I could see how it tore him apart that people were starting to warm up to Oliver Lee despite his recent play. I don’t know how he could handle all that media attention and pressure.
I figured everyone at some point in their life daydreams about being famous and having everything they do watched and ogled by everyone else. Clearly, because we have celebrities, some people thrive on that kind of attention.
Just from my short time being around professional athletes, I knew that kind of lifestyle just wasn’t for me. It might be occasionally nice to be famous, but I wouldn’t trade that for my ability to go home and do nothing without anyone asking any questions for anything.
And what did that mean for me, a girl head over heels bonkers into a guy who was already semi-famous, and on the precipice of becoming much, much, more famous than even I had any idea about?
Because that was Lance Parker. He might have been able to go to a night club without anyone recognizing him once in a while, but if he came back from injury and led the Patriots to the playoffs, or maybe even a championship, those anonymous nightclub nights would be over forever, such was the nature of athletic fame.
I didn’t want to be in that kind of spotlight, either by being famous myself or because I was involved with someone famous. Of course, I was getting way ahead of myself, because there was no real indication, aside from a night of passion and a stolen kiss in Lance’s room, that Parker wanted anything to do with me in a romantic sense.
But say he did for a moment. Would I be able to handle being the girlfriend of a famous athlete? I’d be in the spotlight too, to a lesser extent than Lance, sure, but still not nothing. I saw how people on twitter savaged the women other athletes and celebrities dated, and I had no desire to become a target like that.
No, to me there was nothing wonderful or desirable about fame, not when you attached all the other things that came with it.
Really when it came down to brass tacks, all I wanted was the freedom to enjoy spending time with the guy I liked so we could see where it would go.
The big question I had, though, was whether that was even possible with a guy like Lance Parker. His fame was just starting to rise, and if he came back better than ever, the number of media types following him would be off the charts, and very few of them were as nice as Lily Pearson.
Of course, then, there would also be the women throwing themselves at a famous athlete, hoping to get into the spotlight. Maybe Lance would want to date someone who actually cared about that stuff, who was more comfortable with all that attention?
That definitely wasn’t me - I had no problem with obscurity and no desire for fame. Maybe that would doom us right from the start.
Of course, I was still getting way ahead of myself. Things with Lance weren’t really going anywhere yet. We hadn’t even been on a first date! And if he stuck to those rules of his, we wouldn’t even be able to for another few months.
It sucked.
And I didn’t know what to do about it, even if I could figure out how to deal with Lance’s surly mood these days. I knew that his injury weighed on his mind.
Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself standing in front of the door to Lance’s room, staring into the window at him. I dunno how long I had been standing there, but he noticed me after another 30 seconds or so and waved at me, calling me in.
I opened the door and leaned in. “Yeah? Need anything?”
“Don’t just stand there in the window,” Lance sighed. “At least come in and stare at me.”
I blushed, and came inside, closing the door behind me. “I just wanted to see if you need anything.”
“Got a spare knee that works perfectly? Preferably for the right leg?”
I held up my hands. “All out, sorry. I’m expecting a shipment in a few weeks if you can wait.”
Lance leaned back against the pillows. “Everyone’s out of stock, who’s causing this shortage?”
“Lots of interest in replacement knees these days, I guess,” I shook my head. “Wow, that got dark quick.”
“Yeah.” Lance didn’t laugh or smile. He was focused on the TV across from him. Of course he was watching sports news. That was all that mattered to him.
Lance didn’t pay more attention to me, so I pulled up a chair and sat down next to his bed and watched with him. Thankfully this report wasn’t about him; one thing about professional sports is that there was never any end of scandal, both on and off the field.
These days it was a high draft pick, a quarterback for the Cleveland Browns who was already well on his way to ruining his life and perpetuating the cycle of dysfunction that had earned the Browns the nickname “the factory of sadness.”
The media was savaging the poor young man daily, and all over social media people were piling on, delighting in someone else’s misery, especially someone who had had such an illustrious college career.
“Jackals,” Lance whispered under his breath, just loudly enough that I could barely hear it. I looked over and saw his fists clenched over the sheet of his bed.