2. Zander
CHAPTER 2
ZANDER
I walk beside Wily as we head to the park, sensing the glances we get from every group of girls we pass. I don’t know which of us they’re eyeing up. I guess the five Football Frat guys all have different appeal. Wily with his blond waves and bright blue eyes always attracts attention, although it could also be the fact that he’s a giant and has the widest Colgate smile in the world. Girls love him. He’s a real charmer. I’ve never known the guy not to have at least three girls vying for his attention anywhere we go.
And then you’ve got Tyrell, another giant of a man. He’s Black and beautiful, according to the girl I sit next to in my health psych class. I guess she’s right. I just love that he’s intimidating as hell on the field. He’s our center and keeps the offensive line in check. And I need those guys. They’re my fortress.
“Wily.” Grady claps his hands, then opens them for a catch.
Wily passes the ball his way, then jogs after him as we hit the curb and walk diagonally toward the field at the edge of the playground. The sun is shining brightly, and we’ll all be sweating soon, but it’s good to get out in the fresh air. Last night’s game was brutal, and as much as I should be studying right now, I’m kinda liking this chill start to my day.
Carson grunts when Grady hurls the ball at him. It fires through the air like a bullet and hits Carson just as hard.
“Lil’ shit,” he complains, throwing the ball back and fighting a grin.
I watch him, repressing a smile as I take in his scarecrow hair and grumpy scowl. The guy likes to play it tough, but I bet there’s a marshmallow center underneath all that angst. He’s loyal. I know that much. I know he’d bleed for any of us. Shit, he’d probably kill for any of us, which is why we all keep such a close eye on him. The guy’s got an explosive temper… and it doesn’t help that he likes to put himself in situations where it’ll flare up in a second. The number of black eyes and hangovers he’s walked in the door with is too high to count.
Coach Jones benched him so many times last season, and it’s a pain in the ass. He’s the best wide receiver on the team, and I trust him to catch whatever I throw his way.
Lightly slapping his shoulder, I force his hungover ass toward the grass and try to get him running. He lopes along beside me as I pick up the pace and charge onto the field next to the playground.
A bunch of girls out jogging in their Lycra stop to admire us. Wily winks and grins, lifting his chin at them. The blonde blushes and giggles, reminding me of a girl I used to know who did the exact same thing every time I winked at her. Damn, she was perfect. And she’s totally haunting me this morning.
I wish I could just forget about her and move on. I’ve really tried, but I think she’ll always be a part of me. My first love. My first time. My first heartbreak.
Trying to get over her tore me to shreds.
And then I went through the “just don’t think about her” phase, but I failed around every corner. I think I’m finally accepting that I can never fully shake her, so I’m just enjoying the occasional hookup and focusing on football.
That’s why I broke up with her in the first place, so I could throw my everything into this game I love so much. So I have to make it count. I need to make the pros. I need to make it big… or losing her was for nothing.
Shaking off my dark memories, I raise my hands, catching the ball Tyrell fires my way before launching a perfect spiral to Grady.
My closest friend in the house grabs it out of the air, diving around Carson, who is failing to tackle him. I laugh as he scores himself a “touchdown” and whoops before doing a backflip. Carson growls and shoves him off his feet, which I know Grady let him do because the guy has eyes like a hawk. That’s what makes him such a good running back. I swear he has a sixth sense, because he can always spot the gaps, avoid the tackles, and bounce around the defense like he’s got magic feet. It helps that he’s fearless. Seriously, I can’t fault the guy. He’s my best friend and probably will be for life.
Carson gathers up the ball and starts careening down the field, heading straight for me. Wily cuts across his path, barreling into him and lifting him off his feet. He puts him in a quick fireman hold and spins him around while the girls on the sidelines laugh and Carson starts shouting, “Put me down, you fuckin’ turd waffle!”
“Turd waffle!” Wily laughs. “That’s a good one.”
“I mean it, you shit stick!”
He laughs a little harder, spinning Carson around one more time.
“You’re such a dick!” he grunts, thumping Wily on the back and trying to kick him in the balls.
“Okay, okay.” Tyrell runs over to cool things off before Carson snaps. We can only push the guy so far, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of his meltdowns. The guy’s got skills with his fists, and he isn’t afraid to fight dirty. If anything, he prefers it that way.
Carson lands with a thud when Wily throws him off his shoulder, then immediately scrambles back to his feet and jumps on the guy’s back, putting him in a choke hold with one arm while wrestling the ball out of Wily’s hands. It bounces wildly, and they scramble after it while I stand there grinning and wishing football could be as untamed as what we’re doing right now. There’s nothing like scrapping for a ball. Coach never lets us do it for fear of injuries, but he isn’t here right now.
Carson snatches the ball and starts running. He’s a hell of a lot faster than Wily, and the wide receiver leaves the lineman in the dust.
“Carson!” I shout, raising my hands and trying to warn him about the rocket coming up behind him.
Grady aka Flash is a fuckin’ bullet when he wants to be, and Carson doesn’t sense his approach until it’s too late. With a little yell, he hurls the ball my way, but the pass is made reckless by Grady’s side tackle. The ball ends up arcing straight over my head and bouncing into the playground behind me.
I look at Tyrell as the two guys start to tussle and see he’s already stepping in to deal with the fight while I retrieve the ball. Running into the playground, I head for the sand pit, where a little girl with blonde ringlets is gathering up the ball.
Aw, cutie .
I crouch down with a smile, ready to get the ball back, when the air is knocked clean from my lungs. The blonde cherub tottering toward me looks exactly like my older sister did as a toddler. Photos of Monica as a baby flash through my head, and I can’t believe the similarities. The same open smile and curious gaze. She looked like she wasn’t scared to take on the whole world… and neither does this little one.
She stops a few feet away from me and holds up the ball. “Bawl.”
I nod and smile down at her. “That’s right. Football.”
“Foobawl.” Her sweet little voice pitches with excitement, and she laughs.
“Do you want to throw it to me?” I beckon with my fingers, then glance around, wondering where her parents are.
She giggles again, then throws the ball with a little grunt, raising her hands in the air with a cheer when it lands a foot away from me, then dribbles to a stop by my feet.
“Good job, kid.” I wink at her, then laugh when she claps her hands .
Shit, she’s so like Monica it’s freaking me out right now.
“Zan-Man, let’s go!” Wily calls to me, holding up his hands to catch the ball.
I fire it through the air, then jog back to the edge of the field, turning one more time to look at the little girl. She’s crouching down in the sand, gathering handfuls and creating a little mountain.
For reasons I can’t even explain, I find myself watching her until my friends are shouting at me again.
“Dude, what’s up?” Grady calls across the grass. “Let’s go, brother.”
“Just give me a sec!” I hold up my finger, pulling out my phone and calling my sister while this little girl is still within my sights.
“’Sup, lil’ bro?”
“Do you have a daughter I don’t know about?”
“Ew, no. Why would I ever have kids?” Her reaction makes me laugh, and I shake my head.
My sister has taken independent woman to the next level. She’s in a relationship now, but who knows if it’ll last. She likes to go intense and hard… for short bursts of time. That just seems to be her style. I get why she never wants to bring kids into that kind of lifestyle. She’s not exactly the mothering type… although she’s had to mother me a time or two.
“Why are you calling to ask me stupid questions? You know I’m at work, right?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“I have a big case.” My sister—the hotshot lawyer.
“Oh, well, sorry. I just…” Shaking my head yet again, I gaze at the blonde cutie and let out a breathy laugh. “You mu st have a doppelg?nger in Nolan, because I am staring at a kid who looks just like you when you were two. You know that picture on Dad’s office desk?”
“The one of me playing on the beach in that frilly abomination Mom insisted on dressing me in?”
I laugh. “That’s the one. Well, this little girl right here isn’t in frills, but man… she looks just like you. It’s freaking me out.”
Monica snorts. “Well, her mother must be very beautiful, then.”
“And look just like you.” I start to search the playground for her, but there are so many parents around. A group of moms is standing by the sandpit, watching their kids and talking together. My eyes skim across them, but I don’t see any Monica replicas. And the rest of the playground seems clear too. Darting my gaze back to the girl, I shake my head again. “It’s seriously incredible.”
“You’re still staring at her, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yeah, well, you might want to stop in case her big bad daddy is there and wants to pound on some freaky-ass guy who’s staring at his kid.”
“Yeah, good point.” I turn my back to the playground. “Not the pounding shit, because I can hold my own.” I can practically hear her eyes rolling. “But I don’t want to be putting creeper vibes out there.”
“Good boy.”
I grin. “Glad you didn’t get knocked up without me knowing.”
“I do my best. Love you, bro.”
“Love you.” I hang up and look over my shoulder again… in time to miss the pass coming right at me. It fi res straight past my head and rolls toward the playground again.
“Seriously, Zan! Come on, man.” Carson scowls at me. “Get your head in the game.”
I snicker at his complaint and turn back toward the playground. It gives me an excuse to take one last look at the little girl who I swear could pass as my niece any day of the week.