“I know this well.” I dream about it. Have nightmares about it. Who the fuck on our team doesn’t know this?
“You seem distracted, is all.”
I stare at North. And he stares back.
“I heard you talking to your girl earlier.”
I rub a hand over my face. “Fucking hell.”
He merely shrugs. “Don’t talk in public places if you don’t want to be overheard.”
I’m thinking about who else could have heard. The prospects aren’t pleasant. “You’re a nosy fucker, you know that?”
“I like you, kid.”
“Kid? You’re only five years older than me.”
His smile is thin. “It’s not the years. It’s the mileage.”
“Jesus, don’t quote Indiana Jones. I beg you.”
North laughs. And for one shining moment, I think I’m clear. But he quickly sobers. “Look, these are the years that define your career.”
“Oh, hell…”
“If you don’t make your mark now, give it your all, then you’re done. The next college hot shot is just around the corner, waiting to take your place.” North points a long, bony finger at me. “Don’t fuck this chance up by dividing your attention between football and a woman. Love is great, and you think it means forever, but it’s not worth risking everything you’ve worked for.”
“I’m not trying to fuck it up. I’m trying to have it all.”
“Impossible. Something has to give. You want a woman? Find one who wants to be a player’s wife. The kind of girl who’s will give you babies, put you first, and never complain when you’re gone. The kind who will be there when you come home. Otherwise, it’s going to fuck with your head. Put that shit aside and focus on your career for now. Once you’re established and a few rings on your fingers then worry about women.”
I glance at the gaudy as fuck Super Bowl ring on North’s hand. He doesn’t usually wear it, but I’m guessing it’s a go-to accessory for galas, a nice piece of bragging rights. It’s a weird bit of irony that football players dream of wearing a ring better suited to sit on some Vegas pimp’s finger. But we do. We all want those ugly ass rings.
North stands and looks down at me. “Tell me this, what occupies your thoughts more? Football or the girl?”
My jaw ticks.
“Here’s a hint.” North leans in. “The answer should be football.”
A true football player lives, breathes, and dreams of the game. I’ve had that pounded into me since I put on my first Pee Wee helmet. Anything less that total devotion to the sport and you’re an amateur.
North’s voice cuts through the thick haze that’s settled over me. “Besides, you do well. I do well. And I want to kick ass this year.”
I cut him a look. “I’m glad we had this talk. We should do it again sometimes.”
Ignoring my sarcasm, he gives my shoulder a slap and walks off toward the house.
I should get up too, go inside, find Chess and mingle. But I don’t move. Everything feels sluggish and heavy. I’m also thirsty as hell, my throat dry and tight. “Fucking North.”
“I think he was trying to be your friend.”
Chess’s voice startles me, and I lurch to my feet just as she walks out of the shadows.
“Hey.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “You heard all that?”
Her lip quirks, as she hands me a cold bottle of beer. “Enough. What was it North said? Don’t talk in public if you don’t want to be heard.”
So she heard it all. I take a long pull on my beer and try to run through all of North’s lecture. None of it is puts Chess in a good light. “North is coming off a bad marriage.”
Chess stands beside me. “I heard. Megan says he got married too young. Before he could know his own mind.”
“Jesus, gossip is rampant in this organization. With everyone doling out advice like they’re Dear Abby.”
Amusement lights her eyes. “It’s a wonder you’ve survived.”
I snort and take another drink. Something uncomfortable and off buzzes between us. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. Knowing she’ll follow, I start to walk toward the pool house. It’s dark and abandoned right now. That doesn’t stop me from trying the door.
Thankfully it’s unlocked, and I walk in. Chess is a step behind me, a small wrinkle forming between her straight brows. “We’re not having sex in here,” she says. “That would be cliché.”
“I’d like to say I have better game than that. But we both know I’d be up for sex anywhere you wanted it.”
My joke falls flat, as Chess strolls around the darkened room. There’s just enough light to see her shadowy form and the glint in her eyes as she turns back toward me. “Then why are we here?”
“Something’s going on with us,” I blurt out. “Everything feels off since we got here.”
Chess walks back toward me, until she’s illuminated by the outdoor sconces that flank the pool house doors. “I feel it too.”
“Then talk to me.”
Chess lets out a tired sigh. “I don’t know where to start.”
My heart thumps in my throat, but I’m not backing down now. “At the beginning.”
Slowly, she shakes her head as if trying to clear it. “Finn, you’re my best friend but—”
“No, I’m not,” I cut in.
Chess gapes at me. “You’re not,” she repeats, pissed.
I want to kiss her. I refrain. Barely. “I have a best friend. It’s Jake.”
Her delicate nostrils flair. “Fine. Then James is mine.”
“I know this.” I take a step closer.
“Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up.” She sneers. “Asshole.”
I grin, which really pisses her off. I ignore that too and take another step. “I know Jake is my best friend because I don’t want to fuck him.”
“Lucky for Jake,” she mutters, glaring up at me.
“I don’t miss him the second he’s out of my sight,” I add.
Her eyes narrow, her gaze darting over my face in growing confusion.
I’m so close now, the tips of her breasts brush my chest when we both take a breath. “I don’t need to hold him, need to see him just to know that he’s okay, that he’s comfortable and happy before I can relax.”