Coach Lee came in, and in one season had taken us all the way to the championship game.
We brought the trophy home, and I knew a lot of it was thanks to him.
But he was also a little too condescending for my taste, and no matter how many times I’d hung out with him outside of practice, whether it be at The Pit or at some family event with Holden and Coach Lee’s daughter, it seemed his opinion of me never changed.
Then again, I guess I wasn’t helping matters by playing into the role I’d created.
“Leo,” Giana said softly, calling my attention to her. “You’re an amazing player, and you know how to charm the wings off a bird. Whenever I call on you for press, I know you’re going to hit it out of the park.”
“And I know when I call on you for a run, you’re going to get the first down or wreak havoc trying,” Coach added. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and folding his hands together. “But here’s the thing — it doesn’t matter how well you do on the field. If the GMs think you’re a liability, they won’t think twice about skimming right past your name when it comes time for the draft.”
I snorted. “And getting laid makes me a liability?”
“Your attitude makes you a liability,” Coach snapped, his tone one that demanded I remember my place. “The way you strut into practice late, spend your time on the sidelines at every game making eyes at girls in the stands, and all your extracurricular activities that get more attention than you think.”
I stayed silent, resisting the urge to point out how I volunteered with Pee Wee football every summer, how I mentored high school kids in the fall, how I got straight fucking As in all my classes in a major that was twice as hard as the bullshit ones most of my teammates declared. The truth was none of that mattered, because to the media, it was boring.
They’d rather play my same cocky remark during a post-game interview over and over on the highlight reels as they debate whether I have a shot going pro or not.
But that was the thing — I knew what they wanted, what got their attention and put me on their programs. It was fine to be a great running back, but we had a nation full of those. There were also plenty of kids volunteering and acing their classes.
If I wanted to stand out, I had to give them a reason to remember my name.
And if there was one thing I was good at besides football, it was causing a scene.
The way Coach and Giana were looking at me now, though, I guessed I’d taken it a little too far. It was one thing to have general managers know your name. It was another entirely to have your name at the top of their mind when they thought about players they didn’t want to draft.
“Maybe just… tighten up a little this season,” Giana recommended. “Focus on football and not so much on the girls. I can set up a couple volunteer opportunities, and we can get a one-on-one interview for you before the opening game.”
“No.”
My response surprised them both. “No?” Coach repeated with a warning edge to his tone.
“I hate that shit. They just want to probe into your family or personal life, get some sob story out of you so they can plaster it all over the news. Look at how they treated Holden last season when he was inching toward the draft. You couldn’t turn on SportsCenter without seeing pictures of his dead family flashing on the screen.”
“And look where he is now,” Coach said without hesitation.
I sighed, sinking even farther into my chair.
“It doesn’t have to be super personal,” Giana offered softly. “Just… open up a little. Show them you’re more than the cocky running back they think you are.”
I wanted to roll my eyes so badly, but I refrained. “Fine.”
Coach and Giana shared a look before he dismissed us both with a nod. Giana stood, and I bolted out of the office first with her on my heels.
“Hey,” she said, catching the crook of my arm. “I’m sorry about that back there. I wanted to handle it with you myself, but…”
“I know.”
She nodded. “It’s just… I think he sees a lot of potential in you, Leo. He knows you can be great — you already are.”
I sighed, but knew she was right. Coach Lee didn’t know how to show his love to his players only to come down hard on us. I’d seen that firsthand with Holden last season, and with any other player he thought had a chance. He was much harder on me, Clay, Kyle, Zeke, and Riley than any other seniors. He thought we had potential.
Still, it thoroughly pissed me off that he couldn’t see past the superficial bullshit and realize I was already doing all the things he wanted me to. I was a part of our community — not because they asked, but because I wanted to be. I was doing well in school. I was performing on the field.
So what if I was confident in my interviews? They loved that shit. That’s why my clips got more airtime than anyone else’s. And who said this kind of publicity was bad? Isn’t all publicity good, in a way?
“How’s it going with Mary?”
I blinked at the rapid change in subject, and a flash of Mary and her big green eyes hit me like a ball out of left field.
“Good,” I answered. “I think she’s feeling more comfortable than last week.”
“You guys are being nice to her?”
I smirked. “Very nice.”
Giana narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be cute.”
“Impossible not to.”
“I’ll see you later,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She pointed her pen at me as she backed away. “Angel behavior, got it?”
I drew a halo around my head before pressing my hands together in mock prayer. She turned with a smile, and then I dropped my hands, a long exhale leaving me.
I was already dreading the interviews Giana would set up, the inevitable questions that would come. No matter how G tried to keep them on track, I knew from experience that reporters wanted the dirt. They’d ask about that article, and about the girls in my life — emphasis on the plural.
If I told them the truth, they’d be let down.
They loved to believe I was this big player, fucking anything with tits that walked past me. That said athlete. That said cocky son-of-a-bitch.
If they knew that of those twenty-seven girls in that article, I’d only slept with four of them?
They’d be much less interested.
Did I love the attention girls gave me as a college football player? Hell fucking yeah, I did. Who was I to turn down a girl who wanted to dance at a club, or makeout at The Pit, or take a body shot, or wear my jersey to the games?
But something soft about me that I wouldn’t admit to anyone other than my mother was that I needed to feel a connection to a woman before I wanted to fuck her.
I had no problem making out, or even hitting second base with someone I didn’t have feelings for. I was a man, after all, and I much preferred a random girl’s mouth to my hand. But when it came to stripping down — literally and figuratively — I was a lot more picky.
I needed to feel something.
I couldn’t lay a stranger down and look into her eyes in a moment so intimate, in a situation where I felt so vulnerable, and not know a single thing about her or feel like she didn’t know me. I couldn’t fuck a girl and then immediately put my clothes on and leave, or ask her to do the same.