Page 6 of False Start
“Zane Hale’s daughter.” One would think a sane man would take my rejection for the clear sign it is, turn his ass around, and leave me in peace, but not Bryant Hudson. No, he leans his head back and laughs at me. “I heard you were tough.”
“Then my reputation precedes me.”
“Not quite. I heard you were beautiful, but damn, they didn’t do you justice.”
I feel myself soften a hair toward him, but hide it under a sarcastic laugh. “Does this work on other girls?”
His face grows serious. “I don’t have time for women or dating, not with football. I don’t usually bother to be honest. Plus, it’s hard to find a meaningful relationship when over half the available women see me as a meal ticket.”
I feel the pain in his words, and I soften a bit more. My dad found my mom the first day of their freshmen year. He was lucky to have never waded through the dating pool once his popularity as a player grew. “I don’t date football players.”
“Whoa there, little lady,” he says and holds a hand up. “Nobody said anything about a date. How about a beer and a friendly conversation?”
His playful demeanor, the smirk on his handsome face, and his ability to take a not-so-subtle hint sets me at ease. “Yeah, QB, we can have a beer while I tell you how to step up your game on the field.”
Ben spits out a mouthful of beer and nearly chokes through his laughter. “This chick is the best! I have to hear this.”
“Is that right?” The quarterback asks as amusement dances in his eyes.
“Uh oh. Can’t take the heat from a girl?” I ask.
He takes another few steps toward me. “I don’t think there’s anything hotter than a chick talking football.”
I suppress the grin his words elicit, and lead the three of them to the hunting cabin without another word. Outside the small two bedroom log cabin, is a small fire pit for warmth. It’s surrounded by log seats we often use for smaller gatherings throughout the year.
“Sweet spot,” Ben says.
Bryant and Ben take lead on collecting firewood from our stack and setting up the fire. It’s November, and there’s a chill in the air. It’s nice to have heat and still be able to enjoy the outdoors this time of year. I feel connected to my dad here. Our family spent a lot of time on this land when dad had any down time from the team. There’s a fully stocked pond and hiking trails on the land Zina and I continue to use frequently.
Bryant takes a seat next to me on the log. “Lay it on me. How do I step up my game?”
“Simple. Throw the damn ball.”
Ben laughs. “I’ve been telling him the same thing for two seasons.”
“We call you Chicken Shit Hudson,” I tell him.
“Zhanna!” Zina chastises.
“What?” I ask. “It’s the truth.” We love our boys, and we love our quarterback, but he’s afraid to throw the ball.
Bryant’s brows almost reach his hairline. “Chicken Shit Hudson?”
“I can’t with this girl,” Ben says, delighted beyond belief at my words.
I shrug my shoulders. “If the shoe fits.”
Bryant quickly moves to one knee in front of me and takes my hand in his. “Will you marry me?”
I snatch my hand from his. “Who says I’m into guys?”
He looks up at the sky. “Dear Jesus, thank you.” And then he looks back at me. “Even more reason to take you off the market.”
“Either way, I’m not into football players,” I remind him.
He grins at me, and I almost topple over from the dimples. “You’re discriminating against me?”
“No, I’m choosing not to end up with a man who is either going to be washed up by the end of college or by the time he’s forty. I’m not marrying a man to end up as his nurse.” Injuries are impossible to avoid in football. It’s a full-contact sport where 200-pound and 300-pound men throw themselves at each other. Sometimes, players are lucky to never incur serious injuries, but they will indeed sustain them. Other players receive injuries that take them out of the game early. I don’t want to live with a man who’s pissed off at the world over his career ending early. It’s hard to know which player will end up on the injured reserve list or which one will play until he’s 40.
