Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(47)

“You’re so hung up on money, on status,” I fume. “You’re completely missing—”

“Only people who’ve never had to go without, who’ve never had to struggle to pay for food, or clothes, or hell, a haircut, say that shit.” He shakes his head, a disgusted look marring his face. “Yeah, I’m hung up on it. You’re lying if you say you’re not, because you wouldn’t be so demanding right now otherwise. Demanding I give you some impossible thing. You want certainty before you give up luxury. I’m not going to squabble at your feet. I’m willing to trade in my future, the only thing I have, for a chance with you. If you can’t offer me the same, then I made a huge mistake by coming here and putting myself on the line.”

He walks around me, and I turn to watch him grab the doorknob, only to pause before opening the door. I race through my thoughts, trying to find a clear course of action, something I can give him to make him understand.

“I would never ask you to give up football or your future. And I’d never ask you to turn your back on your family,” I say. “That’s the difference, Ryder.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “But aren’t you?” he says. “Because how will you ever stomach being with a jock?” He sends me one last, desperate look before he opens the door and leaves, his candid words lingering in the air around me.





20





Ryder





Earth and rain, the scent of our victory, engulfs the small dorm room. I brought my cleats with me, wanting to clean off the caked-in mud better than the half-assed job I did after the game. We nearly got washed out, but we played hard and brought it home before the weather turned to shit. Looking them over, I consider having the boosters pitch in, but I don’t mind the small things. The things I can do for myself.

After I toss my shoes on the plastic sheet I have laid out at the bottom of my closet, I rub the gritty dirt between my fingers, my mind drifting to the last play of the game. Just a couple of weeks ago I was almost positive I knew what I was doing. I finally felt solid in my choice to go pro. I belonged.

That sure feeling fled nearly as quickly as it came.

I peel my T-shirt off, my skin still damp from my shower, and flip through the shirts hanging in my closet. I must stand here too long, lost in thought, because Gavin tosses a Nerf football at my head. I grit my teeth on impact.

“No jeans, bro,” he says simply, like I’m supposed to take wardrobe advice from a guy who wears f*cking muscle tees everywhere. Like he’s one of those stereotypical jocks from the 80s.

“This party was supposed to be your thing,” I say, pulling a gray thermal from a hanger. “Why you’d make it about me?”

Gavin groans. “Because you’re always so uptight, man. You need to relax. Have you heard anything from that one dude…?” He trails off as he thinks. “That scout we met at that dinner thing?”

This is not the conversation I want to have right now. After Ari left with her parents the night of the charity banquet, I was approached by this weasel of a scout, Jerry Dugan. I’d heard some shit about him, like how he could get you a Beamer at your request. Which is now frowned upon. But he’s still one of the lowlife scouts who’ll try to buy you out. Most guys stay clear of him, but Gavin—and I can say this because the guy’s my closest friend—is just the type to get hooked by those games.

“Nah,” I say, and fall back on my bed, tucking my hands behind my head. “He’s not worth it, dude. We need to wait it out. Coach said Mathis would be coming around next week.” It would be cool if Gavin and I got picked up by the same scout, got vetted for the same team. But that’s highly unlikely. And besides, neither of us will even utter the team’s name we hope to be picked by. That’s like tempting fate.

Gavin doesn’t respond, and I let it go. I’m too tired and restless to talk about anything serious concerning my future. Ever since the blow up with Ari—that I still cannot figure out what the hell happened—I’ve steered clear of any heavy thoughts on my prospects.

I didn’t know how badly I wanted something different until she blew into my life. Like a f*cking hurricane. And now she’s all I can think about. I’ve tried to imagine just being friends with her, or hell, even just acquaintances. What it would feel like to pass her in the hallway, overhearing her announce an upcoming engagement—a party her father’s throwing her at the Ritz, or wherever the wealthy celebrate. Imagining her marrying some rich douchebag.

For a girl I met not all that long ago, there should be no sting whatsoever. I should be able to shrug it off, or maybe even vent a little, telling myself it’s her loss. Good luck to her. It’s what I’d do with any other girl. But just the thought of her being bound this early to some guy…my whole body locks up, and then I’m raging mad. Fired up, and huffing like the pissed off, dumb jock that she wants me to be.

But what’s the alternative?

I can’t believe I put all that shit out there the other day. Told her I’d give up football if she’d stand up to her dad. What’s more, I’m not sure who I said it for; her or me—like I was only seeking an excuse to quit.

What an ass.

At least I’m being truthful, though. I should have all my shit figured out before I say another word to her. Which is going to be hard, considering the party tonight.