First, he needed to convince Brooklyn that he wasn’t all bad. He had to break past her image of him. That was the only way. She’d never talk to him if she thought he was the king jerk who wanted to sleep with all “her ladies” as she called them. He was distracted for a moment by the thought of her and her ladies, all in the locker room together, all naked and showering. Did things ever happen between them? If they were so man-hating, maybe a few were lesbians.

He had to adjust his pants picturing it. Maybe there was a way to sneak in there or set up a camera. But that wasn’t his focus right now. Couldn’t be. Brooklyn. What would make this girl tick, and what would get through to her? What was the best way to prove he was a good guy?

His first plan of action was to write her some sort of email or message. She’d never talk to him in person, he knew that, so a nice long message telling her that he wasn’t what she thought. After practice that night, and after thinking about it all day, he sat down at his computer and started writing what he’d been thinking about.

“Brooklyn, I’m sorry about what happened. I don’t want you to think that I’m the type of guy who just runs around using women, looking for a cheap hookup. I’m sure it seems that way, but that’s not what’s actually going on. Guys tend to be competitive about everything. We make bets to see who can chug a milk carton first at breakfast. We see who can go the longest without showering. Once, I was even in a contest in college to see who could call their mother the most. These contests make no sense, and they hurt no one. They’re for fun, and they’re a way to show each other that we can win. Especially for football players, we’re all about winning, and shifters have had to fight even harder to win in this world. I think our animal instincts makes us more competitive, as well.

“But my point is this. Yes, there was something of a contest to see who could sleep with the cheerleaders. But it wasn’t about just getting laid. If that was the case, we would have done it in a bar while drunk and made it the most hookups in general. But instead, this ‘contest’ if you can even call it that, happened in the locker room after a hard day of practice when we were feeling downtrodden and like we were losing at everything. All three of us were single and expressed the desire to have a woman in our lives, someone to love and cherish, to comfort us at the end of the day, especially a hard day. And the only way to discover that person, to see who could be the one for us, is to talk to them, date them, and hook up with them. So, it’s basically about finding love and a relationship. Just because on the surface it seemed crude, I can assure you that underneath, there were good intentions. But men won’t come out and say, ‘let’s have a contest to see who finds love first’ because that sounds wussy and girly, where saying ‘let’s have a contest to sleep with the most cheerleaders’ sounds much more manly and testosterone driven. I’m sorry our nature makes us come off as jerks sometimes. But if you get to know us, you’d see that we’re not all bad, and we’re certainly not as bad as we seem—a little misguided maybe, but that’s just another reason we need good women in our lives. Women like your ladies.

“I’d love to make this up to you somehow and show you the real me. I’m not proposing a date by any means. I wouldn’t want you to think of this as some ploy to get you to go out with me. I’d like to simply talk, over text message, on the phone, or meeting for coffee or dessert. Whatever you want. Just so I can prove to you that I’m not who you think I am. Here’s my number. Feel free to text or call anytime. Dustin.”

He read over it once to make sure it sounded okay and that he hadn’t made any big typos. Little typos tended to be endearing, so he left those. He hit send and waited. Through this messaging system, he could see when the message was read. A few minutes later, the little icon changed from “sent” to “read.” He smiled and waited.

After waiting for several minutes, he didn’t see the little icon showing that she was typing. Maybe she was just processing it all, or maybe she’d respond by texting or calling him. He kept his phone by his side as he went about his night. By the time he went to bed, he still hadn’t heard from her.

Was she really not going to answer at all to a long message like that? He’d poured his heart out for this chick. She had to at least say something. She owed him that much. She couldn’t just blow him off like this.

After a day of waiting, he got impatient. He sent another message. “Saw that you read my message. I hope I came across the right way and showed you who I really am. I’d love to hear from you.”

This time, he got a response in a few minutes.

“I got your message. And yes, it shows exactly who you are. You’re exactly who I always thought you were—an entitled, sexiest, asshole who thinks women are on this earth to meet his every demand. This will be the only message you receive from me as a response. There will be no future texting, calling, or meeting. And don’t contact any of my ladies either. I will pass your messages onto your coach.”

He slammed his hands on the table and let out a few curse words. What was her problem?! This chick was in-freaking-sane. She was going to tell his coach? Well, at least Coach Kent would see that he tried to make things right. That might end up being to his benefit, actually. He could play it up as him trying to make amends and her flipping out. He just hoped she waited a little bit. The next round of cuts and new list would be posted tomorrow. He had been 34 in rank on the list last week, which was enough to keep him plenty safe from being cut, but he wanted to be into the teens at the very least.