Chapter Four #2
“Nothing new, but you just missed Parker.”
“She was here?” He glances around as if she’s going to jump out of the closest bush and rips his shirt off, rubbing it across his face.
“Should we swim? It’s hot as balls.” I ask, since my buddy’s face is already turning pink from the heat.
“No, I can’t burn that many calories until I eat again, unless you plan to feed me too? And, don’t change the subject.”
“Not feeding you, I’ve got my portions in the fridge and I’m not sharing them. Anyway, it’s just this whole hero thing being blown up in the news. It’s not what it seems.”
“Did you or did you not save some chick? I mean, I read several articles from legit news places, not trashy tabloids.”
Ugh, why does it irritate me for her to be addressed in such a manner?
I wouldn’t care otherwise if someone’s called a chick, but when it’s her, it rubs me wrong.
“She was walking out of the store when I noticed the zip tie trick some smugglers use to lure women into compromising positions to kidnap them. I stopped her from going to her vehicle, and we called the cops, end of story.”
“Who even are you, bro? I mean, how do you know about tricks that traffickers use? I’ve never heard of zip ties being on cars. Is this a southerner thing?”
“Because of the charities I’m involved in. I research everything they put out. Don’t you?”
“My charities send me emails, but unless the subject line says attendance requested or donation, I trash them.”
“Dawson,” I sigh, exasperated. “You are the stereotypical baller, making the rest of us jocks look bad.”
He laughs, “Screw you. My dates find me charming, funny, and good-looking. I can be attentive; I just need a little nudge sometimes.”
“I’m sure your dates say all of that to get the free dinner and some dick. Besides, not being attentive to a woman will bite you in the ass one day, and not in the way you like.”
His mouth pops open, surprise taking over his expression. “I can’t believe you just said that out loud.”
“Am I wrong, though? They always want the fame, the money, occasionally the dick, but not the man behind it all.”
He whistles, “I caught you on a philosophical day, didn’t I? I should go, give you time to be all Yoda with your thoughts.”
No, he didn’t, but it works to get him to stop talking about the news articles, so I nod, silently pleading the fifth.
***
Another day passes, and still there’s no call or text. The stories online and on TV are only getting worse, too. Half of them are busily making stuff up, embellishing on the situation, while the other half feeds into who this mysterious woman could be.
I field unwanted spammers and story diggers to the point my phone gets switched to silent, and I’m ready to pull my hair out.
I should be used to this, and I am, somewhat.
However, it’s still irritating to have a situation taken out of context, especially when what happened is serious and should serve as a warning.
I bet she hates me by now, and at this rate, I don’t know if I’ll ever hear from her. With the season getting near, I pack my gym bag and head to our practice facilities. I need to clear my head, and a workout is always the best thing to get my mind off things.
Finally, on day three since she’s had my number, hers flashes on my screen.
I swear I feel like I’ve been holding my breath the entire time I was waiting, and I have to stop myself from cheering out loud.
Would I normally be so invested in a woman I’ve just met?
Not typically, but something about her already feels different than anyone who has come before her.
If getting older has taught me one thing, it’s not to hesitate when something good comes your way.
Her: Hey, thanks for your help the other day. I’m just following up to see if you still want to grab some food. I figure it’s the least I can do after you probably saved me from getting kidnapped.
I bark out a laugh, glad we’re doing this through text and not FaceTime, where my coloring always looks weird and I never know what to say on the spot.
Me: Probably? I’m pretty sure the police said it was serious, but I digress; food is always welcome.
Her text is exciting, making my heart pound with anticipation, but at the same time, my feathers get a little ruffled.
I don’t want to be coined a hero, but I also don’t want her writing the account off as nothing to worry over.
It was dangerous, and she needs to take her safety seriously, especially if I’m not around to jump in and help.
Something tells me she’s gone too long having to be her own hero in life.
Which I respect greatly, but I want her to be able to count on me too, if she’ll give me a chance.
Her: Great, I’m hungry now. Where should we meet?
I won’t lie, I’m suddenly scrambling, wondering how I can somehow make it to her right this minute when I’m no longer in the same town as her.
I’m back in Dallas, or the outskirts anyhow, since our team practices have been in full swing of summer camp again.
The last thing I want to do is point out I’m a football player, because something about her strikes me as the type who wouldn’t date a professional player.
I can already see she’s hung up on being older than I am.
The less I push her away while this connection is brand new, the better.
Me: I’m at work right now, but how about tonight? Dinner? 7 PM?
Her: Phew, good news, hearing you have a job. I’m busy tonight. Tomorrow, 7 PM?
A surprised laugh spills free at her response.
I enjoy her candor and her sense of humor; it only makes me want to be around her more.
She must be like me and is over the online dating apps.
There’s nothing wrong with them for some people.
Myself, however, they never seem to work out how I wish they would.
I’m appreciating this in-person connection we’ve had the chance to make versus basing a connection on a quick bio or online chat.
My shoulders relax as I realize dinner tomorrow is better, anyhow.
It’ll give me time to prepare. Also, today’s practice is supposed to be a little brutal as we test out some of the new rookies in key slots, so I’ll be worn out tonight.
I know the team’s veterans will be pissy over the entire exercise, so the atmosphere will be tense on top of everything else.
Tomorrow, I can leave practice only mildly sore, drive down to my mom’s, and stay the night if I need to.
I’m hoping this date goes well and we end up staying out later than just grabbing a quick bite.
I have a feeling that once I’m around her, I won’t want to leave.
Me: Tomorrow is perfect.
My stomach flips with excitement as I try to remember if there are any good restaurants in her area.
There are the typical chain restaurants, but I want to go somewhere where there’s privacy for us to talk, and also serves good food.
I’ve also learned that the less busy the business is, the less likely I’ll get recognized and interrupted by fans.
Or haters, in some cases, it’s all happened too many times to count.
It’s important that my date gets to know the real me before my career comes into the conversation, throwing up possible roadblocks.
The last woman I dated was older, and I thought she was more secure in herself, but she let my career all go to her head.
I had to break things off, and it turned a little messy when she sought out any outlet who would listen to her talk about how her heart was brutally broken and ruined for anyone else.
Because of me. It’s the last thing I want to deal with again.
Her: Great, you pick where we eat, and I’ll see you then.
Oh shit. This is a test, I can feel it already. This woman is going to keep me on my toes.
And I can’t wait.