Dating the Defensive Back (The Nash Brothers Book 1)

Call, Don’t Text

We always have exit interviews the day after our season ends, and mine was months ago. But I wasn’t sure if this trade was going to go through or not, so I didn’t say goodbye to anybody.

When Monday rolls around, I talk to the GM and my coach, and then I clean out my locker. I say goodbye to the place that has been home for the last eight years.

It isn’t as hard as I thought it would be, and I think it’s because there’s so much hope on the horizon.

Not just with Cookie, though she hasn’t strayed far from my thoughts. I keep actively trying to push her out, but she’s ever present, and if someone could keep popping into my thoughts unexpectedly the way she has been over the last twenty-four hours, well, she must’ve really gotten my attention.

Over the next couple days, I work on packing up my house. I call a moving company once I have the closing date on the new place set, which is nearly a full month from now since they have a few things to finish and the paperwork will take time to go through.

The movers agree to come Thursday morning to pack up my place. I make plans with some teammates for Thursday night to say goodbye, and that’s my week. I plan to get a hotel room Thursday night and hit the road toward Vegas Friday morning. The moving company will store all my shit to deliver to my new house once I close on it, and I’ll stay at the Palms until then.

I haven’t reached out to her yet. I should…but I don’t know what to say.

I don’t really have a resource I go to in situations like these. I could call up Beck and talk to him, but we haven’t talked about our conquests in years—since he met his wife and they got married—and this girl feels like more than just some conquest.

Lincoln is probably the closest to a person I’d confide this sort of thing in, but now that he’s my coach, I don’t know where the line is between coach and brother. Will his advice skew one way or the other because he has an agenda for me now? I don’t think it would because he’s a pretty level-headed guy, but I also don’t know for sure.

I settle on Spencer. I dial his number, sure I’m about to make a fool out of myself since we don’t really do this, and he picks up right away.

“Gray. Is everything okay?” he answers.

“Bruh. Yeah. It’s good.”

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“I…uh…” I don’t know what to say. I blow out a breath. “I met a girl, and I can’t stop thinking about her, and I’m not sure what the hell I’m supposed to do next.”

He chuckles softly. “That’s great news. I’m surprised you called me.”

“You’re the most logical, and I didn’t know where else to turn,” I admit. “But she’s sort of got me all flipped upside down. I picked her up at a bar, and it was going to just be a hookup, but then…I don’t know. I got to know her, and I liked her. A lot.”

“Have you spoken to her since that night?” he asks.

“No.”

“How long has it been?”

“It was last Friday in Vegas, and I had to get back to Los Angeles to wrap shit up with the Chargers. I’ve been packing up my place and closing things out here, and I just haven’t—”

“Five days?” he interrupts with a loud, frustrated sigh. “You should’ve gotten in touch with her the next day, man. You might’ve lost your window.”

Jesus. Way to cut to the chase.

“But Amelia says it’s never too late to tell someone how you really feel. If you haven’t stopped thinking about her, maybe start by telling her that,” he suggests.

“Really?” I wrinkle my nose as I think how lame that sounds.

“Really. Be honest. You can’t go wrong with honesty. And call, don’t text.”

“I guess you’re right.” I pace in front of the fireplace I’ve never used. “Okay, thanks. You doing good?”

“Never better. Enjoying the offseason.”

“Good,” I say, and suddenly I’m ready to get off this call so I can send my lame ass text to Cookie. “I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime. Good luck, man.”

“Thanks.” I cut the call, and I draft my text despite his advice to call. I’m nervous to call, which sounds absolutely ridiculous. I’m never nervous. Confidence is my whole personality, and maybe that tells me something about my feelings for this girl.

Me: I haven’t stopped thinking about you.

I stare at it for a few beats. I recall who the fuck I am, and before I lose my nerve, I click send.

Her reply comes quickly.

Cookie: Thank God. I was beginning to think you forgot about me.

I stare down at the text, my chest tightening that she might really ever think that about me, about us, about the night we shared.

Me: Not a chance in hell. When can I see you again?

Cookie: Are you back in Vegas?

Me: No, I’m in LA.

Cookie: Let me know when you’re back and we’ll make plans.

Me: I’ll be back Friday.

Cookie: I get off work at five.

Me: Dinner?

Cookie: I’d love to.

Me: Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight.

She sends her address right away and follows it up with another text.

Cookie: I can’t wait to see you again.

Me: Neither can I.

And now I have to wait forty-eight long hours until that moment arrives.

I shoot Beckett a text next.

Me: Heading back to Vegas Friday if you want me to check in on your little sis.

Beck: That would be great. She’s always working, so I’ll send you the details for the place where she works.

I text back a thumbs-up, and he sends me the address. I don’t bother looking it up. I’ll take care of it on Friday as a means to distract me before my date with Cookie.

Time seems to slow down as I sort through my shit and pack the essentials I’ll need versus the items that can stay in storage until my new place is ready. I say goodbye to the home I’ve lived in for eight years, check into my hotel and drop off my suitcase, and head over to my buddy’s house for my farewell tour.

I’m seeing Cookie tomorrow night, so I decide not to get hammered even though it’s my usual MO when I get together with these guys. An hour into the party, they’re all drunkenly laughing about the upcoming season and how I’ll be their opponent.

I’m not feeling it. I’m not one of them anymore. I have new teammates to meet, new friendships to create. I’ll always cherish the bonds I made here, but there are too many new things on the horizon to feel like I fit in here any longer.

I sip half a drink and stay what feels like a good enough amount of time before I duck out early. I just want to get to Vegas, and with that in mind, I grab my suitcase from the hotel I already paid for, and I hop in my truck and start driving without a single glance over my shoulder as to what I’m leaving behind.

I get there a little after two in the morning, and I head right to the Palms. I check in, and the suite I stayed in last time isn’t available, so they just give me a regular room. I booked my usual suite for the next week in advance, though, so I’ll move into it tomorrow.

Tonight, all I need a room for is sleep.

I think about calling Cookie as I settle in, but I know she keeps early hours at her bakery. I don’t want to wake her up.

I have a Strip view, so I stand by my window for a few beats, staring out at the lights. They’re still twinkling even at this ridiculously late hour, and I think of Cookie as she stood at a similar window looking out. I didn’t bother looking at the lights. All I could focus on was her.

I blow out a breath. I have got to pull myself together.

I remind myself that I’m moving here because of the team. Because of my brothers. Because of my new job as a defensive back for the Vegas Aces.

I’m not moving here for some girl I’ve met one time.

I can tell myself that all I want, though. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s sure as fuck a nice side benefit.