And is that what I want? A relationship?
I guess so, because I wouldn’t be chasing after Luce this hard if all I wanted was a lay. I knew where to get that, how it feels to have that non-emotional hookup. Somewhere along the line, maybe after I heard her sigh the second time at the coffee house, I thought I want to be the one to make this girl sigh with happiness, not with frustration. Then she slayed me with her soft eyes and her smile and her hilarious risk assessment ideas.
I need to find the right words to make her understand that I belong in the reward column.
“Football is hard,” I start. “To be a college athlete at this level, football is your number one focus. Sure we say we’re student athletes, but we spend six hours a day doing football crap and two hours doing schoolwork. Our job is on the field. That’s what we’re paid to do. We go to practice, travel to the games, work with the trainers, watch film, and when we’re not doing those things, we have to be lifting, so there’s not enough time to develop a relationship.”
“But they do happen. I mean, Ahmed’s been dating someone his whole time here.”
“Ahmed’s girlfriend is one he had from high school. In fact, most of the girlfriends are pre-college. Or maybe the guy met his girl during his redshirt season where he didn’t travel and wasn’t playing every weekend.”
Her head tilts to the side as she considers my words. “So you’re saying it’s just easier to sleep with multiple people? Why not the same one over and over?”
“Because you sleep with anyone more than a few times and it gets messy. Feelings start to develop and then everyone ends up unhappy.”
Her voice is low, soft when she says the next unexpected statement. “You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.”
I swallow and look away from her. Her words stir up a few uncomfortable memories. But somehow I find myself spilling them. My mouth opens, and the words fall out, as if I need her to know that I tried hard to be something other than the prototypical college athlete. “I dated a girl during my redshirt year. You don’t do much as a redshirt because you aren’t going to see one down of football on the field. The most important task is strength and conditioning and learning the playbook, but it’s not the same thing as actually playing. She was a fun chick and the relationship thing seemed doable. Then I started the second game of my redshirt freshman year after Donovan Highsmith got injured. I never gave the position back. Coach noticed me and told me I had a real chance of going pro, but I had to give it my all.”
“And your girlfriend didn’t understand?”
“She…yeah, that’s a nice way of saying it.” Megan, my only college girlfriend, had turned from being a sweet, fun girl into an unhappy, demanding one. I could never spend enough time with her.
She wanted to go out and I wanted to go to bed at nine so I could be alert and energized for a 6 a.m. run. The only time I drank was Saturday after a game. Never before. My classes were designed to accommodate my football practice and playing schedule. She wanted me to take classes with her.
In the end, she spent more time screaming at how horrible a boyfriend I was than we did having sex. “I disappointed her a lot. Didn’t want to do that again. I was a shitty, shitty boyfriend,” I finish. And that wasn’t the worst of it, but Luce doesn’t need to know the details of my failure.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think your philosophy not only makes sense but is kind of honorable.” Her hand creeps across the covers to touch mine.
Her words lift something inside I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying for a while now. My breakup with Megan hadn’t felt honorable at the time but, looking back, it was the best thing for both of us. I fold my fingers around Luce’s, hoping I’m not holding too tight. Hoping she doesn’t realize how I’d like to have her hand in mine for the foreseeable future.
“So where’s your ex now?”
I shrug. “No clue. She graduated. She was a year older than me and I’m a fourth year junior. I suppose she has a job and is somewhere living an adult, responsible life, dating junior execs and middle managers.” At least I hope she is. “How about you? Any guys moping around campus because you broke their hearts?”
“Nope.” She pops the last bit of dry, uninteresting toast in her mouth before answering. “My sole boyfriend was in high school and he broke up with me my third week of school. He goes to Cal Poly and decided he didn’t want to try out the long-distance relationship thing.”
“That sucks,” I say, but in reality I’m thrilled.
“You look torn up over it,” she says sarcastically.