asked on a sigh. “If I have a three-date max rule, and he has a three date before we even fuck rule… where does that leave us?”
“Well… what if you ditch your rule and give him a legitimate chance?”
I flattened my lips, giving her a pointed look. “Come on, now. Did we not just see in live and living color what happens when I break my rules? Case in point: Jordan.”
“That doesn’t count.”
I arched a brow.
“I’m serious,” she said earnestly. “Belle, he’s really nice. And really hot. What if he’s different?” She paused, and I felt the words coming before she even said them. “I know you think every guy is going to be like Nathan, but…”
“Please,” I said, holding up my free hand. “Don’t.”
“Nathan was young, Belle. He didn’t know what he wanted. And I know that hurt you, but it was years ago, and don’t you think—”
“Don’t I think it’s time to get over it and trust a guy again when he says I’m his one and only and we’re going to get married, only to be completely crushed and heartbroken when he leaves me behind because I’m not the kind of girl you take home to Mom?” I shook my head. “No, thank you, I think I’ll stick with the Good Time Girl title. It’s a lot less complicated and reaps a lot more benefits.”
Gemma sighed, taking her first sip of coffee. Silence fell between us as those words sank in, and my heart ached, as if it was just as pissed at me as I was that I’d brought up all those stinging reminders.
“Well, then, I guess you enjoy a couple more dates, and then you guys will have one night together,” she finally said, her eyes sad when they locked on mine. “Better make the most of that date number three.”
Makoa
“Hike!”
I took off like a rocket, exploding from my crouched position and jetting off toward the agility cones laid out in front of me. As soon as I hit the first one, I side-stepped it, veering off to the right. Then, when my feet found the second one, I shifted again, sprinting left.
Back and forth, left and right, full sprint to dead stop and turn around until I cleared the cones. Then, I took off in a sprint down the field and looked over my shoulder just in time to catch the spiral throw from Gerald down the field.
“Nice!” I heard him call as I slowed my sprint to a jog and finally to a walk.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the hem of my muscle tank, taking a breath before I jogged back until I was close enough to toss the ball to Gerald.
“Way to explode off the line,” he said with a grin, gripping the laces. “I can’t wait to really see you in action at training camp.”
“By the time you report, I’ll be spending most of my days in ice baths trying not to die from soreness.”
“Perks of being a veteran,” he said with a shrug. “Ready for another round?”
I nodded, sidling up on the line next to him, and as soon as he called out hike, I was off again.
Over and over, drill after drill, we passed Sunday afternoon with sweat dripping into our eyes and our muscles aching for us to call it a day. But that was a mistake I’d seen too many young players make in the off season. They’d take a full vacation, eat whatever they wanted and barely work out, and then they’d report to training camp overweight, out of shape, and soft from too much time off.
That only did one thing: call coach’s attention.
And not in the good way.
For me, the summer offseason was a break of sorts, but it wasn’t full time off. I spent at least six hours a day working out, training, watching tape, and memorizing routes. And today, I’d convinced Gerald McNab, backup quarterback for the Bears, to come train with me.
I liked Gerald. I’d met him my first day in Chicago when I’d toured the Bear’s facility with coach and the owner of the team. Gerald was one of the few guys there working out, and he had a smile almost as big as mine. He was a few inches shorter than me, stalky and muscular with long black hair that was dreaded and almost always pulled back in a low hair tie at the nape of his neck.