The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel - Vi Keeland Page 0,92
get back together. As much as I hated that I hurt Delilah, the conversation between the two of us needed to happen. I needed to say goodbye to her once and for all, and she needed to hear me tell her to move on. It was a long time coming for both of us. While I wished her luck, there was no connection holding us together anymore. And I was good with that. Whatever crack of the door that I had left open for Willow, it was finally shut once and for all.
I had offered to pick Delilah up to drive her to the stadium today for the final press conference since we were both attending, and I was shocked as shit when she agreed. She’d told me to text her when I arrived so I wouldn’t have to park, but a car ride to the stadium wasn’t enough time with her. So I showed up an hour before our planned departure time and rang the buzzer, pretending that she had gotten the times mixed up.
“I’m sorry. I thought you said eleven.”
I did. “Nope. Ten.”
When she opened the door, it was obvious she had just gotten out of the shower. Her hair was wet, and she was dressed in a pair of logoed Steel sweats and a pink ribbed tank top—sans bra.
“Nice sweats.” Nice tits. The damn things were saluting me.
She stepped aside for me to enter. “I’m not ready. But I’m fast. I can get done quick.”
I quirked an eyebrow. Good thing I took care of myself not an hour ago.
Delilah chuckled. “Such a perv.” She waved toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I watched the sway of her hips until she was out of sight, and then made myself at home. The entire place smelled like her perfume. I sat down on the couch with the remote and flicked on the TV. Every station was talking about the upcoming game. Athletes were superstitious—I didn’t like to know the odds before a game, so I hit the off button and looked around. The end table held a photo album that I’d never seen before. Not thinking twice, I grabbed it and started to flip through.
It was page after page of Delilah and some guy, who I could only assume was Drew. He was in a football uniform in half the pictures, and apparently Delilah didn’t have to grow into her looks as many women did—she was smokin’ hot at every age. Most of the photos looked like they were from high school, but some looked like they might have been from college. The two of them were arm-in-arm in most pictures. Smiling, laughing. A pang of jealousy reared from within when I flipped to one of them kissing. It was probably eight years old, and the poor guy had been dead for almost as many years. God, I was an asshole.
I put the book back on the coffee table and closed my eyes for a few minutes to clear my head. I smelled her come back into the room.
“Do you want something to drink?” She was smiling, and then suddenly her face dropped. I followed her line of sight to the photo album. She walked to the coffee table and picked it up, storing it in the console beneath the TV.
“No, thank you,” I said.
She scrunched her face.
“You asked me if I wanted something to drink. I’m good.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” She paused and looked around the room. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”
When she disappeared, I stared at the cabinet that Delilah had just put away the photo album in. Young love. Loss. Football. It was like a light bulb had turned on for the first time. My head fell back against the couch. How had I not figured it out before? Had I been hit one too many times in the fucking head at practice? I smacked myself in the skull and groaned. Jesus Christ, Brody. It’s so obvious.
I stood and paced back and forth for a few minutes, trying to gather my thoughts before walking into the bedroom.
“Hey.” I leaned against the doorframe and waited for her to come out of her closet.
She came out wearing a navy skirt and a white shirt, with a set of pearls that caught around one breast and hung down to her waist. Classy, yet sexy. Although I preferred the pink tank top without the bra as long as it was just the two of us. “Am I taking too