Playing Hard to Get(10)

Only he would come up with some stupid saying for what just happened. “I guess.”

“It’s common. I’m sure it was there and gone once you removed the distraction.”

“Who appointed you Doctor Dick?” Cam calls out to Derek, making the entire table explode with insults mixed with laughter.

I’m laughing too, making an “oooh” sound along with a few others when someone yells, “Sick burn.”

Derek starts calling them all names, taking the attention off of me, and I’m glad for it. I drain my glass and pour myself another one, ready to lose myself in booze for a little bit tonight while I sulk.

But not too much booze. Or sulking. Gotta keep my head on straight for practice and the game this Saturday.

We shoot the shit and drink beer for about an hour uninterrupted. There seems to be an unspoken rule at Logan’s, where the groupies tend to hang back and let us have some peace when we first get there before they pounce.

Eventually, a girl shows up at our table, her smile bright and friendly, her hand landing on one of the guy’s arms, staking her claim. Then another woman shows up. I think they’re friends. Maybe sisters? They have matching blonde hair and darkly tanned skin, and their tits are out. They know what they want and they aren’t afraid to ask for it, and while I loved that kind of girl the last couple of years, lately…

They don’t do it for me.

At all.

A sure thing is great when you’re looking to get laid, and there are plenty of football groupies who fit the bill. Who enjoy the prestige that comes with hanging out with us. With hooking up with us. They go back and tell all their friends to make them jealous, and man does that sounds awful, but it’s true.

And I’m used to it. I’ve been okay with it since I was a freshman and in shock that girls would throw themselves at us and expect nothing in return.

Absolutely nothing.

I had a couple of semi-serious girlfriends in high school, but no real hookups. I considered myself a devoted type of guy. Until I got to college and realized I didn’t need to commit myself to anyone. I could have my pick of women, choosing to be with a different one every week. Hell, every night if I was feeling ambitious.

Sometimes, especially in the early days, I felt pretty fucking ambitious.

“What’s your problem?”

I glance up to find that Cam moved and is now standing right next to me.

“Nothing.” I shrug, reaching for the fresh pitcher the server just brought over, only for Cam to slap my hand away like he’s a mean mama and I’m a bad child. “What the hell was that for?”

“It’s like you’re drowning your sorrows in beer and I don’t like it. Is something bothering you?” Cam leans his head closer to mine, his voice dropping. “I know you said you were fine earlier, but come on. You can tell me. I won’t say anything to any of the guys.”

He’s not wrong. Something is bothering me, but it’s hard for me to articulate exactly what it is, when I don’t understand it myself.

Maybe it’s the pressure that’s coming at me from all sides. Not just with football, but with school. With my future. I thought senior year was supposed to be fun. That last year in college before you’re faced with real life and all of the responsibilities that comes with it.

Instead, there are a ton of responsibilities weighing me down right now, and I don’t like it. Not at all. I’m normally the fun one on the team: the ‘easy-breezy, nothing bothers me’ guy, who’s always entertaining everyone.

“Just in a funk,” is how I finally respond to Cam when I realize he’s waiting for my answer. “I’m all right. Probably just need a good night’s rest.”

Cam’s dark gaze never wavers as he continues studying me. As if he’s looking for a crack in the fa?ade, wondering if he’ll witness me breaking.

“If you say so.”

Both of our heads turn at the same time, taking in the scene happening around our table. Our area is completely overcrowded thanks to the women who’ve planted themselves next to the guys. Which is fine, since this is a common occurrence on a Monday night at Logan’s, but normally, I have a girl with me too.

Tonight, though, not a single one of them appeals to me.

“Do you ever get sick of playing this game?” I ask Cam with a weary sigh.

“Football? Hell no—”

“I’m not talking football,” I interrupt. “I mean with women. As in, a different woman every week or whatever.”

Cam chuckles. “You are definitely not feeling well.”

“Shut up,” I say, no viciousness in my tone. “I think I need a change.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I should become celibate.” I rub my chin, processing the word over and over again in my brain.

Celibate.

Celibate.

As in no sex. No women. No distractions.

“What, so now you’re a nun?”

“Not quite. But women are a total distraction, one I don’t need this semester. Maybe even for the entire year.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe no women for just the football season then.” The more I think about it, the more appealing it sounds. Which is crazy, I can’t lie, but damn, I need to do something to alleviate the pressure that’s slowly but surely getting a stranglehold on me.