Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Sean
After a long night on the plane and getting home to an empty house it took me a while to get to sleep.
But that’s okay because I get to sleep in today since coach gave us the morning off.
It’s after noon and I’m still in bed and thinking of getting up.
When my phone buzzes on the nightstand letting me know I have a message, I bolt up and grab it.
Probably a text from Tate. Or maybe my Mom or one of my brothers congratulating me on the fifty-two-yard field goal to win the game.
The last thing I expect to see is a text from Ronnie. I’m so pathetic that just seeing her name on my phone screen has me revved up so that my hand shakes when I click to read it.
Congrats on the win Mr. Big Foot
I tap in a response.
So you and Jimmy stayed up for the end of the game?
I’m surprised when I see the three dots and her response.
Of course. Who didn’t? Srsly
I laugh and I’m about to call her so I can hear her voice, but it’s getting late already. I wasted too much damn time on my beauty sleep. Fuck. I tap in a quick text.
I bet you and Jimmy would love seeing a game in person. Who wouldn’t? Srsly
Jumping out of bed, I can’t wait for her next response as I grab my sweats and head to the bathroom to get ready.
I need to get out of here in the next five minutes.
There’s a team bet on who’ll be last to practice this afternoon and the loser gets to stay late for drills with QB Gabe Wyatt.
His stupid-ass idea. And he made a point that kickers weren’t exempt.
By the time I get in the car I’m sweating it out about the time. I get to the stadium and make it to the locker room with ten minutes to spare before official practice, but I know that’s late by Gabe’s standards. Everyone on the team knows it.
Pulling into the players entrance, I race to the lot.
Dozens of cars already fill the space. My phone pings again and I remember my text exchange with Ronnie.
Torn between checking to see what she says and running my ass off to get inside as another car pulls up behind me, I swear out loud.
“Fuck.” I push open the car door and slip my phone out at the same time.
Jogging to the Staff Only entrance to the locker room area with Max Devon right on my heels, I glance at my phone’s screen.
Fuck. The text isn’t from her. I scroll down to see I have no new texts from her.
She never answered my question about going to the game.
About to push through the door, Max comes up on me and shoves past me, the bastard.
We sprint down the cement corridor as if we’re in the gold medal hundred-meter dash.
No way I want to stay late today. I want to get home early to see Ronnie and Jimmy before they leave.
Out of breath, I crash through the locker room door right behind the sneaky back-up QB. It’s going to be one of those days. A long version. Gabe grins at me and makes a shooting gesture with his hand. Fuck.
After practice and the extra QB drills during which I haul footballs and defend Hunter Quintanna as he’s going out long for passes, I finally find my way back to the locker room with Gabe and Hunter.
“That would have been a hell of a lot more constructive with Tate defending, don’t you think?” I grouse. Gabe grabs a towel and snaps it at me, but I make him miss.
“I may be just a kicker, but I’m not slow,” I say.
“Whatever you say, Sean.” Gabe laughs.
“Where’s Tate? Why isn’t he running extra drills with you as usual?”
“He has a baby at home. Needed a break.”
“You’re both getting soft,” I say.
“We’ll see what you think when you have someone to go home to some day,” Hunter says, “Oh, wait. That’s right. Never gonna happen.”
I smirk, but I keep it to myself that I might have someone waiting for me at home right now. The thought warms me better than the hot shower I take. When I get into my car, I check my phone again, but there’s still no text from Ronnie. Damn.
When I get home, I’m not surprised when I find she’s not there. She’s left the usual dinner and another fucking cake. But no note. Fuck. Pacing around my living room, I wonder if I’ve lost her again.
“What the hell,” I say to no one, and pick up the damn phone and dial her number, praying that it’ll ring. Praying that she answers it if it does ring. A lot of praying for a guy who doesn’t pray.
When she answers the phone, I grin and promise myself I’ll go to church again, one of these days.
“Ronnie, I—”
“I’m sorry, Sean. I should have talked to you sooner, but the reason I answered your call is to tell you that I can’t dog sit for you this week.”
“You can’t?” I know code for I don’t want to when I hear it.
“No. It’s impossible. I need to focus on my real job at the shelter and on Jimmy and it’s not fair to any of us because pet sitting for you and Dasher takes so much time and it’s not a long-term thing, not something I can’t rely on.”
“How do you know—” she doesn’t give me a chance to discuss it, to ask about Jimmy and how he’ll feel.
“I’m sorry, Sean. Good-bye.” She hangs up.
I dial her number again, unsurprised that there’s no answer, that she’s shut her phone off again.
Fuck. This is so out of left field I have no idea what spooked her, what I did wrong.
No idea what’s in her head besides some misplaced concern about accepting anything that smacks of charity from me—or anyone no doubt.
But damn. There’s so much more going on between us than dog-sitting and I know she knows that.
But that’s the fucking problem, you idiot. She doesn’t want to start anything with a player, a guy she can’t trust, a rich guy.
After pacing a tight circle around my family room about a hundred times, I grab my jacket and leave the house because I can’t stand the endless loop of anxiety taking over my head.
Jumping in my car, I head to Louie’s. Gabe and Hunter and some of the others are probably there and I need to spill a beer and some tears to clear my mind.
But when I get there, no one’s around and I end up drinking with the bartender and Louie.
In spite of my mood and Louie’s questions, I don’t spill my problems. What am I going to say?
I have a mad crush on a woman I hardly know, I’ve barely kissed her and she’s rejected me like a bad dream?
No fucking way am I sharing that. I ought to get over it.
When the phone rings on my drive back home, I find myself hopelessly hoping it’s Ronnie saying she changed her mind. If not, I’m screwed for tomorrow—or more like Dasher’s screwed because the puppy will have to spend the day in the cage. I tap my dashboard to answer the call.
It’s not Ronnie. It’s Garino.
“I’m sorry,” she says without preamble, “It’s all my fault. I spooked Ronnie.”
“What the hell, Garino? What’d you do?”
“I just got off a call with her. She was wobbling about your arrangement and I told her about our phone conversation. I might have hinted that you thought of hiring her full time."
“WTF, Garino? Remind me never to share with you again.”
“I know, I know. I thought I could help, but it backfired.”
Scoffing, I say, “Fucking backfired.” In a big way, but I calm myself.
I’m serious about not sharing. “Now I need to hire a dog-walker starting tomorrow. Know anyone from the area?” She gives me the name of a local woman and we end the call.
It’s eleven o’clock, so I’ll have to wait and call the dog walker in the morning.
I hire her at half what I was paying Ronnie.
But then I don’t expect Dasher—or me—to get half the time and attention Ronnie and Jimmy gave.
When I announce to the locker room that there will be no more cake, there’s more disappointment for the loss of sweets than my loss of a pet-sitter or a girlfriend—not that Ronnie was my girlfriend.
Not exactly. Besides, no one else really knew the extent of my involvement, such as it was, except Tate.
“Want to go for a beer?” He says as we walk outside together across the lot to our cars. It’s an odd invitation considering it’s a Tuesday night and he has his wife and baby at home.
“Naah. Go home to Chloe and junior where you belong.”
“What’s up with Ronnie? I thought you two had something going. With all the cakes.” We stop at my SUV. “Those were killer cakes. She put a lot of heart into them if you ask me.”
“Your point?” I agree with him, but that doesn’t make Ronnie any less gone.
“I don’t know. Maybe you shouldn’t give up on her.”
“Who says I did?”
He slaps my back. “Glad to hear it.”
I get in my car and wonder how the hell I can make good on my assertion that I’m not giving up on Ronnie—without getting into stalker territory.
Contemplating my next move, I try to balance my legitimate need for communication, in person preferably, with the need to avoid stalking. There’s no way I’m giving up on her. If Garino spooked her, she can be unspooked. Besides, I’m worried about Jimmy. He’ll miss Dasher.
After running through my options and need for patience, I plan to stop by the Shelter on Friday at three because we’ll have a light practice that day.
I only need to make it through the week without overstepping.
No calls or texts. Give her some space. Luckily coach is stepping up the team’s preparation intensity and I need to keep my head in the game anyway.
It’s a tough week even with football largely occupying me. Going all week without a word from Ronnie, no notes, no cake, no texts, and of course no calls, I wonder how Jimmy is doing without seeing Dasher. Even though the new dog-sitter is okay, I can tell Dasher misses Jimmy.
Concern gets under my skin. It takes all my will power not to go over to Ronnie’s apartment with Dasher as soon as I get home each night, but I know that’s over the line aggressive. I can’t push her or she’ll be justified in shutting me down.
By Thursday, I’m downright morose.