Page 5 of False Start
My sister slides onto the back of the tailgate I’m perched on. “When was the last time you looked across the fire?”
I frown at her, confused as to what she’s referring to. “What?”
“I heard a rumor our quarterback decided to grace us with his presence tonight,” Zina says. “I investigated and found him across the fire staring at you.”
I immediately look across the huge fire. I squint and try to see to the other side, but it’s no use with the smoke and flame in the middle. “Hudson is here?”
She giggles. “The one and only. And he’s staring at you.”
My dad was a famous college quarterback for LSU, and eventually, he was head coach for the Voodoo until his death. He left his mark on college and professional football. I’m proud of his legacy, but I saw the toll the sport can take on a family. I’m not looking for a relationship that requires so much damn work. I want a relationship to be as effortless as possible. All of this is the reason I’m unconcerned with and unfazed by Bryant Hudson’s supposed staring at me from across the fire.
“He’s coming this way,” she says and turns up her red solo cup to hide the tiny squeal of excitement that escapes her.
“No, thank you.” I take the last swallow of my beer and slide off the tailgate to visit a nearby keg.
Zina is on my heels. “You’re not seriously going to turn him down if he asks you out.”
“I don’t date football players,” I remind her.
There’s a sympathetic expression on her face as she softens. “Not everyone is dad, Zhanna. He played football at a different time when there were less security precautions on the field.”
My father’s brain was a ticking time bomb. He sustained several concussions when he played in college, and they left a lasting impact on his brain. He was diagnosed with post concussive syndrome when he began losing his balance. On the day he died, he was in the middle of the stadium he called home. He lost his balance on the concrete steps among the seats and tumbled down. A spinal cord injury instantly claimed his life. I’m not interested in sitting on the sidelines while holding my breath and praying nothing happens that will rip my partner from my life.
“He’s with Ben Slate,” she adds. Ben Slate plays tight end for our team. Zina has the biggest crush on the guy, which probably means I’m going to be forced to spend my evening talking to his best friend, the quarterback.
As soon as I see Ben and Bryant, I fill my cup from the tap and turn on my heel before Zina can ask me to be her wing woman. I head for the hunting lodge my sister and I crash in on game nights. It’s not far into woods from the vast open field that takes up a quarter of the property.
“This is how all scary movies begin,” says one of the players from behind.
I turn around to stop his progress, and find Bryant Hudson standing there with a red solo cup in his hand and a grin on his face. If dimples could kill, I’d be a goner. His dark brown hair almost touches his shoulders, and his light green eyes sparkle with mischief. The tattoos on his arms do things to me I wish they didn’t do.
“Are you following me into the dark woods?” I ask.
“I think it’s more like you’re leading me astray,” he replies.
“I don’t recall inviting you.”
He raises the cup to his lips and takes a drink. “I’m almost positive you did.”
Zina and Ben trail after us with grins on their faces.
Bryant continues toward me, smirk firmly in place, until he stops directly in front of me.
“I know you’re not accustomed to hearing this, QB, but I’m not interested.”
His hand flies to his chest. “Ouch, woman. I haven’t even introduced myself.”
My hands go to my hips. He’s not going to like the fact that he’s not getting in my pants tonight or ever. I’m sure guys like him aren’t used to being turned down. “I know who you are.”
He extends his hand to me. “Bryant Hudson.”
I place my hand in his, and he immediately brings it to his lips and places a kiss atop it. “Zhanna Hale.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
“Ugh,” I say and roll my eyes, “Could you be any more of a douchebag right now?”
A choking sound comes from my sister’s direction. Ben snorts.
