I hug her goodbye when I go. She smells like sea salt. Like home.
In the morning I take her with me to buy the truck. It takes longer than I expected, but she stays with me the entire time. It reminds me of the day in the Ashford Agency when I signed my life away and wished I hadn’t been alone, because this time I’m not. She doesn’t say or do anything other than sit there beside me, but it’s enough. It’s what I need. It’s what I’ve been missing.
I’ve talked to her every day since then. Every afternoon I get a text from her, checking in to make sure I’m not sitting around watching Sports Center. I make sure that I’m not because I promised her I’d try.
Can I check ESPN? I plead.
No.
NFL.com?
No!
FOX Sports?
Do you even know what a media blackout is?
It seems self-explanatory.
It does, doesn’t it? she replies. Her sarcasm is heavy even through text.
CBS Sports?
Get a hobby!
This is my hobby!
Bugging me?!
Following sports! Playing sports!
Obsessing over sports.
It’s how you get good at it.
Well, I need to get good at my job, so…
Sloane.
Silence.
Sloane.
Silence.
Sloane.
OH MY GOD!
Our conversations go back and forth this way well into the evening. They always end with us having dinner. She doesn’t expense it the agency anymore. One night she even lets me pay.
Some nights we go back to her place for a beer and the view. Other nights that feels too dangerous. Nights when we’ve been in a corner booth for two hours laughing and talking shit about people we shouldn’t be talking about. When we sit too close for too long. Those are the nights when I tell her goodbye on the sidewalk. I don’t hug her. I don’t touch her if I can help it, because once I start I’m not sure I can stop.
She’s busy during the day. She’s working hard, taking lunches and meetings all day as we get closer to the Draft. She’s scouting other teams, making more connections. Giving me a fall back in the second round. She’s more worried about the Kodiaks situation than she’s letting on, but I feel better knowing she’s on top of it. I’m calmer than I have been in ages.
I’m also conflicted as hell.
We’re spending all of this time together, I crave her like a drug, but we’re coming to a point where the talking and the laughing isn’t enough. I want to have sex with her again. And again. And again. But I know I can’t. I remind myself of that every time she smiles and it makes my stomach drop. I have to be careful because there’s too much at stake for both of us. We’re already toeing the line, pushing our luck, but I can’t stop because I can’t sleep without her. Her voice is my new music.
It sounds sweet, but when you get real about it, we’re basically a clusterfuck.
Normally if I have a problem, I take it to my mom. Maybe my dad. But not this one. I can’t talk to them about this because I can’t tell them what I’ve done. That’s an awkward conversation none of us want to have. The guys are worthless because they’ll only tell me to fuck her again. There’s really only one other person on the planet I respect enough to ask their opinion.
“Coach Reagan.”
He turns from the white board he was pouring over, smiling when he sees me.
“Trey, what are you doing here this late?”
“I came to talk to you, if that’s okay?”
“Of course it is. What about? Graduation?”
“No, I’m all set.”
“What time is your ceremony?”
“Two in the afternoon on the tenth.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
He caps his red marker, studying me. “If it’s not a question about commencement, what can I help you with?”
I search the large office just to be sure we’re alone. No one is sitting in the corners with a playbook. No one is hunched behind his computer. With the season over the place is a ghost town. One I’m haunting by being here.
I close the door behind me as I take a steadying breath. “I might have done something stupid.”
“How stupid?”
I meet his eyes head on. “I had sex with my agent.”
Coach Reagan pulls nervously on the bill of his hat until it all but covers his weathered green eyes. “I hope you mean you slept with your agent’s daughter.”
“Yeah. I do. I did.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know.”
“Did you use protection?”
“Yeah, of course. I always do.”
“You knew it was wrong to sleep with her, you took the time to put on a condom, and you didn’t stop yourself? Trey, you’re smarter than that.”
I swallow thickly. “I was panicking.”
I can see his body sag slightly, weighed down by the secret he’s kept for four years. He’s lied for me. He’s pretended and covered for me, never letting on to a soul that the prize pony the world was salivating over was lame.
“You need to see a doctor, Trey,” he says tiredly. He folds his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “It’s not getting any better.”