Chapter Four
Girl Trouble
Today just isn't my day. I'm sitting in the locker room struggling to lace up my cleats, but my fingers feel like overcooked sausages.
Sleep-deprived and mentally fried doesn't begin to cover how I'm feeling right now.
Part of the problem is that my mind keeps showing me visuals of Chandra and Regan in the nude. But I swear I'm not the threesome type.
"You look like hammered shit, Hannigan," Trent says as he strolls past, already suited up and looking annoyingly fresh.
"Thanks for the newsflash." I finally manage to tie a double knot, though it's lopsided and pathetic. Just like my love life.
The Chandra situation is bad enough, with her showing up at my place late last night, unannounced and acting like we're still a thing.
But Regan...God, Regan. I fantasize about her day and night, sometimes waking up to discover I came in my sleep.
The things I dreamed about last night should be illegal.
That's how dirty my fantasies have become.
"Hannigan, get your head in the game!" Coach Ritter barks from the doorway. "Field in five!"
I grab my helmet and a water bottle, trudging toward the practice field. The midsummer heat beats down mercilessly, like today, making my already pounding headache worse. The rest of the Bigfoots are already running drills, which tells me they got more than three hours of sleep.
"There he is!" Dan calls out, jogging over to me. At forty-two, our veteran linebacker moves with the energy of someone half his age. "It's the man caught between fire and ice."
"What are you talking about?" But I know exactly what he means.
"Chandra's all fire. She's beautiful but burns everything she touches. And that ice skater chick? I bet she's a maniac in the bedroom."
I groan and shove him away. "Seriously? Is that all you guys think about? And how did you know about Regan?"
He shrugs. "Took my daughter to the rink yesterday.
She loves figure skaters. I only saw you when we were just leaving.
" Dan grins and punches my arm, nearly sending me face-first into the turf.
"Just calling it like I see it, rookie. When a man's distracted, it's usually because of a woman.
When he's really distracted, it's usually because of two women. "
After adjusting my helmet, I jog over to the huddle. "Focus on your own love life, grandpa."
Coach Ritter's eyes narrow as I approach. "Nice of you to join us, Hannigan. We were just discussing how to run a proper offensive drive. Maybe you'd like to demonstrate, since your mind is clearly elsewhere."
The guys all snicker, and I snort like an angry bull. Terrific. Public humiliation is just what I needed today. "Sorry, Coach. I'm good to go."
"Are you?" He raises an eyebrow that speaks volumes. "Because your body might be here, but your brain seems to be somewhere between an ice rink and your ex-girlfriend's Instagram feed."
Damn. Is it that obvious? "I'm focused, Coach. Hundred percent."
Coach doesn't seem convinced, but he nods toward the field. "Prove it. First team offense, line up!"
I jog to position, ignoring the knowing glances from my teammates. Our center, Javon, gives me a sympathetic look as I step behind him.
"Girl troubles?" he whispers.
"It's really that obvious?" I throw my head back and groan, then abruptly realize who's in the bleachers.
"Chandra and Regan are both in the stands watching.
Why my ex is here, I've got no fucking clue.
As for the skater...yeah, also no clue. Regan can't be that into me.
And her coach would murder me if he knew she was here. "
"Better keep your head down," Javon warns, lining up. "Both of them are giving you death stares."
I resist the urge to glance up at the stands. "Thanks for the intel, but I'm trying not to die today."
The snap comes fast, and I drop back, scanning for receivers. Dan's words echo in my head---fire and ice---as I release the ball. It sails wide, missing Trent by at least three feet.
"Hannigan!" Coach Ernie bellows. "What was that? My dead grandmother could throw better, and she was cremated three years ago!"
The team erupts in laughter while I stand here, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
I risk a glance toward the stands. Bad move.
Chandra is waving, all perfect smiles and calculated charm.
Three rows up, Regan sits with her arms crossed, her blue eyes drilling into me like precision-guided missiles.
And beside her is the imposing figure of Bohdan Fedorenko, her coach, whose scowl could curdle milk.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I return to the huddle, pretending I didn't see either of the women or Fedorenko.
"Again!" Coach shouts, clapping his hands. "And this time, try throwing to our team, not the imaginary one in your head!"
The next play is marginally better. I complete a short pass to Javon, who turns toward the Devils' endzone for a decent gain. But my timing is off, and my footwork is sloppy. Every mistake feels magnified under the dual spotlight of my romantic entanglements watching from the stands.
After practice, I try to escape without glancing at the stands again, but Ernie catches me by the shoulder.
"Hold up there, Casanova," he says, his voice lowering to that gruff mentor tone he uses when he's about to dispense wisdom I don't want to hear. "Got a minute?"
"Not really, Coach." But it's a pointless protest. When Ernie Barnes wants to talk, you talk.
He guides me toward the edge of the field, conveniently angled away from the stands. "Women troubles, huh?"
I sigh. "Is it that obvious?"
"Son, you're about as subtle as a freight train derailment. Your head's not in the game because it's caught between two very different stations."
I wipe sweat from my forehead, buying time before I have to respond. "I'm handling it."
"Yeah, I can tell." He shakes his head at me. "That's why you nearly took out the water boy with that last throw."
"Look, Coach, I've got this," I lie, knowing full well that I definitely do not have this.
Ernie gives me his patented "I've-seen-this-all-before" look, the one that makes me feel about ten years old. "Listen, son. I've coached football for thirty-two years, been married for thirty-six. Know what that means?"
"That you're...old?" I venture, immediately regretting it when his eyebrows shoot up.
"It means I know more about running plays AND handling women than you've forgotten, smartass." He crosses his arms. "When I met my Loretta, there was another woman in the picture. Pretty little cheerleader named Denise."
Oh shit. Heaven spare me from Ernie sharing his ancient dating history. "Coach---"
When Ernie speaks, I don't interrupt. "Shut it and listen, kid. Denise was all flash and fire. Beautiful girl, and she knew it too. Loretta was quieter. Steadier. She didn't play games."
I shift my weight, desperately searching for an escape route. Somewhere in the distance, I imagine both Chandra's and Regan's eyes are burning holes through my practice jersey.
"So, what happened with Denise?" I ask, hoping to speed this along.
"I was young and stupid---not unlike you---and tried to keep both women interested." Ernie chuckles. "Three of us ended up at the same restaurant one night. Different tables, same section."
"Let me guess, hilarity ensued?"
"Denise threw a drink in my face, and Loretta laughed so hard she snorted her iced tea through her nose. I went home alone, smelling like whiskey sour and shame."
"And this story helps me...how?"
He glances around, then moves in to whispers, "My point is, you can't ride two horses with one ass, kid. Make a choice before someone else makes it for you."
With that pearl of wisdom, he ambles away, leaving me standing here like a frigging moron. Thanks, Coach. Real helpful. As if choosing between Chandra and Regan is as simple as picking a breakfast cereal.
I trudged ten steps when I hear a familiar voice.
"Mike! Wait up!"
It's Chandra, of course. I briefly consider sprinting out of the building, but instead, I pause and take a deep breath. It's like choosing whether to get hit by a car or die in a fiery plane crash.
"Hey, Chandra." I didn't sound the least bit casual. I turn around while giving her the fakest smile ever. It feels more like a grimace.
She grins and saunters over to me, looking like she just stepped off a magazine cover despite the heat. Her designer sunglasses push back her perfect, glistening dark hair, and her sundress hugs curves that used to drive me wild. Now they only remind me of complicated love life.
"You looked good out there," she lies smoothly. We both know I played like garbage.
"Thanks, but I think even you know that's not true." I glance around nervously, wondering if Regan is watching this interaction. "What are you doing here, Chandra? I thought we covered everything last night. We are not a couple anymore, haven't been for three months."
She steps closer, her familiar perfume washing over me. "I was thinking about how good we used to be together. All the hot sex." She sighs. "You want me. Don't pretend it isn't true."
Fuck. This woman knows every button to push to get me hot and hard for her. But I won't give in, not this time.
Without a word, I turn away and leave Chandra behind.