CHAPTER 3 Ford Bradley
A Little Cliché
I sip from my glass of whiskey as I glance around the bar. I turn thirty in a couple months, and the last time I had this much whiskey, it took me a couple days to recover.
I don’t have a couple days this time. In thirty-six hours, I need to be at the stadium warming up for a game.
It’ll be fine. I’ll sweat it out tomorrow. It might be a little painful, but life’s fucking painful, so I’ll get over it.
I should call Everleigh. I’m closest to her out of my six siblings, and I will. I’ll let her know about Tatum and Archer, and depending on how the conversation goes, I might even tell her what Tate slipped about Archer’s involvement with Dad. I’ll get to the bottom of it all eventually.
If the FBI doesn’t beat me to it.
I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s late, and I don’t need to ruin her Friday night with something I’m not super clear on as it is. Maybe I’ll talk to Tatum again before then so I can clarify a few things.
But tonight, as Cole said, is about regrets.
I spot a perky blonde walking toward me, but let’s be honest. This part of Florida is filled with perky blondes.
I could likely have my pick, but it’s not my style the way it is for my brother Dex—you know, before he went and fell in love.
He was always the player of the Bradley boys.
Liam might be a close second. Nobody knows where Archer falls on that list since he was with Tatum for so long, but I’d probably come next, and Madden last.
I wouldn’t characterize myself as a player, necessarily. More of a man who’s searching for something he hasn’t been able to find, but not for lack of trying. Not for lack of sampling. It’s the only way to find out if I’m compatible with someone, after all.
I guess it comes down to two things. One, I have this horrific fear that I’ll find someone and fall in love only to find out they’re just using me for my money, connections, or place on the field, that it was all a lie the whole time.
And two…none of them are Tatum.
That’s all I’m looking for tonight. A sample for me. A regret for her. How can it be anything else when my heart is stuck on a woman I can’t have?
“You’re Ford Bradley,” the woman says matter-of-factly when she slides into the small bit of space separating me from Cole, who’s on the barstool beside me.
“I am,” I agree. “You look familiar.”
She sticks out her hand. “Elena. I cheer for the Beasts.”
“Ah,” I say. It’s a little cliché, isn’t it?
The football player and the cheerleader.
I tend to avoid those sorts of entanglements, mainly because getting involved with a cheerleader is bad for the team.
It leads to gossip and media attention—something I have enough of given that I hail from the Bradley clan. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s amazing to meet you,” she says. “I come here every week on Thursday and Friday.” She leans in a little conspiratorially as she says it, like she’s letting me in on a secret. Only I don’t know exactly what she’s getting at.
Maybe she just drinks a lot.
“Why’s that?” I ask, taking the bait.
“I’ve heard this is where players hang out after practice.”
“And you were waiting for players to show up?” I guess.
She raises her brows. “Not players. Just one.”
“Me?” I guess, and she nods.
She doesn’t look away or seem at all embarrassed by that fact.
“Why?”
She lifts a shoulder. “You always just seemed so…I don’t know. Balanced. Smart. Not like the other guys, you know? And you’re hot as hell.” She bites her bottom lip.
I may not be like the other guys, but she’s just like the other girls. Laying compliments on me to get me into bed, pulling the bite the lip move…all of it. It’s predictable.
And it works.
Maybe it works because of its predictability.
I can’t have the one girl I want, but perhaps this one can take my mind off that fact for a little bit.
We head out to her car. As it turns out, she hasn’t had a drop of alcohol to drink. She navigates to her apartment, under a ten-minute drive from this very bar, and before we get out of the car, I say, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She glances over at me. “It’s all I’ve wanted for the two years I’ve been cheering for the team.”
“You won’t wake up tomorrow with regrets?”
She lifts a shoulder, and she’s really very pretty. She deserves someone so much better than an emotionally unavailable football player whose mind is occupied with another woman. “Only if you’re not up to the task.”
She’s sassy, and I like that about her.
And maybe in some alternate universe, it would make sense for me to give this a try with her.
But it’s not an alternate universe, and I know exactly where my head is at. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
She folds her arms over her chest, as if that’ll help keep her from getting vulnerable.
I stare out the windshield as she stares at me. “I’ve been in love with the same woman for the last ten years, Elena. I can’t have her, but a night with you isn’t going to change that.”
She reaches over to run a fingertip down my arm. “You won’t know that if you don’t try.”
She’s just like the rest of them. She thinks she can be the one to change me.
Nothing can change me except figuring out some way to stop doing this to myself. I ruin every potential good relationship over someone I can never have.
It’s toxic. It’s awful.
It’s not like I’m celibate.
I just had sex last weekend.
But tonight feels different. It’s the first time I’d be having sex when Tatum is single. She’s apart from my brother with no plans to get back together with him after a week or two passes. She said it’s final.
And the logical side of me knows it’s not fair to do that to some poor, unsuspecting—but horny—young woman.
I shake my head. “No, you’re right about that. The problem is that I don’t want to try.”
She presses her lips together. “Then why’d you come home with me?”
“I thought I could set my feelings aside and just have a fun time with you. But you deserve better than that.”
She leans her head back on her seat with a groan. “Why do you have to be so nice on top of being so hot?”
I chuckle. “Sorry. For what it’s worth, the right guy is out there for you. You’re gorgeous, and you seem like a hell of a good time. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted.”
“You’re still what I want,” she says softly.
I press my lips together, and then I lean across the console and press a soft kiss to her cheek.
Then I exit the car, walk up toward the front of the apartment complex, and call an Uber to come pick me up and take me home.
The only regret I managed to pick up tonight is walking away. Again.