I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(43)

“Don’t mention that you want ten kids. That should be introduced around date ten.”

I gape. Kids? Maybe in the future—after I’ve found my groove in the NFL.

“Don’t reply to any texts from other people.”

“Jesus. What are you, Dear Abby?”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. You do it a lot. On that note, don’t ask if she’s found Jesus. Granny was pretty insistent about that one. She was a hardcore Bible thumper but wasn’t in your face about it, and she respected other people’s religion.”

I know what he’s doing. He’s seen me in a weird funk for the past few weeks and wants to lighten me up.

“Make her laugh. Best way to bond. Women like funny guys.”

“I’m funny?”

“And if her nana comes up, see if you can wrangle an invite to their chicken and waffles again.”

I arch a brow at the wistful tone in his voice. He misses Granny. “Nana is a little different.” Like Serena.

“The best ones are.”

“Is that all, o wise one?”

“I’ll come up with more later.” He pivots to leave, singing “Witchy Woman”.

After he’s gone, I dash to the bathroom and try to fix my hair, running a hand through it. She likes my hair…right? I falter, my hand dropping. I brush my teeth, again, and study my reflection.

“You’re pretty enough,” Troy calls as he darts in and edges around me, grabs the cologne and lets loose a long spritz, spreads his arms and walks through it. “Ah, yeah, that’s it. The smell of salt and sun, come to me.”

I choke as some of it drifts over and hits me in the face. “Winter Soldier dabs on gasoline and gun oil before he goes out.”

Troy freezes. “She won’t even talk to me.”

No need to ask who…

“Ah, sorry. Maybe dress all in black? Leave the cowboy hat at home. Tame your hair.”

“Tame?”

“You know what I mean. You look like a wild man with that frizz. Bigfoot,” I say with a laugh, thinking of Serena. “Use some product.”

He scrunches up his face and looks at his hair, then digs around on the counter and holds up a tube of gel. “This?” He reads the text on the container. “Strong hold, brilliant shine, style versatility… Are you sure?”

“You’re a cowboy, so let me educate you.” I squirt out a dab and run it through the top of my hair in quick, expert movements, pushing the longer strands back, pulling on it a little to create volume at the top. “Just a little. You don’t want that wet gigolo look—”

Bambi appears at the door, phone in hand as she snaps a pic. “Grooming with Dillon and Troy. Think I’ll post this. Oh, and send it to Serena so she can see what girls y’all are.”

Sawyer’s voice comes from the den. “Tried to stop her from snooping!”

“Guys use gel,” I say defensively.

She grins, her nose wrinkling delicately as she taps on her phone then shoves it in Troy’s face. “Here’s a pic of the Winter Soldier. Look how he scowls—do that. Got any black football cream for your face? He’s got it around his eyes. Looks emo to me, but Chantal likes it. She talks about him a lot.”

Troy’s face flushes, his jaw working. “Nah, hell nah. Not wearing any makeup!” He takes her phone and stares at it. “He is dressed in black…” He stares down at his green shirt, blows out a breath, and stomps out of the bathroom.

“You’re welcome! Any time you need style advice, I’m here all day,” she calls out, gives me a smirk, and then heads back out to the den.

My phone rings and I make a dash for my bedroom as my stomach jumps, wondering if it’s Serena.

The phone screen shows it’s Mom, and my chest squeezes. “Mom! Hey! How are you?” It’s been several weeks since I heard her voice. Sure, we text periodically, but it’s on the surface stuff. How are classes? Are you eating well?

“Good! Happy! You?” I picture her at some fancy locale, her blonde hair cut in a sleek, modern bob that swings against her high cheekbones. She’s a beautiful woman in her mid forties. We aren’t close, like Sawyer was to his granny, like Serena is with her family. I recall snippets of her, mostly on her way out of town.

I’m headed to the beach with my friends, darling.

There’s a gala I can’t miss, sweetheart. Hope you win your game.

Give me a kiss and go ask your father, dear.

When I was a kid, I used to cling to the dream that my parents would magically fall back in love, but that dream died the day my dad packed his bags for Malibu after my brother’s funeral. He asked me to come with him, but it was my senior year. I had college scouts coming to every game that fall and transferring to another school would have screwed up my choices. I didn’t want him to leave, but he did. Their divorce came six months later. He wanted to erase Montgomery from his mind, to forget the pain of losing Myles—but he forgot about me too.

“I’m good. You missed my first game.”

She sighs. “Yeah, sorry. I had to be in Paris for their Autumn Festival, but I’m back in the States.” She pauses. “I know how important it is that you’re getting to shine.” Her voice lowers. “Look, I can’t chat long. I’m at a spa in Little Rock with someone…” There’s a rustling, and I hear her talking to a person in the room, My son, yeah. A male tone replies.