Page 10 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player

“No.”

“Cal.”

“I’m here to win football games.”

“And I’m here to make sure America doesn’t think you’re a jerk.”

“They already do.”

“Exactly.”

He points at me.

“Which is why you need people to see the real you.”

If only he knew. The real me can barely make eye contact with strangers.

The real me has spent three weeks texting a woman I’ve never met because somehow that’s easier than talking to anyone in person.

Can I ask you something random?

Those are usually the best questions.

What's your biggest fear?

Being misunderstood.

How about you?

That nobody will ever choose me first.

By the third week of camp, I finally change her contact name.

Not because “Wrong Number” isn’t accurate.

Because it doesn’t fit anymore.

Jo.

She finally told me her first name. I still haven’t told her mine. Not because I’m trying to hide it.

Mostly because I like what we have. I like talking to someone who doesn’t know who I am.

Who doesn’t care what I do. Who doesn’t ask for tickets.

Who doesn’t assume she already knows me because she’s watched post-game interviews.

To Jo, I’m just... Cal.

Or at least, I will be.

The first preseason game ends with a loss.

I shower. Dress. Finally grab my phone.

Without thinking, I type.

Today sucked.