Most Likely to Score

I’m grateful for the distraction. “They’re doing great, and Mom loves the new washer that I bought her.”

Trevor cracks up. “She always said it was her dream come true. A new washing machine and a son in the NFL.”

Liam chuckles deeply. “Excellent. Love that you’re close with them. Family is what it’s all about.”

My heart craters a little bit. Liam needs me to be a good boy. He loves the new image we’ve crafted of the reformed playboy.

As I slice my steak, I ask myself what it means to be good—how could falling for a woman like Jillian be anything but good? She’s smart and classy, and so damn caring. I don’t see how she could possibly be bad for me. Isn’t this what Paleo Pet wants? A guy who’s committed to a woman? A guy who treats his woman like a family member?

“I can introduce you to my parents at the game this weekend if you’d like,” I say to Liam, returning to the topic at hand. “They’ll be at the stadium.”

“Fantastic. I’d love to meet them, and you must be busy this week getting ready for the first home game, so thank you again for fitting me in.”

“No problem. Happy to do it, no matter how busy the week is.” I’m about to add that I’m going to make time to go to a wedding tomorrow night to see Jillian, but I swallow those words whole, as if they’re made of dust and they’re choking me. Instead, I push them out in a different formation. “Harlan and I are going to a wedding tomorrow night. Sierra Franklin, a local reporter, is getting married, and she invited the two of us.”

Best to put it out there, right? That way, no one will be surprised to see shots of Harlan, Jillian, Katie, and me hanging out together.

Ford chimes in, “Ah, Sierra Franklin, tying the knot on a Thursday night so she can be on the sidelines on Sunday, reporting on the game.”

I manage a small laugh. “She’s dedicated. That’s for sure.”

Liam spears a piece of steak, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “That’s admirable. That kind of dedication to work and a relationship.”

I want to tell him I can be like that, too. I can be dedicated to football, and Paleo Pet, and Jillian.

My shoulders tighten in frustration because I want to leave this restaurant and tell the guys I’m heading to her place. I want to wander down the street with her during her lunch break tomorrow, and duck into stores or coffee shops if she wants. I want to walk my dog with her.

When dinner ends, Liam, Trevor, Ford, and I weave our way through the restaurant, passing a young dude at the bar, who raises his phone and snaps a shot of me.

Out with the guys. Out with my brother. Out for business.

It’s all good. It’s all permissible. It’s all photographable. As Ford pushes open the door, I have to wonder what would be so bad about being out with Jillian? What would the press say if that guy captured a shot of me holding the door for her? What would Liam, Ford, or Trevor say? I once thought being with her would be terribly wrong. I once thought it was far too dangerous.

But when I think of Jillian now, the possibility of us leaving a restaurant hand in hand only seems right.

I want these guys to be on my side—to believe in their hearts that Jillian and I are right together. Only, I’m not a starry-eyed dreamer. I’m a realist and I get that it’s naive to think a simple declaration of my feelings is all it’d take.

I don’t know what it will take, though. That’s the trouble. But I need to start figuring out how to have Jillian and the contract.

If I can have both, that is.

At the valet stand, Liam takes off first, telling us he’s heading to the airport to catch a red-eye to the East Coast for the next few days. Once Ford is gone, the attendant pulls up with Trevor’s ride. I slide into the passenger seat and buckle in, and he drives me home.

We stop outside my house, and my brother knits his brow. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet all night.”

“No. I’m not okay.”

He cuts the engine. “Talk to me.”

I tip my forehead to the house. “I have to take my guy for a stroll.”

Three minutes later, we’re out walking Cletus. “So there’s a girl,” I begin.

Trevor drags a hand through his hair. “It’s always about girls, isn’t it?”

Part of me wants to defend myself, but he’s right. When a man wants to make big changes in his life, it’s nearly always on account of a girl. Because when a man feels this strongly for a woman, it makes him want to transform his priorities. It makes him want to take chances he never thought he’d take before.

Still, I correct him. “Girl. As in one. Not girls.”

“Okay. What’s the story with this girl?”

“She’s different. She’s not like anyone else I’ve been with,” I add as we turn the corner, Cletus leading the way around the block.

“It’s Jillian, isn’t it?”

I nod.

“Dude, you need to be careful.” His tone is a stern warning.

“I am careful, but look, I like her. I like her a lot. I’m fucking falling for her.”

Stopping in his tracks, Trevor stares at me, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding me? You’re falling for a woman? For real?”

I shake my head, because that’s not correct. It’s well past falling. Everything I pictured earlier tonight clicks into place. I want the freedom to be with Jillian because I’ve fallen in love with her. My heart thumps a little harder as the thought shifts from bits and pieces of emotion to a fully formed certainty. “No, I’m not falling. I’ve fallen. I’m in love with her.”

“Whoa.” He holds up his hand like a stop sign. “In. Love?” He points at me, incredulous. “You? In love? For the first time, ever?”

“Don’t act so surprised. It was bound to happen.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “I never thought you’d say those words,” he says, like he’s still processing the sheer magnitude of the bomb I dropped on him.

“It’s the truth. And listen, I know you think I can’t sustain a relationship for longer than a week, let alone a month, but I’ve had feelings for her for a while. I didn’t act on them because of what we talked about, and your concerns, but when we were in Miami . . .”

“You hooked up in South Beach?”

Anger flares through me. “Don’t you get it? I’m trying to tell you it’s more than hooking up. It’s way more than that.”

“Okay, it was more than hooking up. Fine. I get it. Are you still . . . doing whatever this more than hooking up is?”

I shake my head. “We’ve been behaving since we returned more than a month ago. The thing is, nothing has changed, and I still want her. I like her. I’m in love with her, man.”

He breathes out heavily through his nostrils as we turn back onto my block. “Don’t just chase a piece of ass, Jones.”

Faster than I captured the ball last week, I grab the neck of his shirt with my free hand and yank him closer. My eyes are full of fury. I stare hard into his irises, my jaw tight. “She’s not a piece of ass.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. He knows I’d never hurt him. But he also knows I’m so much bigger than he is.

I shake my head. “Don’t call her that.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, but soon he smirks. Laughs. Smiles.