Play Maker(23)

Maya patted my knee. “He’s a soccer star from the U.K, babe. He can’t get attached. Because no matter what, this thing has an expiration date. So what if your one night stand becomes a two night stand? Or even a three night stand? Enjoy yourself, Nicole. For the first time in your life, really put yourself and your needs first. And try those damn waffles.”

Easier said than done. But if anyone understood what it was like to have people counting on them, it was Maya. She had been supporting her mother for the past ten years, ever since a car accident put her in hospice. All of Maya’s paychecks went towards the expensive care that her mother required, while she lived in a crappy studio apartment in K-town and drove a beat up Toyota that had seen better days. All while putting herself through grad school. She, more than anyone, understood what it was like to take care of the people around her without being able to take much time for herself.

And she was right. The slut code had been created after too many ex-boyfriends had broken her heart, and mine, when they realized that our families came first and that there were only so many people we could take care of. Men didn’t like to hear that they weren’t the center of someone’s life.

I closed my eyes as LA sped by, entertaining the fantasy, just briefly, of someone else taking care of me for once. What would that be like? My mom had definitely helped ease the load since she showed up, but I had been taking care of Mikey since I was sixteen. And we still struggled to make ends meet. What would it be like to have a fraction of the luxuries that someone like James probably had? Hell, I would sell my left tit for a washer/dryer in our apartment so I didn’t have to spend my days off at the laundromat.

But there wasn’t much I could do about it. I didn’t know any other way to live and besides, even if I won the lottery – which was extremely unlikely considering I never bought a ticket – the money would go to help out with Mikey. So barring the appearance of a magical lotto ticket, things would probably keep going the way they had always gone. So it was best not to think about another kind of life. It was nice, but foolish. Maya was right. Why not indulge in a fantasy I had at my fingertips? Would another night with James really be so bad? After all, it was just sex.





13





James





Ethan shot me an apologetic look across the conference table as I listened to the third group of men in suits present me with a public relations plan for their charity. Two hours of this, of listening to the commercials I would be doing or the galas I would be hosting or the schmoozing I would be doing with donors. Not once, at any point in any of their presentations, had they mentioned interest in me beyond how they could use my image to promote their fundraising events. And I got it – charities needed money. They often needed a lot of money. And money was something I was happy to give. But I wanted to do more. I didn’t want to be a shill for some charity – I wanted to be working with them directly – ideally working with the people that they were helping. There had to be some group out there that was interested in what I could do on the ground, not just with donors.

But that was part of the problem, it seemed. I had cast too wide a net. I didn’t know who I wanted to help and without much guidance, Ethan had done his best to find people who were willing and excited to work with me. I was betting that all the latest headlines about my sexual conquests weren’t helping some of the more conservative-minded groups.

I tried not to let my frustration show as I shook hands and told them, as politely as I could, that I was still looking around, but I would get back to them as soon as I had made my decision.

Once they were gone, I collapsed back into my chair.

“Ugh,” I groaned, knowing that I had no one to blame but myself. “Make sure to write each of them a check as a thank you for their time,” I told Ethan. It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine.

“Not what you were hoping for?” He leaned on the table, arms crossed. He had tried to tell me, on numerous occasions, that I needed to be more specific about what I wanted. And not just in this instance. For years he had been trying to get me to focus. To make decisions. I had never seen the point of it. After all, that’s what he was for, wasn’t? And he was way better at it than I was.

But now I was starting to see the value in his advice. I had been flying by the seat of my pants for way too long. And now I was coming to a fork in the road. I needed to figure out what I wanted. And soon.

“You know, I’ve gotten another offer from the team here,” Ethan said casually.

I glanced up at him. “They’re really not going to take no for an answer, are they?”

“Well, I haven’t told them no,” he reminded me. “Because you haven’t formally made the decision to retire.”

He was right. I thought that I would find the right charity immediately and that would confirm that I was doing the right thing. Because as of this moment, I wasn’t so sure anymore. After all, the whole reason I wanted to get out of football was because I was tired of being treated like a promotional tool. I was tired of all the photo shoots and the magazine articles and the tabloids. Especially the tabloids. Rick might have thought it was all fun and games, but he didn’t have his mum calling him every time a new issue came out, asking who the woman was. I wanted to be in the papers for something I had actually done. For something I was proud of. But if these charities just wanted a poster boy, well, then maybe I should just stick to football. At least I’d get to play the game I loved, even if I was tiring of all the traveling and partying.