“I look even better in short shorts and a tank, running like a beast around the track,” she says with a laugh. “I was fast.”
“I bet.” She’s always running away from me, that’s for damn sure.
“I’m still fast.”
“I don’t doubt you. You’re also pretty strong.” I’ve seen her out on the dock. Most girls are afraid to move the boats because it means they have to drive them, and some of the pontoon boats are huge. Long.
Like my dick.
Damn, I even make crude jokes in my head.
Gracie hasn’t hesitated once out on the dock. We were crazy busy last Saturday with all the boats coming back in, and we needed help because we were falling behind. She jumped right in and steered one of the bigger patio boats we rent out straight into its slip. I was impressed. All the guys were. We paused in the middle of whatever we were doing and burst into applause once she jumped off the boat, and I even whistled at her.
She smiled and bowed, looked awfully pleased with herself.
“Thanks,” she says with a smile, her hands curved around her giant glass. “You’re pretty strong too. Do you work out?”
She bats her eyelashes at me, and I know she’s kidding.
“We start conditioning next month,” I tell her and when she frowns, I continue, “the football team.”
“Will that cut into your work hours?” she asks.
“I’ll just have to rearrange my schedule. It’ll get really busy, juggling both, but I don’t have a choice,” I say. “I need the money.”
“I get it. I need the money too,” she says with a sigh.
This is what we have in common, Gracie and me. Besides the whole we can’t commit thing, we also come from middle-class families. Normal families who make average incomes and do average things. It was easy for me to be jealous of one of my best friends when we were in high school. Jake Callahan comes from money and fame, with his mega rich ex-NFL quarterback dad, and he had everything he could ever want. Constant access to exclusive football training, besides the natural ability he inherited from his father. Plus, Jake always had the best clothes, the best car, the best everything.
I resented him for it for a while, though I never talked about my feelings to anyone. I know our friend Diego resented him too. He comes from even less money than I do. But Jake never acted like a jackass around us. He never bragged either. Hell, he shared his wealth, and his father was cool enough to take the time to actually coach us. I learned a lot from Drew Callahan. He’s still coaching our high school football team, though that’s also because baby Callahan is currently on the team.
Talk about lucky, having the Drew Callahan coaching us.
That’s how I turned my head around. I wasn’t jealous anymore. I took advantage where I could. And I realized Jake Callahan was a dope friend who took care of his crew no matter what. He became one of my closest friends. Man do I miss that guy.
We all do. He’s currently at USC, killing it as their star quarterback. He’ll be drafted by the NFL for sure.
“I bet you were ridiculous in high school,” Gracie says, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on top of her fist as she contemplates me. “A complete player. Popular. All the girls chased after you.”
“Wrong,” I say. “I chased after the girls.”
“I’m sure it was a mutual thing,” she says.
I shrug, but don’t say anything. Honestly, I was awful. In the early years of high school, I went through pretty much all the girls in our class, making them mad or frustrated or they’d end up flat-out hating me. With the exception of Baylee, who I messed around with on the side the entirety of our senior year, never once admitting to anyone that we were together.
We really weren’t, though. It wasn’t a real relationship at all. Just a bunch of sneakin’ around and me getting some where I could. Kept that up in college too, though not as frequently.
“I’m sure you were the hot girl at your school,” I tell Gracie and she starts laughing hysterically. To
the point that I have to wait her out, watching as she laughs and laughs, clutching her sides until she finally dies down.
“No. I was definitely not the hot girl in high school,” she tells me, her voice firm. “I kept to myself. I was pretty shy. And I had one serious boyfriend my senior year. That’s it.”
I immediately hate this guy, and I don’t even know who he is. “What was his name?”
“Aaron,” she admits. “We were together for a while. Most of senior year.”
“What happened?”