Page 5 of Off Limits
‘You like football?’
‘Sure, I like football. Not always the jocks who play it. In high school, my brother was a total jock.’
I rub my forehead. The guys are laughing. She’s good at embarrassing me.
‘Yeah, my brother was a jock, too,’ Hud laughs, smacking Dalton in the chest.
‘Least I wasn’t a complete jackass,’ Dalton counters, then checks his watch as we’re all still laughing.
‘We gotta make a move,’ Hud says. ‘But we came to remind you of our pre-season celebration, tomorrow night. Checking you can make it. To welcome the rookies and to celebrate the guys making the roster. We all go for Mexican food, followed by drinks, and for those that are allowed… some of the guys head to a place call—’ His eyes flit to River and he rearranges his hat. ‘It’s a, uh, late-night establishment on the west side of town.’
River screws up her face. ‘Ew, I don’t wanna know.’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Yeah, some of the guys were talking about it at practice. I’d like that.’
This time, Hud slaps Dalton on the back. ‘It’s the one night of the year when the lovely Ally turns a blind eye so Cap here can join in all the fun.’
‘Then I’m definitely in,’ I say.
‘Bring cash, man, and plenty of it,’ Hud says with a wink.
Minutes later, they depart.
‘I like your new teammates,’ River says. ‘But I cannot wait to try this cake.’
‘You can’t wait ’til I get back from the store?’
‘Nuh-uh,’ she says, and she’s already taken the container inside.
Some of my college buddies told me I was insane to even consider a move to Texas, of all places. I’m not from the south – never even been here before I got drafted – and especially notthisfar south. A hundred and twenty miles out of San Antonio, close to the border with Mexico, Canyon is a coastal city. People told me it had a subtropical climate, like Houston. Hot, humid summers, and mild, temperate winters.
My friends also told me it would be Hicksville. But so far, I kinda like it out here. And honestly, I don’t give a shit where I am, so long as I can play football for the NFL.
I get lost on the way to the store because, despite my in-car sat-nav in my brand-new Chevy pickup, I take a wrong turn in an unfamiliar area of town. I know I’m somewhere not too far from the Danube Stadium – home to the Mutineers – but the sun’s dipping low on the horizon and I know I need to hurry the hell up. I’ve ended up inside some mini mart in a plaza off Main Street. Plus, my mom is right, I suck at grocery shopping. I thought about getting a cart but ended up with a basket instead, now I’m staring at a whole aisle full of nothing but potato chips and thinking I can’t serve them up on a platter and call it dinner.
Getting out my brand-new pickup, a couple of people raised their eyes to me, then pointed. Canyon has a proud history of American football, so it makes sense I’d get noticed in some parts, but I pull my cap low all the same. When I think I’ve done a decent enough job of planning dinner, I head for the checkouts, thinking I’ll probably just order takeout instead.
I don’t pay a whole lot of attention as I load the contents of my basket onto the conveyor belt. What catches my eye initially is the look of dissatisfaction on the cashier’s face. Her mouth is a tight line as her face contorts into annoyance, frowning at the woman ahead of me in the line as she searches blindly in her tote bag.
She looks flustered. Her cheeks redden as she pushes her long hair behind her ears so I can see her face.
Holy shit.
For a couple of seconds, I just stare at her. Usually, I go for brunettes, but she’s got honey blonde hair that falls thick and straight. She’s going through the bag, searching for something.
‘It was in here somewhere…’ she says hopelessly, digging through the contents of the leather tote before pushing her hair off her face for a second time. She’s got the most luminous green eyes I’ve ever seen. She wears a plain black hoodie and yoga pants that cling to every curve of her thighs, with sneakers on her feet.
‘Want me to try your card again, ma’am?’ the cashier asks her, holding out her hand.
She swallows. Her voice sounds breathy. ‘I’d like that, yes please.’
The cashier inserts the card into the reader and the woman enters her code. Moments later, the cashier clicks her tongue. ‘Sorry, honey. Declined.’
She says it loud enough for the whole store to hear, and the woman’s cheeks flush even pinker. I have no idea who this woman is, but I feel bad for her. Her bags have already been packed.
‘I—’ she begins, lost for words, and she’s back into the tote bag, hauling stuff out of it. ‘I know I have the cash in here somewhere.’ She sneaks a look at me. ‘I am so sorry. I don’t mean to hold anybody up.’
I notice the cashier’s eye roll. Maybe that’s what does it for me; what has me reaching for my wallet, and my credit card. I can’t watch any more of this unfold.
