The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(22)

“Think I’ll pass. I do have other opportunities, you know. Michael Langley texted me today.”

“Oh yeah. And did you agree to go out with him yet?”

“I was busy. I didn’t have time to text him back yet.”

“You’re stalling because you want Brody, and you know it.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“You’re not busy now.” She motioned for the bartender, pointing to her empty glass. “Go ahead. I’ll wait. Text him and tell him you’ll go out with him, then. If you’re not holding out for Brody Easton, then there’s nothing stopping you. Your cleanse is just about over anyway.”

“I will.”

“I’m waiting.” Indie tapped her fingers on the bar. Needing to prove her wrong, I took out my phone and thumbed off a quick response to Michael.

“Happy?” I turned my phone in her direction so she could see the word sent on my screen. She snatched it from my hand and read my response.

Thank you. Yet another crazy week. I promise to catch up with you again next week.

“That is not telling him you’ll go out with him. That’s pushing him off again for another week.”

“But I am busy. How would you have liked me to respond?”

She tapped on my keypad and turned the phone in my direction. Luckily, she hadn’t pressed Send. Her text read. On second thought. I don’t think I can wait another week. Dinner on Saturday night?

“I’m not that forward.” I grasped for my phone. She pulled it back, out of my reach.

With a huge smile, she said, “You are now.” She hit Send.

My eyes bulged. “I can not believe you just did that!”

Ignoring me, she ordered us two shots when the bartender returned with her third martini. I wasn’t much of a drinker. Two glasses of wine was the limit on our regular Friday night happy hour. If I was being honest, I came for the company and the free finger food—half of the single people in bars in New York did the same thing. None of us wanted to cook in our tiny kitchens if we didn’t have to.

I was still pouting when my phone buzzed on the bar. Michael’s name flashed on the screen. Turning to Indie, I lifted the shot she’d ordered me and drank. Then I drank hers, too. After shaking off the willies the alcohol left behind, I summoned the courage to read Michael’s response.

I was beginning to think you were blowing me off. Your text made my otherwise rotten day bright again. Eight on Saturday?

Maybe Indie was right. I was stalling because of a lingering attraction to a certain quarterback. One that deep down I knew I shouldn’t even be tempted to explore. There really was no reason not to start dating again.

I sighed. “Okay. Maybe you were right.”

“Come again?”

I spoke louder. “I said, maybe you were right.”

“Oh, I heard you the first time. I just loved to hear you admit it.”

Indie and I sat at the bar until almost eleven. I was beyond tipsy when she hailed a cab for us, foregoing our usual subway trek home. The driver dropped her first, and I sat in traffic staring out the window in an alcohol-induced daze. A bus pulled up next to me and caught my attention. An old ad was peeling from the side. It had the New York Steel logo along with a picture of Brody’s handsome face and read, Easton is back. It must have been a few years old.

The alcohol had me making rash decisions. Without thinking, I thumbed off a text.

Delilah: Just saw your picture on the side of a bus. Do you like having your face on public transportation?

He responded thirty seconds later.

Brody: I like having my face anywhere that makes you think about me. But I’d rather have my face between your legs.

Who said things like that? And why the hell did I like it? Seriously, the lower half of my body began to tingle.

Delilah: You have a real way with words, friend.

Brody: I have a real way with my tongue. When are you going to give in and let me show you?

Delilah: Tempting. But I think I’ll stick to men who are interested in more than just my orifices.

Brody: I’m getting hard just because you used the word orifices.

I chuckled out loud. The cabbie looked at me in the rearview mirror, and I held up my phone in explanation. He didn’t give a crap.

Delilah: Good night, Brody.

The man could make me laugh and ignite at the same time. It was a combination that my entire body quite liked.

Brody: See you in your dreams.

He most certainly would be.

***

Saturday afternoon, I was a wreck. I had the rare one-on-one interview with Brody at five, followed by a date with Michael at eight. As I headed to the Regency, I wanted to kill Indie for setting up my dinner for this evening.

“Nervous?” Nick glanced at me and then back to the road. We were carrying more equipment than we normally would for a locker room interview, so he had picked me up in the station’s van.

“Does it show?”

“You’ve been spinning that pen around in your hand since you got in.”

I clutched the pen in my fist to stop myself. I was definitely a nervous fidgeter and had no idea I was even doing it. “Sorry.”

“Doesn’t bother me any. But I’m surprised. To me, heading into the locker room would be more nerve-racking than this sit-down. You always seem so calm, waiting to go in after the games.”