cushioned chair on my patio. She hugs her knees to her chest and smiles at me. The doctor just left and yes, I will live.
Three more hours of burning water. I’ve had a quick lesson on stingrays and why I should always shuffle, never jump.
“You have an excellent throw,” she says, trying to change my bummed mood. My hands clasp in my lap and I twirl my thumbs, debating if I should tell her. On one hand, women fall at my feet knowing who I am and having her on her knees looking up at me… I can’t say that wouldn’t make my fucking year. On the other hand, I like her feisty personality. She’s making me work to win her over. I squeeze my eyes shut. What the hell? Win her over? I can’t forget what this is.
Temporary. There is no need to win anyone over.
“I hope I do, it’s worth a few million dollars.” I wince at the cockiness in my voice. Even I’m embarrassed by it. Do I typically say shit like that? “I’m a professional football player,” I add to help ease the shitstorm I just spewed.
“Well, that makes sense now.”
I study her face, waiting for her eyes to glaze over with either dollar signs or infatuation. Instead, I see her. Whiskey. In that silent moment that our eyes lock, we’re each searching for something.
An impossible something.
She clears her throat, breaking contact. “How’s your foot?”
“You don’t have to stay.” The words fall off my lips and I instantly regret them.
She straightens in her chair, and her expression shifts to hurt. “Do you want me to leave?”
Hell, no.
“No, but I don’t want you to stay because you feel guilty.”
She shifts her toes to the ground and leans forward. “I do feel bad. I took you out there.” The warm breeze picks up and whips her hair through the air. As if she couldn’t get any sexier, it’s like someone turned a fan on for a Sports Illustrated photo shoot.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you wouldn’t have caught the ball,” I tease, even though it’s the truth. I wouldn’t have been jumping up and down.
She gasps. “What! You’re blaming me because of that?” She stands up and walks over to me, sticks her finger down in the bucket to test the temperature. She gestures for me to take my foot out so she can refill it. “Did you realize that maybe you’re overpaid when an island girl can do your job?”
Her banter is refreshing. I need a woman like her to keep me on my toes. I hear the sink turn off and she comes back out. Smart-ass puts her finger in the bucket to show me it’s not bad. I roll my eyes, sinking my foot again.
“I bet you used to run all over these boys playing socc… football.”
Her grin grows as she recalls a memory. “Dante used to hate when I wanted to play. His friends stopped telling him when a game was happening, afraid I’d tag along.”
I can imagine her kicking ass to prove girls are as good as boys. Those were always the girls I was attracted to. I’m not sure when that changed. No, I know when it was. When beautiful women with fake huge tits would do whatever the hell I wanted them to do. I lost my craving for strong women because I had an abundance of weak ones. It was easier to deal with them when I was putting all my energy into building my football career.
But I want more. I don’t want easy.
“Do you have any girlfriends?”
She cocks her hip out. “Why? Are you tired of me already?”
“Definitely not. I just figured you were the type to have a lot of guy friends and few girlfriends.”
She shrugs and plops down in the chair. “I guess. I didn’t have a lot of any friends growing up. My dad tolerated Dante, but he kept me pretty isolated from the locals.” Dante was right. Her dad seems crazy. “You’re thinking he was a horrible dad.”
Maybe crazy, not horrible. She seems to have her shit together and loves her dad so he couldn’t be that bad. “Whiskey, I’m not one to judge. My dad rode my ass my entire life to be a better football player. I was never good enough for him. Even when he was on his deathbed, he made me swear I would continue working harder.”
I stare out to the calm water. A pain lives in my chest because we