“You know you’re not meant to be on a network, Liam. You belong on the field.” Thomas Saunders, head coach for the Giants and my former coach, sits back in the chair at his home office. “Jones is just a placeholder until you decide to come back, and we all know it.”

“Nobody gave me that memo.” I cross my arms, shaking my head. “You know why I left, Tom.”

“I know, I know, Liam and I want to assure you that measures have been put in place so that doesn’t happen again.”

“That’s funny, I haven’t heard news of an offensive line coach going on trial for sexual assault.” I meet his tired eyes cooly, linking my fingers across my abdomen.

“There’s red tape and contracts, Liam. You know that. And I’ve been working on quietly getting things together so this can happen as efficiently as possible.”

“Well, when that happens - you know where I’ll be.” I stand, heading for the door but deciding there’s one more thing that needs to be said. “I’ve always respected you, Tom. Do the right thing here.”

He nods his head once to show he understands, and I leave, high-fiving his daughter Gianna where she’s sitting on the stairs near his office.

“Hey, big-shot.” His wife Diane leans on the door frame of the kitchen, dark hair in a messy bun and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Go easy on him, alright? This isn’t any easier for him.”

“I know.” I glance at Gianna, who’s coloring happily. I lower my voice. “But…I have to keep pushing on it. I made a promise.”

“I know. He’s dealing with a lot, but it doesn’t mean he cares any less than you do.”

“How’d he manage to snag you to deal with his bullies again?”

“You let someone in, and you might find it’s a lot easier than you think.”

“That’s my cue to go,” I grumble, patting my sweatpants for my keys.

“Here, take a plate with you.” She goes back into the kitchen and comes out shortly with a plate all wrapped up in foil.

“You didn’t put that together in a few seconds.” I squint as I take the plate from her.

“Nope.” She gestures for me to lean down, and I do, accepting a fond kiss on the cheek. “Now get you a woman so you can eat more than takeout.” She pats my cheek lightly and shoos me away.

“Maybe one day. Far away.” I think of Mickey’s shrimp scampi and sheet masks. It was surprisingly fun.

I haven’t heard from her in a few days. Guess she decided to go with commitment.

I tell myself it’s not disappointment I feel. Or it’s not disappointment over her specifically.

I’m disappointed that I have to open up the options again, that’s all.

But that’s what weddings are for. There’s bound to be a hot bridesmaid or two, or some guests.

I don’t need Michaela Banks.

There are plenty more women like her out there, and I’m not going to get hung up over one.

* * *

“Talk to me, bro.” I put my phone on speaker, and rifle through my suitcase, smelling a pair of socks and rearing back.

Whew. Definitely goes to the laundry.

I’m staying at a friend’s place, housesitting technically even though it’s not like there are any plants to water or animals to feed.

I sold my place in New York before I left. I didn’t want anything to do with it.

“What’s your schedule looking like for next week?”

“I’m only here for your wedding, so it’s pretty wide-open.”

“Your passport up to date?”

“Yeah…” I trail off, finding the boxers I was looking for.

“Good, you know Tara is over the top and we’ve decided on Switzerland for the week. Games, alcohol, skiing - normal bachelor party shit.”

“You chose it, didn’t you.” I scoff. “Tara is nowhere near as bougie as you are.”

“I resent that word.” Wesley laughs. “And hell yeah, I did. If it was up to her, she’d have me hiking somewhere. Or even worse…camping.” He says it like the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth and I can just imagine his face screwed up in disgust.

“A little dirt won’t kill you.”

“Famous last words.” I hear someone in the background and rustling before he comes back to the phone. “I’ll text you the flight details. We’re taking Bianca’s jet.”

It still astounds me that those words can come off anyone’s lips. I’m not struggling for money by any means, but I’m still the boy from a lower-middle-class family. We had a simple life and simple needs.

Mostly because it was all about my dad’s needs. My mom just folded into whatever he wanted.

“Cool, man. See you then.”

“Oh, you can bring someone if you want. There’s plenty of room.” With that, he clicks off, and I stare at my phone for a second.

It’s been a week now since I saw Mickey.

Despite how easy it usually is for me to forget one woman and move on, I can’t seem to shake her from my mind yet.

I’m banking on the problem being that I got one taste of her and nothing more.

Usually, it’s been all or nothing.

It wouldn’t hurt to just check in, see where her mind is at. I mean, it’s not like I’m staying in New York, so I can afford a little bit more leeway.

Just until I head back down South.

I sit on the edge of the bed and scroll through my contacts until I reach her name, pressing and waiting for the call to connect.

The timer starts on the phone and it stops ringing, even though I don’t hear a voice, and I figure she’s waiting to see what I’ll say.

I’d hate to disappoint.

“I hope your silence has been because you’re thinking long and hard about fucking me.”

I wince a little because the words seem a little too flippant now, too crass after that night.

Then I scowl because there’s no way I’m changing how I phrase shit over a woman.

She can take me just like this, or she can keep it moving.