The door of the bar slams open with the gust of winter wind at my back, jangling the bells loudly, and drawing far more attention to me than I planned on. Like it’s not hard enough to sneak around at six foot five and two-hundred forty pounds. Evie once said even a grim reaper costume couldn’t hide me on campus.
Luckily, between the packed house, conversations, and music blaring from the speakers, only those closest to me notice my bumbling entrance.
I don’t know how Jackson did it.
Stalking Evie is proving to be a full-time job, and it’s definitely not an entry-level position.
At least no zealous fans seem to be approaching me, so that’s a small win. Most days, they make it impossible for me to get from point A to point B without wanting to rip my hair out in frustration. I’ve missed the few chances I’ve had to catch a glimpse of Evie on more than one occasion because some idiot wanted to tell me which team he hopes I’ll be drafted to.
Like he has any more choice in the matter than I do.
Fortunately for me, Valentine’s Day means this is a crowd of guys looking to get laid, not accost me about my NFL team preferences.
My eyes scan the bar for a glimpse of her ebony curls.
It took me until I lost her to finally precisely define the shade of her nearly black hair. Then again, we always appreciate what we had the most when it’s gone.
Dark chocolate hair, caramel skin, toffee nipples—all contrast with her beautiful, honey-flavored, candy-pink center.
It’s no mistake I’ve just described a feast fit for a guy with the world’s worst sweet tooth.
After nearly three weeks, I’m dying of starvation.
My mouth waters when I catch sight of her, nestled in a far corner booth and seated across from a guy whose all-black attire could give Mallory a run for her money.
His baby-smooth, pale cheeks stand out against black hair that has several strips of blue strategically placed among the longer strands.
He looks like a total douche.
And that’s not even an authentic motorcycle jacket. It appears to be pleather, judging by the way it shines unnaturally in the dim light of the bar.
This is exactly why, even if she doesn’t know it, Evie needs me to be on the lookout. She’s been out of the dating game for too long, and the rules have likely changed since high school. Not to mention, she has a history of choosing assholes.
Me included.
Unlike the others, I have a vested interest in making sure she stays safe, gets what she wants out of these guys, then comes home to me when she realizes none of them will ever be able to love her as much as I do.
In the world of elite athletes, it’s no secret tons of players keep a side piece. While the little wife stays at home to make him look good at public events and raise his kids, he gets serviced in whatever city he’s in for the week.
It’s a sick kind of irony that my wife, on the other hand, needs to be taken care of in bed by a guy with a smaller dick that doesn’t make her cry like she’s being impaled with every thrust, and who doesn’t remind her of the worst day of her life.
I guess this is all part of being a good feminist. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.
I’ll be faithful while she works out her demons.
God knows I wish I had an outlet for mine.
I pick a barstool that gives me a clear view of her while not being directly in her line of sight.
Even though it’s packed, the bartender makes a beeline for me, gaping with wide eyes and an open mouth until I can’t take it anymore.
“Is there a problem with me sitting here? I didn’t see a reserved sign on the stool.”
The guy, who looks way too young to be the owner, shakes his head and seems to recover. “No. No reserved seats around here. It’s just… You’re Rob Falls.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Evie was way better with the public stuff than I ever hope to be, even if I didn’t always like her methods. “Yeah. So my legal documents tell me.”
“That came out wrong. I meant I’ve never seen you in here before.”
Considering this is the most popular bar near campus, and most of my teammates frequented it while I spent my free time with Evie, I’ll give him a pass for his shock. At least he’s not fangirling all over me. “My senior year of play is over. It’s the off season. Figured a beer couldn’t hurt.”
He nods like he completely understands. “Sure. Didn’t get the right gift for your girlfriend, and she kicked you into the dog house for the night?”
I glance over his shoulder to where Evie’s laughing at Pleather Boy.
Without her hair straightened, a face covered with makeup, and the clothes she used to wear as a football wife, she’s obviously flying under the radar without even trying. She’s wearing her glasses out in public. This version of Evie is like the Linda Lee alter ego of Supergirl.
That’s going to make my life a hell of a lot easier.
Still, better to check my suspicions than assume. I point to one of the craft porters, then hand the bartender back the list. “How do you know I have a girlfriend?”
He laughs as he grabs a frosted mug out of a cooler. “Everyone knows about your girlfriend, man. She’s fuckin’ hot.”
Breathing through the immediate anger his words provoke, I go with pumping him for more information, instead of punching him. He obviously doesn’t realize she’s here tonight. “She is. Did you see that nude spread she did last year? It was in a couple of magazines at the beginning of the season.”
His eyes practically pop out of his skull as he slides my beer in front of me. “No shit? I’m sorry I missed that. Which ones? Playboy? Hustler? Maxim?”
None of the ones you clearly read on a regular basis, buddy. “I don’t remember. It’s not like I need them. I have the real thing.”
Had.
The bartender smirks at me, likely imagining exactly what those photos look like. “You are one lucky bastard, Falls. I’d kill for a girl like that.”
I raise my glass to him rather than respond. I almost did kill for that girl. Look where it got me.
He slides away to another customer, leaving me to watch tonight’s carnage in peace.
I’ve known Evie’s self-esteem has been in the toilet since the aftermath of Eddie. While Alex tried to convince me her being a WAG was good for her, the truth is it was no different than her concealing the bruise I left on her cheek when she came back to school after the attack. She didn’t fix the underlying issue, she just covered it up.
When she told me about Julie’s offer for an article and photo shoot to put to rest all the speculation surrounding the assault, I could tell she’d had herself completely convinced she was doing it to help other survivors.
“You wouldn’t believe how many people think no penetration means no rape, Rob!” She throws her hands up in the air, typical fiery Evie. “Maybe if I show them what happened to me, they’ll get a better idea of what sexual assault takes away from a person. I wish it didn’t have to be something physical to help people understand the mental scars that are left behind, but this is a step in the right direction.”
I couldn’t argue with any of her logic. Still can’t.
But, just like Evie thought she’d magically no longer need to sleep in closets after Jackson was sent to prison, she obviously believed ridding herself of this last secret would free her from the clutches of that day.
“I’m tired of people staring at me and wondering. Now they’ll know. What they do with that information is on them, not me.”
And yet after that article made print, every time we went out in public, Evie’s chin wasn’t held high. Her shoulders slumped further under the stares of people she was so sure were judging her.
My dear old dad didn’t exactly disprove her beliefs. Neither did I, the night of the biggest fight we’ve ever had.
The hard truth is, very few people read that article or saw those photos. The bartender is further proof of that sad fact. Hustler is much more fun to look at than an independently published magazine, which focuses on social justice.
Sure, a few comments were made online or on sports talk shows, but it didn’t gain the sort of recognition it should have. And honestly, if Dad hadn’t pitched his hissy fit, it likely wouldn’t have been mentioned anywhere at all. He inadvertently fanned the spark of that article into a few sluggish flames that never caught fire.
That didn’t stop Evie from internalizing every fucking word of it. I could see it in the look in her eyes when I tried so hard to love her. She feels unworthy of me.
Which reminds me…
I fish my phone out of my pocket and scroll for the number I had to call in more than a few favors to get.
“What?” The harsh voice barks in my ear. “So help me God, Lawson, if you’re in jail again, you’re on your own tonight. I’m busy!”
I pull my phone away from my ear and double check the number before clearing my throat. “Shawn Metcalf?”
“Who the fuck is this?”
In the background, a woman calls for him to come back to bed.
Oops. Just because I don’t have plans tonight doesn’t mean the rest of the world is suddenly single.
“Uh, this is Rob. Rob Falls.”
Some rustling noises filter through the speaker before Shawn’s voice comes back over the line. “Falls! How the hell are ya? How’s my frat? How’s that firecracker of yours?” He clears his throat, and his voice is lower when he speaks again. “I read that article, bro. That took serious lady balls, just like I always knew she had.”
If I thought I was making a hasty decision before, Shawn’s erased those doubts.
“Uh, actually that’s part of the reason I’m calling.” I grit my teeth as Pleather Boy takes Evie’s hand in his own, but shake it off and try to focus. “Remember that time you tried to poach my girlfriend? Consider this me calling in my IOU.”
“IOU?” He laughs. “What the hell do I owe you for?”
“For not beating the shit out of you when you tried to make a move on what was mine.”
Past tense. Damn, that’s a knife in my chest.
“Fair enough, but you should know I backed off when she made it clear she wasn’t interested in anyone but you. What can I do for you?”
“I need an agent. Preferably you.”
The silence on his end stretches out so long, I check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. A bar is admittedly not the best place for this conversation, but fuck it. I’m busy between classes and keeping an eye on Evie, and hell no am I going to take this outside.
“Metcalf? You there?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m here. How’d you know I’m an agent now?”
“Word gets around. My dad’s an agent, so I have a lot of connections. I didn’t realize when you were at State you were planning on going this route. I figured you’d try to get on a farm team somewhere.”
“That didn’t work out…” Shawn trails off. “Anyway, uh, if your dad’s an agent, then why aren’t you going with him? Conflict of interest?”
“Something like that.” More like conflict of non-interest, which sounds much more pleasant than abject hatred.
“If you have so many contacts in the agency world, then you should know I’m primarily a hockey agent. You need someone who specializes in football, bro.”
“Here’s the thing, bro. I looked into your resume, and I know you’ve only signed hockey players so far. Hockey trades happen more often and move at a faster clip than football, so you have experience with wheeling and dealing. I need to keep my options open. I don’t want to end up with a ten-year contract to the worst team in the league right out of the draft. I don’t know where I’ll need to be in two years let alone ten.”
And I need to fuck my dad over in the most painful possible way. Going with any buddy of his from the NFL pool won’t work. They’re just as likely to feed him intel as they are to get me the deals I want. He’ll still be pulling the puppet strings even from a distance.
“What the hell does that mean, you don’t know where you’ll need to be?”
“It means exactly what I said. I need to keep my options open.”
“Okay, then.” Shawn doesn’t press the issue. “I usually request a retainer. But, I’m guessing you’re flat-broke since you’re currently between jobs. So, tell me why I should take you on, Falls. Aside from the fact we’re frat brothers, this isn’t really looking like a win for me. You don’t play the sport I represent, you can’t pay me for God only knows how long, I’d likely be making an enemy out of your father…anything else I should know before telling you to kiss my ass?”
Is this guy serious right now? I’ve been fielding offers from some of the top agents in the country, who don’t give a rat’s ass my father is their comrade. All they see are potential dollar signs.
I take a deep breath and decide to go for broke. He’ll need this information at some point, anyway. “I’m asking you, Metcalf, because I trust you. I don’t have a lot of that to go around these days, but you proved your worth when you were still on campus. I need someone in my corner who’s not only going to look out for me, but who will look out for Evie, too. I trust you with her.”
As if speaking her name aloud is a jinx, she and her date rise from their seats. Unlike the punk-ass behavior I’d expect from a guy who looks the way he does, he helps her into her coat and takes her hand as he leads her out of the crowded bar.
When the door closes behind them, my ability to breathe considerably lessens.
“Tick-tock, Shawn,” I practically wheeze. “I don’t have all night. Do you want a cut of my money or not?”
He can check my damn income projections on his own time. I have a car to tail. Evie hasn’t been dropped off anywhere besides our still-shared apartment building yet, and she hasn’t invited anyone up.
If that streak ends tonight, God help me, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Being prepared for something and understanding it needs to happen doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“All right,” Shawn sighs. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this more than that time I joined in on a full Sig O orgy, but I’ll do it. Text me your info and I’ll send you the paperwork to get the ball rolling. In the meantime, don’t fucking call me. I’ve got a lot of homework to do if I’m gonna represent you at the draft in a little over two months.”
“Now was that so hard? You obviously know when the NFL draft is. You’re already more knowledgeable than most of the country.”
“A simple thank you will suffice, Falls.”
The female voice from earlier giggles. I can’t make out what she’s whispering, but that’s fine by me.
“How about a piece of advice instead? Wrap it up tonight, Metcalf. There’s nothing worse than getting a VD on VD.”
He hangs up on me.
Evie would have laughed.
I throw some bills down on the bar and make my way back out into the winter night.
Maybe Evie’s laughing at someone else’s jokes now.
Happy Valentine’s Day to me.