want to.
I stew with that thought the entire flight. It isn’t like I haven’t thought about calling Scarlett before now. Last night I eventually had to turn off my phone to stop myself from texting her. But this is a different impulse. I’m going to make this work. I know she wants to be with me. Or she did before I started acting like an asshole. Step one, stop doing that. After that? I’m not sure, but I’m a playmaker, and there’s something I really want: Scarlett.
I’m on the pre-game interview list, and it’s brutal. No one outright asks about Scarlett, but I have to say “no comment” and remind them I’m only answering questions about the game more than once.
True to my words, I have my head on for the game. I push everything else out. It’s cathartic in a way, not allowing anything else in for a few hours. Avoidance? Probably. But it works.
At least until we hit the locker room and the guys start celebrating the win, then everything else creeps back in. I check my phone for the usual texts from family congratulating me on the game. My parents might not come to the games, but they follow along. The only person missing is Scarlett. And fuck if taking one person out of the equation doesn’t screw with me.
On Tuesday, Ash and I workout in his garage after our run. I call uncle first, wiping the sweat from my forehead and lying on the rubber floor.
“Thank fuck.” He collapses onto a box and squirts water into his mouth.
We have a three-day break in between games, and we’re spending most of our time working out at the arena and on our own. Talia is out of town, Scarlett’s gone, and it’s almost like the old days. B.S. Before Scarlett. Fitting, because it’s absolute bullshit.
“Shower and go out for dinner?” he asks.
“I don’t feel like going out.” I glance at my phone next to me as it lights up with a text. I don’t even bother reading it after I see it isn’t from Dream Girl.
We stay in, eating dinner in Ash’s living room and playing video games. I can’t focus on anything. Ash doesn’t even trash talk me when he beats me.
I toss the controller on the couch beside me. “I should probably go home.”
“It’s early. Stay, we can catch up on Ted Lasso.”
“You haven’t watched it?”
“Nah. It’s our thing,” he says and navigates to where we left off a month ago.
I was so busy with Scarlett I didn’t realize I neglected my buddy. Ash always has my back.
“Do you have any beer?”
His brows lift.
“I’m not going to blaze through a case,” I say. “Beer and Lasso, they go together like…peanut butter and jelly.”
He chuckles. “All right. Whatever you want, man.”
He comes back with two beers and hands me one. He holds it up, and I clink the neck of his with mine.
“I can’t believe you held off on watching the rest of the season,” I say as the show starts.
“Not the same without you.”
“You could have said something. I would have made time.”
He smiles. “Then what would we watch to cheer up your mopey ass?”
The next night I come back over, hoping for more of the same, but we only make it through a single episode before he gets a call, and we have to pause the show.
I’m staring down at my phone when he gets done. He must read the disappointment on my face. Another text, but still not from Scarlett.
“Nothing from her all week?” he asks.
