Chapter 2
TWO
PARKER
Who needs a five-foot-five physiology major with a superiority complex?
Not me.
I walk out of the library with my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
She’s a quitter. She quit because I was late.
No. She quit because she thinks I don’t work hard.
No, she quit because she’s jealous of the girls who walked into the library with me.
The thing about Annika?
She looks at me like I’m an unfinished project that she needs to mold to parade around a science fair and win a fake gold medal.
And I hate how much I want to prove her wrong.
I should be relieved she quit. Instead, my chest feels tight like I lost something I wasn’t supposed to care about in the first place.
I shove the library doors into the evening air. Even though it’s winter it’s still hot when you’ve been in air conditioning.
“She thinks I don’t grind,” I catch myself self-talking through the path back to the football team apartments.
She has no idea what my days look like. How much time I don’t have. The last time she probably played a sport was in elementary school.
Weights at five.
Shower at six.
Film for an hour before breakfast.
Class until noon.
Practice until my legs burn from running routes.
Another shower.
Film until five.
Media or meetings.
Dinner.
And by that time, I’m wiped. So many expectations.
Some I place on myself. I’m an O’Ryan and need to live up to the name.
My brother J.D. won the Heisman Trophy when he played for Texas.
I’m not in the running but that catch in the playoff game cemented my future.
I will always be remembered for that catch.
I pull out my phone. Annika’s number sits on top since I texted her to let her know I would be late.
I type and delete.
Type again. You don’t know me.
Delete.
I hide behind jokes.
Maybe I do, but she hides behind an oversized purple t-shirt with a random quote. Hiding her curves.
Annika sees through me like she knows there’s more than a jock underneath the physique, but nothing good. If she would attempt to get to know me, she would know I’m not a skirt chaser.
Except for my family, she’s the only person who doesn’t treat me like I’m already famous. I’m not, except in football circles. With her, I feel like I need to become something just to prove her wrong.
I stop at the quad, sit my backpack on the ground and lean back against the brick wall of the Economics building. She thinks I’ve never had anything ripped away from me.
Annika has no idea.
I laugh out loud. It’s funny how many things I’ve had taken away.
My mom.
My girlfriend.
Hockey.
Miss smarty pants with her glasses and six pens has no clue how much pressure I’m under. To have my future based on how fast I can run to catch an oblong leather missile.
One mistake and I could be the O’Ryan that doesn’t make it to the league. I wake up every day wondering when football will disappear like the other good things in my life.
Henry, one of my teammate’s calls out, “O’Ryan. We’re going out. But not before you change your threads.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
His head jerks back. “What’s up? Never seen you so down.”
“My tutor quit. I hate quitters.”
“Didn’t you quit hockey to come here and play football?” Henry asks knowing full well the answer.
After I change into jeans and a black performance t-shirt, we park and cross the street toward Longhorn Tap. Henry says, “This is what you need. Women and whiskey.”
I shove his shoulder, “Shut up.”
He smiles from ear to ear and pushes the door open. Cool air hits us but then beer, sweat and cheap cologne take over. Bass vibrates through the floorboards. It’s packed, but what did I expect following last weekend’s playoff win? Students and fans are still celebrating.
A few teammates already snagged a high-top table near the bar and wave us over, shouting, “Clutch. Clutch. Clutch.”
I admit it turns my frown into a smile. It feels good to be appreciated.
A hand claps my shoulder. Our safety shoves a drink in my hand.
Music blares. Bodies move and soon I start feeling like myself again.
I’m not letting tutor girl ruin my day. I’ve worked hard all week and deserve a little time to relax.
Henry spots my smile, leans in and says, “Rule one tonight. No talking about science and physiology.”
“I hate that class.”
“You hate the girl in the class. Either that or you’re obsessed with her.”
“Definitely not obsessed. She barely registers on my radar.” So, let’s go with hate. The word rolls around on my tongue.
Luckily I’m saved as someone drags us to the dance floor. In an instant, a group of girls joins our circle. That part hasn’t changed since high school—football equals attention.
It’s easy. Laugh. Dance. Be the guy they want me to be.
But tonight, my brain keeps replaying the moment in the library when I called Annika cold.
Cold.
It sits wrong in my chest. Maybe I should call and apologize or at least send her a text to apologize. That was out of line.
A girl grabs my hand and spins under my arm. Henry is already dancing with someone else, grinning like an idiot. He’s hooking up tonight.
Music pounds through the room. I switch partners several times, letting the noise drown out the memories of today.
Then I twirl the girl in the short shorts and the bikini top, and look toward the bar. My brain short circuits. No, it can’t be. I blink. And blink again.
The woman at the bar can’t be the same person who just destroyed me in the library a few hours ago.
But it is.
Annika.
No glasses.
Hair down. Dark waves tumbling over her shoulders. Black leather jacket over a fitted top. She looks different and I find myself wondering if she has a twin sister. She looks like someone who walked out of a biker bar, not a study hall.
She’s mixing a drink, focused as always, unaware of the chaos on the dance floor. Unaware of me.
Henry notices me staring and steps between me and the girl I’m dancing with. He nods for her to give us a minute. “Oh damn, is that—?’
“I think so.”
“Your personal library assassin?" he asks.
“Yeah, maybe.”
A smile slowly spreads across his face. “O’Ryan, you’re in trouble.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are in trouble.”
I hand my drink to Henry and head toward the bar before my brain can stop me. Halfway there she looks up and our eyes collide. And just for a second. Just one. I see surprise and a glimmer of a grin. Then the walls slam back up and her face goes completely neutral.
I lean on the bar. “Well, this is awkward.”
“What do you want?” She grabs a towel and dries a martini glass.
“Didn’t know you bartended. I’ve never seen you here.”
“You never asked and I work.”
“And you’re thinking that I don’t work.”
She sets the glass down harder than necessary. “What do you want Parker?”
“Beer.”
She holds up two bottles for me to pick one. Then pops the cap off without looking at me and slides it the three feet across the bar. I don’t touch it. Don’t even want it.
“You look different,” I say.
She lifts a brow. “You look exactly the same.”
“Ouch. You know how to hit a guy where it hurts.”
“Did you come here to insult me?”
“I came here because Henry dragged me. He doesn’t like it when I’m down.”
The blonde next to me says, “Can I get a selfie?” She hands Annika her credit card and then leans into me and snaps the picture. “If you want to dance, I’m here with my girlfriends.”
I can see Annika rolling her eyes in the mirror behind the bar as she runs the credit card and hands it back to the girl with a paper receipt and a pen. Then turns to me and says, “You should go dance with girls who fall at your feet.”
“There it is.”
“There is what?”
“The thing where you act like you know everything about me and what I want.”
“I know enough.”
“You… you don’t know anything. I would think someone that analyzes every detail would know there is always more than meets the eye.”
She turns to make a margarita. Her jeans are tight and her ass looks even tighter. She has on boots that look like Birdie’s, J.D.’s wife. She may be wearing different clothes but she’s the same uptight girl who thinks she’s better than me. Even still, my mouth waters.
“Deep, Parker. Real deep.” She shoots me a sharp glance.
“You hate me because I’m an athlete and women are attracted to me. You assume I’m shallow because I’m late sometimes.”
Her jaw tightens. The little muscles by her ears pop in and out.
“Honestly Parker, we’re not a good fit. I work and I can’t be late or I don’t get paid.”
“I messaged you to let you know.”
“You’re always late.”
“Because my life is planned out six days a week and Sundays I spend with my family.”
“Well you aren’t the only one with a life, and work isn’t optional for me. Everything except football is optional for you. Now go dance before you make me lose another job.”
“You quit… on me. God I can’t win with you.”
She folds her lips inside and presses her palms on the wooden bar. “Everything isn’t about winning or losing.”
“Isn’t it? You study to get A’s. If you get an A it’s a win. For you anything else is a loss.”
“Just go.”
Conversation over. But the tension between us feels anything but finished.
I walk a few steps backward before Henry appears beside me. “Well?”
“Sometimes I think she hates me.”
Henry hands me the beer he was holding. “O’Ryan. That did not look like hate.”
I take a long pull off the light beer.
“Oh, it’s hatred. It doesn’t matter because she annoys the hell out of me.”
“Maybe you should use some of that O’Ryan charm and flash those dimples. Maybe she’s offended that you haven’t made a move on her. You think?”
“Nah, she believes she’s better than me. Works harder than me.”
“Why don’t you just ask her to continue being your tutor?”
“One thing I’ve learned is to trust how people act. I told myself when I left the University of Michigan and quit hockey that I need to trust my eyes and ears. People are who they say they are. First thing Monday morning: get a new tutor.”
I glance over my shoulder. Annika’s scrubbing the bar like it’s contaminated with a stubborn stain. Judging by the death stare she shoots at me, I’m pretty sure that it’s my face she sees.