Page 7 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
BEN
SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER
I’m clutchingthe steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles are white. With the rain pounding my windshield, I can barely see the car in front of me, and the number of low-water crossings between Austin and Charming is significant. I’ve passed five stalled vehicles on my way home.
I didn’t know what I was signing on for when I agreed to take Sienna to the airport. Not that this would’ve changed anything because I swore to my sister I’d keep an eye out for her friend.
When a car swerves into my lane, barely missing my Range Rover, I lose it and lay on the horn. “What the fuck, asshole!”
Shame immediately pummels my chest. I snap the rubber band on my wrist three times, that little pinch of pain reminding me to calm the hell down.
But it’s hard.
Ever since my mom died in a car crash during a downpour, thunderstorms set me off.
So do beautiful women dating pieces of shit like Cal Winston. I pinch the bridge of my nose, irritated I have to play another year of football with that asshole.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not mad at Sienna. How could I ever be mad at her? She’s like a damn sunflower, all cheery and gorgeous and perfect.
I vaguely remember her from freshman year, but until she moved in with my sister, we never ran in the same circle of friends. In retrospect, I’m a dumbass for not making a point to get to know her because she’s fucking spectacular.
She has thick, dark hair and light brown eyes. An off-the-charts smile. A tight little body. A great personality. Literally the stuff of my fantasies.
It took everything in me not to tell her Winston was likely planning to fuck a horde of women the second she steps on an airplane tonight.
I’ll admit I like Sienna more than I should. I got to know her a bit when we plotted to get my sister Gabby back with my roommate Rider Kingston last December. Since then, I’ve had to watch Winston lie to her face while he porks every chick in the greater South Texas.
Pinche carbon.
Who cheats on a girl as sweet as Sienna? I can’t handle how clueless she is, but it’s not my responsibility to educate her on her boyfriend.
If there’s one thing our old coach Sully drilled into us, it’s a team mindset, which means not blabbing crap we know will drum up drama on the team. The fact we just won a national championship when Winston and I hate each other is case in point that you gotta lay all the other shit aside and focus on playing ball.
Still, I was damn tempted to tell Sienna. But Sully would’ve had my ass for putting my nose in someone else’s business. The entire drive to Austin, all I could hear was his gravelly voice preaching that bad blood among players could make or break a team. That creating drama meant the death knell for morale. But did he mean shit like this?
Unfortunately, he retired, so I can’t ask him.
What I do know is just because we won last year doesn’t mean we can let up now. Sure, I could’ve taken my chances with the draft as a junior, but what happens if I get injured? All it takes is one play to lose everything. Pro-Ball Magazine reported that fifty-three percent of pro players were injured in the first four weeks of the season last year. Fifty-three percent.
So I have to play it safe. Get the degree first so I always have a fallback. Try to kick ass at football again this fall. Then try my luck with the draft.
Hopefully my new coach thinks I have as much potential as Sully did.
I do a double-take when my phone rings and my ex’s name flashes on my dash.
Speaking of causing trouble for yourself...
You’d think three years apart would free a man from the clutches of a conniving witch like Janelle, but my chest is tight just seeing her name.
Decline.
Decline.
Decline.
I’m so twisted up that she’d call me after all this time, I almost miss my turn and fishtail in the middle of the intersection.
I let out the breath I’m holding when I right my Rover at the last minute and barely avoid hitting a truck. The other driver lays on his horn, and I hold up my hand. I know, man, I wanna kick my own ass for almost nailing you head-on.
