Page 7 of The Girlfriend Game
Three
Zeke
I’ve always loved to play games. Doesn’t matter which one. Monopoly. Chess. Darts. Cards. Video games.
Anything but solitaire because that shit makes me feel lonely.
Which, sadly, is what I am, holed up in my condo the past few weeks. I’m also so bored that I’ve resorted to balling up paper and tossing it into the wastebasket from every corner of my living room. My floor looks like a hailstorm came whipping through.
It’s true what they say. You can take the player out of the game, but not the love of the game from the player.
Marek suspended me after I walked out of Dr. Rush’s office and didn’t return. I’m not playing with my team and, on top of that, I’m accruing daily fines for my insubordination.
It’s become a game of wills and Marek has me by the short and curlies. It’s torture watching my team play without me, but I will not be forced into talking with Kendall Rush. Damn it all. I will not roll over like a mangy dog under Marek’s ultimatum and the pressure he exerts over my career.
Admittedly, I’m acting willfully stubborn when, truthfully, meeting with Kendall Rush wasn’t a hardship. She’s a beautiful woman and smelled like orange blossom. She’s a person confident in her own skin.
Unlike me.
There’s something about the way she pushed and I, in turn, pulled back. I enjoyed the competitive sparring with her. Sure, I was acting like an immature asshole, but I’ll give her credit. She didn’t take my shit. She just kept pushing. And pushing.
Pushing until she struck a nerve. Like biting down on an abscessed tooth, the moment she brought up the panic attack, it hit me with an explosive blow to my head, tripping a switch inside me. It all came rushing back in a flash. That moment I failed spectacularly in front of thousands. When I flipped out and began spiraling out of control,down, down, down.
The innocuous question was like a hot cattle prod poking me in the chest.
“How did you end up on the floor during a game, suffering from a panic attack?”
It stirred up something inside me like a dust storm, swirling fast and furious, blinding me with its velocity and strength. It took my breath away, leaving me wanting to curl up in a fetal position the floor and hide from the world. I knew she could see right through me. It’s why I don’t want to go back.
I’m a failure and a fraud. I’m not worthy of the accolades and recognition I receive from my fans.
“You’ll never amount to anything, kid. You’re a loser with no talent.”
My dad’s voice booms loud in my ears, followed by the same whooshing sound that brought on the static in my head the night of my collapse. My breaths become shallow, chest tightening as I clasp a hand over my heart. Oh, hell. Here we go again.
Then everything goes black.
When I wake,it’s dark in my condo and I don’t know how long I’ve been out. I reach for my phone on the table and check the time. It’s nearly five A.M. Messages scroll on my lock screen, one after another that were sent after the game last night from the guys.
Isaac:Where you at, bro? Did you see that score?
Alan:Yo, we hanging tonight?
Ansel:Call me. I need a Call of Duty night. And have you thought more about visiting Germany with me?
Carver:I haven’t heard from you in a few days. You okay, man? I’m worried about you.
The last one from Carver is like a punch to the gut. He and Marek are the only ones who know the truth behind my suspension. The rest of the team and the world think I was suspended for my arrest. Which was what led to all this, but isn’t the entire truth.
In the past, I would’ve been game to go out with the guys and hang out at the clubs, enjoying my bachelor life. Being treated like kings everywhere we went, surrounded by beautiful women and booze. I’m not sure when it happened, but it’s lost its appeal. Maybe it stems from my moodiness or my indifference toward having that kind of fun these days. I used to make a game out of the number of women I could hook up with, as immature as that may sound. It was a competition I thrived on.
Reading over their string of texts and checking out a few pictures they sent, that girlfriend game has no appeal. I’m tired of the randomness of one-night stands and hookups.
Maybe I should consider getting out there and dating someone seriously?
I’m not sure how I’d make that happen and who in her right mind would want to date a down and depressed dude like me, but I need something to do. Someone to be with because most of my friends and teammates are leaving for the summer, and I don’t want to be left alone to sit in my condo with no one to hang with.
Even Carver is taking his wife on a two-month European vacation. Everyone is hooked up with someone, leaving me the last of the single veterans on the team.
