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“You said earlier that you know all about that life. What’d you mean by that? Have you dated somebody who went pro? Or somebody who was about to?”

Chapter Twelve

“No. I’ve never dated an athlete. And I won’t.”

Drew let his head drop back against the pillow. Well, that fucking sucked. But was he really trying to date her? Like, officially? Be her boyfriend? He’d meant it when he said this wasn’t just about hooking up. Past that, he had no fucking clue. He wanted Nicole and didn’t want her anywhere near Cedric or anybody else. But he wasn’t a complete hypocritical asshole, either. If he expected her to stay away from Cedric, he couldn’t turn around and hook up with other girls.

Which sounded a hell of a lot like a relationship. The crazy part was, he could picture it—him and Nicole—and that alone meant he was in deeper than he wanted to be.

He was fucking fucked.

“What do you have against dating athletes?”

“For one, I’d never hear the end of it from my family. But it goes back to what you asked me before. I grew up with a professional athlete.”

“Who? One of your siblings?”

“No. My sister’s a lawyer, and my brother’s a sports agent in Miami.” She hesitated, like this wasn’t something she went around telling people. “My dad was in the NBA.”

“Who’s your dad?”

“Melvin Wright.”

Drew sat up. Melvin fucking Wright was her dad? Four rings, sixteen seasons, first-ballot Hall of Famer, and now he was on TV every week breaking down everybody else’s games? That Melvin Wright? Holy shit. He’d grown up watching the man’s highlight reels, the dunks that put the whole bench on its feet and that fadeaway that never seemed to miss.

When Wright’s team came to the Garden, his dad had taken him to a game. Drew was eight, and his old man had talked about it for weeks afterward. Now here he was on the phone with the man’s daughter.

He wanted to tell Nicole all of it, from the poster he’d had on his wall at ten to how her father was one of the greatest to ever play the game. He had a pair of the man’s signature shoes in his closet right now, for Christ’s sake. But she hadn’t told him so he could geek out and start rattling off stats. She was explaining why she didn’t trust athletes—guys like him, who built their whole lives around a sport.

“That’s crazy,” was all he said.

“So, yeah. I know what that life is like. The travel. The women who are always around. Wives expected to smile and act like everything is fine, no matter what happens behind closed doors. It’s a lot. I grew up around enough of it to know I don’t want that for myself.”

“That makes sense.” Drew grabbed the football from the foot of his bed, tossed it up with his free hand, and caught it.

“Yeah. Enough about me. What about you? What’s your family like?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Hmm, let’s see . . . everything you want to tell me,” she said with a laugh. “What do they do for a living? Do you look like your mom or your dad, or both? Were either of them athletic, or is it just you? And are you an only child, or do you have siblings?”

Her rapid-fire questions made him smile. “My dad’s an electrician, and my mom’s a bookkeeper for a small construction company. I look like my mom, but I have my dad’s eyes. I’m an only child, and my dad used to play football—not pro or anything.” That could’ve been enough, but for some reason, he kept going. “He was a quarterback, just like me, and he was damn good. Played for Ohio State on scholarship until he blew out his knee his junior year. Never played another snap.”

“That’s terrible. He must’ve been crushed.”

“Yeah. He never really got over it.” Drew caught the ball again and held on to it. “As soon as I was old enough to hold a football, all of it went on me. Every practice, every camp, every game. He had me out there before school, after school, and on weekends. If I had a bad game, he wouldn’t say a word the whole ride home. And when you’re a kid, that silence is worse than if he’d just yelled at you.”

Why the hell was he telling her this? He didn’t talk about his dad that way to anybody. The man was a good father, and he’d only pushed that hard because he wanted Drew to get the shot he never got.

“That’s a lot to put on a kid,” Nicole said.

“It worked, though. I’m here.” That answer had always been enough for him. Tonight, he wasn’t so sure.

Going pro was supposed to make all of it worth it—the work, the silent rides home, the years his parents went without so he could have whatever he needed to play. His dad’s dream had become his so early that he’d never thought to question it. Why would he? Football was all he’d ever known. But Nicole’s dad had gone pro and then some. Money, championship rings, respect, fame—the man had gotten everything Drew had spent his life chasing. Nicole had grown up with all of it and wanted no part of that life for herself. Sitting there in the dark with the football in his hand, he couldn’t pretend that didn’t get to him.

“So what was it like growing up with Melvin Wright as your dad?” he asked, then quickly added, “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. My dad is great. But sometimes having a famous dad is a lot. When I was little, people were always coming up to us when we went out. They’d get all excited, and sometimes they’d even cry. My mom would just smile like it was totally normal. Eventually, it became normal for me and my siblings too.”