by Lindsay Becs
Hearing the door open, I look up to see her walking down the steps to the sidewalk. She smiles at me before she makes a face and says, “‘Go suck a fart’ is what you’re going to tell him, Rosie,” into the phone at her ear.
She mouths an apology to me as I open the car door for her. I shrug it off, but I am a little annoyed. Hopefully she has a good reason.
“Look, I have to go,” she says, looking at me with a grin. “I’m on a date.” Then she rolls her eyes and groans. “Do not tell Lilly! She will literally murder him, and we don’t need her getting into more trouble and ending up in jail.” She listens a minute more. “Okay. I really have to go… Because you’re making me be rude… Love you too… Bye.”
Dropping her cell in her purse, she sighs. “I’m so sorry about that. Right before you got to my place, my sister called and dropped the bomb that she just found out her boyfriend of a year is married and she had no idea.”
“How does that even happen?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “If it can happen to anyone, it’s Rose.”
“Should I be worried about this Lilly person too?”
She smiles at me again with a pause. “Only if you hurt me,” she jests.
We pull up to the pancake place I found online last night when I couldn’t fall asleep. Supposedly they have over fifty different types of pancakes to choose from.
We walk inside and are seated right away. She orders a coffee while I stick with water. She gets the Elvis pancakes, and I get an omelet, which she makes fun of me for, and I like it.
“So, Rose, Lilly, Juniper… I take it your mom likes flowers or plants or something?” I ask.
“Yeah, you can say that. I’m the oldest, then Rose, Lilly and Ivy is the baby. Lord help us if that woman would have had any more girls,” she laughs. “Do you have siblings?”
“A little brother, Sam. He’s five. My parents split when I was sixteen. My mom remarried a couple years later and had Sam.”
“That must have been hard on you.”
“They made it as easy as it could be. Both of them have stayed cordial and kind through it all. I had it easy compared to most kids whose parents divorced, especially later on,” I muse. “What about you? Your parents together still?”
She lets out a laugh. “Nope! My mom lived a free-spirited and free-love kind of life. I never knew my dad. My sisters and I all have different fathers and all look nothing alike. She’s made life fun through the years; I can tell you that much.”
“That’s… interesting,” I say, not wanting to offend her as the waitress sets down our food.
“To put it nicely,” she says with a smile. “Where did you grow up?”
“I’m from Pennsylvania.”
“I went to Penn State!” she exclaims.
I smile at how adorable she is. “Yeah, I know. We were there at the same time actually.”
“You went there too?!” she asks, bouncing up and down in her seat.
Nodding, I reply, “I did.”
“Oh, no… You’re playing way too cool and reserved about this. Did you play sports?”
The innocence of her question makes me chuckle. She really doesn’t know who I am or that I’m a big-ish name in the NFL.
“I did, yes.”
“You’re being vague. Did I say something bad about you?” she asks and pulls a face, gritting her teeth.
“Not about me. And besides, I already told you I’m a fan. I love your show.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she says, slumping back in her chair.
“Where are you from?” I turn the tables.
“I’m from here, New York. But I grew up outside the city on a farm. My mom takes in rescue animals, and they run the land.”
“I bet that was fun growing up,” I muse.
“It was for the most part. We lived close enough to easily get into the city but far enough away that we got to play outside freely. I was lucky in that way, I guess.”
“Sounds like you got to have the perfect blend of both worlds. I enjoy the city, but I do miss having more space to roam and not feel like I’m going to walk on top of someone all the time.”
“I’ll have to take you to the farm sometime then.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good! I need to get going. I volunteer at Forever Grey on Sundays to help walk the dogs, and it’s almost my time to be there. Unless… Would you like to join me?”
“Are you going to walk them, or they going to take you for a ride like last week?” I tease.
“I usually walk them. But I think it all worked out alright.” She blushes.
“I’d love to join you. Do you walk or run with them?” I ask, curious if we have time to change into workout clothes or not.
“Bianca, her husband and I usually try to jog but I more like wog.”
“Wog?”
“Walk slash jog. I’m not a big workout girl. Not like you must be.”
“I am definitely a big workout girl.” I smile.
“Okay, funny. Let’s go so we can change.”
We take separate cars home to change and plan to meet at Forever Grey in an hour. I’m glad, because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her just yet.
5
When I train legs, I make them my bitch for an hour… Then for the next two days they make me theirs.
JUNIPER
On my way back to my place, I sent a text to Bianca to let her know that Troy would be joining us for our jog today.
Bianca: Did you spend the night together?!
Me: No.
Bianca: You better give me more than that.
Me: He came back to my place last night and things got a little heated but he didn’t stay.
Me: He was a gentleman.
Bianca: But did you want him to be a gentleman?
Me: I don’t know actually. I feel good about how it went.
Me: It’s been a while since I’ve dated. Not since “he who shall not be named.”
I admit to my best friend. My last serious boyfriend—the only person I ever thought about changing careers for and starting a future with—cheated on me. It put a sour taste in my mouth for dating and especially for anything turning serious. Troy seems different. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go all in just yet either.
Me: We had brunch this morning and now he’s going to go with me to Forever Grey.
Bianca: How about Dex and I skip today and give you space to jog with Mister Muscles.
Me: You sure?
I feel bad asking her not to come with us, but her saying it makes me feel a little better. It’ll be nice not to have her and Dex there to grill him. Now Troy and I can have more time to get to know each other.
Bianca: Absolutely. Since Dex got back, we haven’t had a lot of time to chill. It’ll be good to have a lazy afternoon.
Me: Coffee tomorrow?
Bianca: Same time, same place. I’ll be there.
I toss my phone on my bed as I rummage through my drawers to find my best workout clothes. He’s all buff and muscles and could wear anything and look hot. Me? I need to find the perfect yoga pants that hold everything in tight so it’s not flying around as we jog, my best sports bra that holds the ladies but also makes them look amazing, and a shirt that helps enhance everything.
Pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I turn sideways to look at myself in the mirror. I think I look alright. Hopefully he’ll think so too. I roll on some extra deodorant for good measure, pull on my socks and tie up the laces on my sneakers. Pushing my phone into the little pocket on the side of my pants and tucking my keys into the secret one at my waist, I take off down the block to Forever Grey.
As I walk up, I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face when I see Troy there waiting for me. He’s leaning back against the building with a foot bent up on the wall, looking down at his phone. He’s wearing that awful hat again, but I can see the bottom half of his face under it. Since he doesn’t see me, I decide to mess with him a
little.
Me: I don’t know if I can make it.
I text and wait to see what his reaction will be. It’s immature and mean, but I can’t help but laugh at what his response is going to be.
Watching him, I see his foot fall to the ground and his shoulders slump as he begins to type back his reply.
Troy: It’s okay. Everything alright?
Me: I got distracted looking at a hottie and it’s holding me up.
His head snaps up and he looks around, for me I hope, and I see a big smile spread across his face. Those dimples that I’ve yet to stick my finger in and lick are on display, and the wetness that pools between my legs has me letting out a muffled groan.
Dipping his head again and trying not to smile, he looks back down at his phone. Soon I get another text from him.
Troy: Where are you, little stalker?
Me: Close enough to see you trying not to smile.
Before he can respond, I walk closer so he can see me. His smile emerges again, and I smile in return.
“Let’s go,” I tell him, walking straight into Forever Grey.
I greet Suzette and introduce Troy. She politely returns a greeting and has him fill out the volunteer form before we go back to get the dogs we’re walking today.
Troy takes a quick liking to Brutus, one of the dogs that introduced us, and King, while I decide to give Lucy another shot and give a warm welcome to the newest dog here named Diva.
I explain the basics to him about greyhounds and their behavior. About how they are easily distracted and then zero in on things and take off, like what happened to me. Which he laughs about as we remember the events from last week. But I also tell him how they are the laziest and most loveable dogs too, which is why I love them.
I tell him what Forever Grey is all about as we leash our pups and get ready to head to the park.
We’ve barely warmed up walking when he begins to quicken his pace and I follow.
“So, you think I’m hot?” he asks as we begin to jog.
“Meh… you’re alright,” I joke with a smile before rolling my eyes at him. “You know you are. Don’t even try to act like you don’t know. I’m sure women fall at your feet all the time.”
He lets out a laugh. “Not all the time.”
“So sorry for your hardship,” I deadpan.
“I actually don’t like the attention.”
“Bullshit. Everyone likes attention and being told their beautiful.”
“Maybe sometimes but not always. I really only care what one person thinks at the moment,” he flirts.
Staring straight ahead as we jog, I fight back a smile. “I can’t even look at your face right now.”
“That bad, huh?”
“No, that good.”
We jog in silence next to each other for a few minutes before he says, “You’re beautiful.” I stop abruptly, shocked because his comment seems out of the blue. He steps closer to me and brushes a stray hair out of the way. “You said everyone likes to be told that.” He smiles with a shrug. “I wanted to be the one who told you today.”
Butterflies and tingles everywhere. Because motherfucking swoon!
I dip my face down and to the side with a shy smile to try to hide how he’s making me feel right here in the middle of Central Park. Licking at the corner of my mouth, I’m about to say something but then stop.
“That damn tongue of yours…” he says, his eyes zeroing in on my lips.
“Wants to lick your dimple,” I say without thinking, and my eyes go wide at the fact that I just said that. Out loud!
He lets out a laugh before pulling me into his body and pressing a kiss to my lips, our hot, sweaty bodies sticking together as I taste salt from his skin mixed in our kiss. Pulling away, he smiles down at me before stepping back when one of the dogs begins to whimper and whine. I know the feeling.
He tries to discreetly adjust himself as we begin to jog down the path again. This time I have a satisfied smile that matches his.
It’s been three weeks since I first ran into/met Troy, and yet it feels like so much longer. In a good way. We get along well and just click. The more we talk, the more it seems so easy and right. I love that conversation flows effortlessly and our laughs are limitless. But more than that, I love that we’ve been taking things slow and he hasn’t pushed to sleep with me before it feels right. Not that that we haven’t had fun or enjoyed each other, but we’re truly getting to know one another first. And I like that. A lot.
“What’s with the goofy smile on your face?” Bianca asks as she sits down at the table where I’m seated.
“Just thinking about Troy,” I say all dreamy like. Bianca, who’s been my number-one fan for this growing relationship, looks at me with a face I don’t like. “What’s that face for?”
“I have something I need to show you,” she starts. “I was at the clinic with Georgina yesterday, and I found this in the waiting room.”
She pulls a magazine out of her bag and puts it on the table. My confused eyes go from her sad ones to the magazine, with a picture of Troy on the cover. Shirtless, smiling, and holding a football. The headline reads, “Troy Tipton: Giants’ Mister Dimples.”
Looking up to my friend, I ask, “What is this?”
“Did you not know he played in the NFL?”
I shake my head and snort as I fall back in my chair. “Such a basic question: what’s your job? And I never asked. In three weeks, I never asked. Never gave it a thought.” She looks at me, opens her mouth to say something else, closes it, opens it again and closes it once more. “Just say it,” I tell her.
“How?!”
“This is bad, Bianca. This is really bad. If it gets out that I’m dating an NFL player, it could ruin my show, my career.” I bury my face in my hands. “What am I going to do?”
“He knows who you are? What you do, right?” I nod. “I wonder why he didn’t tell you.”
I take in a deep breath and think about that too. It could be he wanted to keep his anonymity. Or he knew if he told me, I wouldn’t date him. Or maybe he just… I don’t even know.
Frustrated, I pull out my cell and start to send him a text, but Bianca pulls it from my hands. “You aren’t doing that. Take a beat to let it all settle in and then ask him to meet up. In person. And talk about it like an adult. Not like a crazy teenage girl.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I blow out a breath. “Fuck.” Dropping my head, chin to chest, I feel tears burning my eyes. I’m not going to cry. Not yet. Not when I don’t have answers.
Leaving Bianca, I take the magazine she brought. Once in my office, I open it up and greedily read through the article written about the guy I thought I knew. Obviously, I was missing a huge part of who he is.
Half the article is about his playing on the team and in the league, and the other half is all about how he’s the newest eye candy on the field, giving Tom Brady a run for his money. (I know that much about the NFL.)
But none of it sounds like the man I’ve gotten to know the last few weeks. The man I know is somewhat shy and adorable. Not a typical asshole jock that every other athlete seems to be.
Then it all makes sense… The hat he’s always wearing. The smile he fights when we’re out but lets fly when we’re closed off together.
Still. Why wouldn’t he tell me? It’s such a huge part of his life. It is his life.
Reaching for my phone, I send Troy a text asking if he can come over tonight. I don’t want this conversation to be in public, and I’m sure he doesn’t either. I’ll give us both at least that much respect, regardless of how it ends.
I just really hope it doesn’t end with him being an asshole. I was starting to think I won the hot-guy lottery.
6
All I want is food, cuddles, attention, and exercise. I’m basically a puppy.
TROY
“Truth. This chick still doesn’t know who you are?” Dante asks as we’re in the gym lifting.
I shake my head no and drop the
hand weights I was using to the mat. “No. She really doesn’t.”
He lets out a huff as he puts his own weights down and turns to face me. “You need to tell her before she finds out from someone else, bro. That ain’t gonna end well otherwise.”
“Am I an asshole for liking the fact that she doesn’t know?” I ask and then cringe at myself because I already know the answer to that. I’m definitely an asshole.
Dante chokes out a laugh. “Yep,” he says, popping the ‘P.’ Then he adds, “It’s not as though she’s like every other girl. I don’t think she’s gonna go clingy on your ass and only be with you for your money and boyishly handsome good looks. We both know I’m better looking than you.” He flashes me a big smile, showing off his pearly whites. “Although, your dimples give you an unfair advantage.”
“Shut up,” I laugh. “For real though, how mad you think she’s going to be when I tell her?”
“If she’s like Laura, I’d say have nine-one-one on speed dial,” he laughs.
“Awesome,” I deadpan. “That’s so encouraging.”
“Just be honest with her about why you didn’t say anything before. Don’t be a fucking pussy; be straight with her. If she’s as cool as she seemed, then it’ll work out fine.”
“I sure fucking hope so, man.”
When I got Juniper’s text asking me to come over tonight, I was excited at first, but then going back to read it again, it sounded like something was up, making my gut twist. Usually she’s her sassy, sarcastic self, but this was short, to the point and didn’t show any of her awesome personality.
Finishing up at the team gym, I shower and change before heading straight to her place. I down a Gatorade on the way and already feel some of my muscles revolting from the workout I did today.
I text her to let her know I’m at her place before I push the buzzer to call her apartment. She lets me in without a word, and I question that too. Something is up. I just don’t know what. And I don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into.
Once I’m outside her door, I raise my fist and knock, waiting for her to answer. She opens the door and, without a greeting, moves for me to walk inside. Now I know something is definitely up.
