I still haven’t heard back from Lia.

The email I got was so strange. That video was so strange. I never recorded myself jacking off. From the looks of the video, I was having a blast. I had my eyes closed and was concentrating hard as hell. Even though I used to get laid all the time, I still had such a high sex drive that I had to jack off just to keep it in check. In reality, my sex drive hasn’t diminished. Not one bit.

I wrote to Lia asking if she had anything to do with the video. I forwarded her the original email, adding my message at the bottom, to see if she would know anything about it.

I didn’t outright accuse her of anything, but I think the message was pretty clear. What I really think is that she somehow secretly recorded me and then sent out the video. Why do I think it’s her?

Because who else in college was named Lia? I never came across another chick with the same name. And while her last name isn’t Leone, it sure sounds a hell of a lot like her last name.

The whole thing is weird. It’s like she’s using a really bad pseudonym, as if she wants people to know who she is, but doesn’t want an official record of herself doing it.

So is this some kind delayed payback for my perceived crimes against her? She was pissed I didn’t wear a condom. But so what? It’s not like anything bad came of that. It was one day, and that was it. No babies. No STDs.

Can’t she just let it go?

After all, that was two years ago.

What a weird time to exact revenge.

Then again, I’m becoming quite the household name. And certainly everyone who follows football knows about me.

Maybe she’s jealous of what’s going on with me. Maybe she just wants to get back at me. If it was some sort of ransom strategy, then she screwed it up royally. She’s supposed to ask for money first and then send the video if I don’t give the money.

Not that I’m pleased about having the video out there or anything, but I certainly wouldn’t be willing to pay someone money to get them not to show it. I mean, maybe five dollars would be my maximum bid. I’m just not shy and I’m not shy about my body, so whoever wants to see it, I guess it’s fair game.

My agent hears about the video somehow.

“How the hell did you hear about it?” I say.

I’m sitting across from him at an annoyingly upscale restaurant downtown.

“I’ve got my ears to the ground, buddy,” he says.

His name is Tommy Duggins, and he looks how you would expect someone named Tommy Duggins to look.

He’s kind of slimy, with his hair slicked back. He always wears expensive suits that don’t seem to fit him well. But I figure that’s how agents are supposed to look. He looks just like any sports agent, and maybe that’s good.

“You didn’t go to my school,” I say. “Are you spying on my email or something?”

He chuckles. “Not yet,” he says. “If you start causing problems, maybe I’ll buy some of that spyware software that parents use to spy on their children.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I say coldly.

That shuts his laughter down.

“Just for legal reasons,” he says. “I want to state clearly that I do not actually intend to illegally install spyware on any of your computational devices.”

“Cut the bullshit,” I say, tired already of his agent double talk, his legal mumbo jumbo. “I don’t really care how you heard about it, just tell me what you wanted to tell me. You called me to lunch for a reason.”

“Well,” he says, taking a big hulking slice off of his rare steak. “The video is getting out. I heard about it today, because a friend of a friend got a copy of it. You know how these things are, people start forwarding funny shit to their friends and pretty soon the whole world has it. That’s what the internet is for.”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t designed for sharing videos of my cock,” I say.

“By the way, you’re really packing,” he says, giving me a wink.

I don’t bother even responding to that.

“Hey, take it as a compliment, buddy,” he says. “Everyone’s talking about how well endowed you are.”

“Just tell me what you want to tell me,” I say.

“Well, as you probably know, clandestine sex tapes are a real thing with celebrities. They can make or break a career. Now if you were an actor, that’d be one thing… But as an athlete, you’re supposed to be a role model…”

“This isn’t a sex tape,” I say. “It’s me jacking off. Something that every single man has done, and continues to do. Probably really frequently.”

“You’re telling me,” says Tommy. “Shit, I can’t get through most days without choking the old chicken at least once.”

An elderly man from the next table gives us a dirty look.

“Damn it, man,” I say. “Shut up. You can’t be talking about that here in a restaurant.”

But Tommy has never been known for his subtlety.

“Basically,” he continues, ignoring me. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with it, but it could be a big deal. Might cost you your career. Might not.”

He takes a big bite of his salad, chewing the lettuce in the most annoying way possible.

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?” I say. “That you don’t know if it’ll ruin my career, but that it might, and that there’s nothing I can do about it?”

“Uh, basically,” he says, with his mouth full of munched-up salad.

“Don’t you see how stupid that is?”

“No. Should I?”

“I’m done here,” I say, pushing my plate forward and getting up from the table.

“You’re leaving just like that?”

“Yup,” I say, walking calmly away towards my car. I don’t have time for this kind of shit. I’ve got a job to do, which as far as I’m concerned is to play football. I can’t be wading through the mire of what could happen and what might happen to my public image. That’ll be for the league and the fans to decide, if the time comes to it.

What’s the big deal? I jerked off once and someone recorded it without my knowledge. That doesn’t make me a bad guy, does it?

If it does, then screw me.

I check my phone, still no email.

I stare out the window of my car, not yet turning it on.

The trees are starting to turn. They aren’t blossoming yet into their glorious fall colors, but I can sense that they’re on the verge of a new cycle.

This isn’t just fall for me. This is football season. This is what I live for.

The first game of the season is rapidly approaching. It’s a home game. We’ve got to win it. We’ve just got to. It’s going to propel us forward, not just in the ranks of wins and losses, but mentally and energetically too. The guys are going to be pumped if we win that first game.

Without really thinking about what I’m doing, I check my phone again before turning on the Jeep.

There’s an email from Lia. I find myself holding my breath as I open it up.

I guess I’m nervous. Because despite the argument we had, and the lack of communication, I’ve always… I’ve always held her in some impossibly high place. On a pedestal, I guess, which is where they always say you’re not supposed to put women. But I put her there and in my mind no other woman can ever approach her. No other woman is ever going to be as beautiful as she is. No other woman is going to have that special spark that she has.

At least that’s how I remember her.

And now she might have been the one to jealously take a swipe at me, potentially jeopardizing my career.

So much is riding on this one email.

So much of my mental state the last three years seems to hang in the balance. Is she going to be the wonderful person that I remember from that short, incredibly brief time in college, the woman that I hold in my memory as the woman that I want to have, to cherish and to fuck endlessly as if my life depended on it? Or is she going to be the woman who wants to get even with me, who wants something from me and my fame?

I click the email, and the page jumps up onto my screen.

“Dear Shane,” she writes. “I am not going to state by email or in writing in any way whether or not I am involved with a video of you.”

Hmm… That’s pretty weird. It sounds like some kind of weird legal talk. It sounds like she doesn’t want to put in writing that it was her.

Shit, I was hoping against hope that it wasn’t her.

She can’t have become this person. She just can’t.

My whole body seems to groan as I continue on.

“We should arrange a time to meet to discuss this in person.”

And that’s the whole email.

Not a single word of affection or even recognition. No mention of what happened in college.

There isn’t even a goodbye to the email. No “sincerely,” or anything like that. The standard “dear” is all I get.

So she wants to meet me to do what? She wants to extort money from me or something?

The fact that she’s saying she didn’t send the email with the video is basically like she’s admitting it. She’s basically saying that she installed a secret video camera in my room. Or at least she was involved in it somehow.

I can feel myself getting angry. The anger runs through my chest, pounding and hot.

It’s not a good feeling.

I don’t want to be angry at her. I want her to be the perfect woman, the woman who I’d spend the rest of my life with… Not that I thought I’d ever find a woman like that.

But she’s the woman I’ve been holding up as the golden standard.

Not that I ever thought we’d be together. Nothing like that.

Just… I thought that I’d find a woman like her someday, or like the memory I have of her.

It turns out that it’s nothing more than a memory, nothing more than a fantasy.

I’m so angry I want to destroy the interior of my car. I want to slam my fist into the dashboard, into the radio. I want to smash it to bits, and I could do it too.

I know my own strength, and what I’m capable of.

I close my eyes and take a series of deep, calming breaths. They bring me back away from the anger, towards a place somewhat resembling calm. I’m still angry, but I don’t need to smash anything. I’m not that kind of person.