Chapter 7 #2
I wanted to be seen as being able to handle my life.
So, I indulged in my work and kept myself busy, focused, vying to be the best, to climb higher and higher until I was knocked off that peg again by someone who I thought wanted me for me and not, once again, my name or who I knew.
Nick was always very interested in my brother and his ties to Jackson and who he could introduce us to.
I hated it. I would never use someone like that.
I thought it might be jealousy, but I think I see now it was how he could get ahead using someone else’s contacts.
Jackson was my brother’s best friend and, by proxy, became my friend and someone I could count on, another added protection.
But when he hit the NFL, he played up that bad boy persona, and it ruined him.
He let the fame get to his head. The money and women were too much for a young kid to handle.
My dad warned him, but Jackson couldn’t pull himself out until it was too late.
When he got hurt, he lost the attention he had become accustomed to and, worse, lost who he was as a person. In the end, it was a good thing, a blessing. It was his second chance to come home and return to being the good guy who we all knew he could be.
Now he’s the hometown hero yet again and I’m just the poor sister who failed at her job.
I’m sure he’s heard about what happened to me.
He came to me for help. I hope this isn’t a pity ask.
I want to help him get back his image, but at what cost?
He will just leave us again, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to let him go again.
Trying to evict him from living rent free in my head for all those years, only resulted in making bad choices for myself and choosing the wrong guy. But can I block my feelings for him and still help him at the same time?
My phone buzzes with a text.
Unknown number: Hola buenos noches! What are you wearing?
Me: If you’re trying to be a creepy stalker, you’re succeeding.
Unknown number: I didn’t really want to creep you out. That’s why I gave myself away.
Me: thanks, I think.
Unknown number: whatcha doing?
Me: staring at all my boxes that I have yet to unpack
Entering his name into my phone, I wait for the bubbles to pop up, signaling he’s responding.
Jackson: I can help with that. I’m an expert at boxes
Me: --groan-- Do you ever take a night off?
Jackson: Come on! That was funny.
Me: if you’re trying to change your image, your one liners need editing as well
Jackson: does this mean you’re going to help me?
Me: I need more information before I agree to anything.
Jackson: so, you want to talk? Is that what you’re saying?
Ding! My doorbell goes off and I roll my eyes. It’s after eight at night, ten bucks says Jackson has already made his way over to my front stoop.
Me: is that you at my door?
Jackson: only one way to find out
Huffing, I get up off the couch and look down at myself.
I’m feeling a little flushed after this glass of wine.
I have on a tank, no bra and pajama shorts that are a little too short to be inviting him in right now.
But the wine is hitting and at this point I’m ready to turn the tables, make him a little uncomfortable.
Yeah, right. Like I have any effect on Jackson.
Opening the door, I find Jackson leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, smiling with that dimple popped.
His hat backwards, his eyes immediately drop to my tank, and his perusal of me has my senses going wild.
I can feel my nipples lighting up through my tank and he sees it, too.
Trying not to be embarrassed, I turn and walk away from him, and he follows me into the living room.
“Chess.” His voice is strained, and I wonder why. It can’t be me. I’m sure he reacts that way to every female showing the goods.
But I like this power over him.
“Want some wine?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah, sure, that’d be great.” I keep going toward the kitchen, turning to look at him over my shoulder and catch him staring at my ass. I clear my throat and his eyes find me. “Get your fill?”
He gives me a sheepish grin, and mumbles ‘sorry’, but doesn’t look away. I pour him a glass, then turn and hand it to him, motioning to the couch. “Let’s talk.”
He sits at the other end of the couch, visibly breathing a little harder. He takes a gulp of the wine and I smirk to myself. “So, you want me to be your PR specialist? What exactly do you have in mind for this?”
Jackson explains how his agent Tony believes if he put forth a different version of himself, his endorsements would increase, and colleges would start taking notice again.
“So, I’d need you to work on my social media, maybe put out some press releases of what I’ve been doing. Cover stories about the high school team that I’m coaching now.”
“This is all stuff you can do. In fact, you should be doing this for yourself. Fans will want to see you being active for yourself. Not some face behind the computer putting out random posts.”
“I guess, but it will look better if I have representation.” He's right.
“You mentioned fundraisers and events? I’d be your date? Why would I need to go with you? I’m sure we could find women to be your arm candy.”
“Well, I had a different idea for all of that. I can’t be seen with just anyone, that will only continue my bad rep. And I can’t have the media attaching me to the same woman, because then she’ll see it as something more.”
Of course, no commitment for Jackson at all. He takes a breath and continues, “So, I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”
As luck may have it, I take a sip of my wine at that precise moment and choke on it. It dribbles down my chin and I spill some more on the table, trying to set my glass down.
Jackson jumps up and grabs some napkins and brings them back to me. “Are you ok? Jesus, I didn’t think it’d be that bad of a thought being with me.”
I finish cleaning myself up. “No, I’m sorry, it just caught me by surprise, is all.” I chance a look at him, and I see his eyes are full of hope and desperation. He really wants this. “So, your girlfriend…” I trail off.
“Yes, I need to drop this playboy image. I need to be seen as trustworthy, a one-woman man. I figured with our history, we could play up the high school sweethearts who found each other again.”
“But we weren’t high school sweethearts. The media will dig back through everyone we went to school with to find out. They’ll grill our families, my brothers. When they find nothing, the media will call it lies.”
“Okay, so how about the sister that was off limits? Now we’re of age, our families are rejoicing that we found each other?”
“Rejoicing?” I laugh. “That’s a bit of an overreach, don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t exactly have to be true. We can let them in on our plan, so they aren’t blindsided. We can start seeing each other, get the family blessing and let colleges see I’m not the playboy they thought I was.”
I sit quietly with this info for a minute.
“What happens if this does work, and you get a job offer? When we end it, you could look like a heartbreaker. The media will turn on you. You know how they pick sides without knowing the truth. I’ll look like the jilted girlfriend.
I can’t go through that humiliation.” I stop talking as I realize I’ve just given a little of myself away.
If he wants to ask questions, he gives me the grace of not doing so. “If that happens, and I do get an offer, I’d make sure to do right by you. We could put out a statement together.”
He’s already decided he won’t stay. He’ll use this for what he can get and then leave, anyway.
“Jackson, I don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t enjoy lying. And how do we fake a relationship? It’s not as easy as just saying we’re dating. We’ll have to sell it, make it look real.”
He just nods.
“Can I ask you something? Why do you want to leave here again? I mean, I understand when we were kids, making it to the NFL was your dream. You worked hard, you did it, you made it and you got your time. Why do this to yourself all over again? You have nothing left to prove. This town loves you, the kids at the school love you, why would you leave them? From what I see, you’ve got a good thing here.
People already count on you, right here,” I pause before asking my next question.
“Do you want out because you think you’re better or because you want to be better? ”
He thinks for a minute. “When we were kids, I wanted to be famous. It’s every kids dream.
Your brother and I would watch old tapes and pretend I was the quarterback; he was my receiver, and that we were the dream team on the field.
We talked for hours and hours about what we’d do when we made it big.
We were going to buy mansions next to each other and matching Lamborghinis.
” I smile because I remember hearing them plan their lives out together.
“When we got accepted to the same college, we really pushed for it. We thought we were one step closer to making it happen. Sophomore year, when it was clear Adam wasn’t going any further, but I had a chance.
I swore I was going to make it just so I could still bring him along with me.
For all the times he pushed me to practice, to be better, to work harder.
For all the times your dad took me to practice and try outs and bought my cleats and pads when my mom couldn’t afford it, I said I was going to make it and repay them all. ”
He takes another sip of his wine and keeps his eyes down.
“Then I blew it. I wasted my chance by being a dick. By letting the spotlight get to me and turn me into exactly who I didn’t want to be.
Then I was embarrassed and didn’t want to come home where everyone could see what a douche I had become. ”