More like a badass motherfucker—but she already knows that. She just doesn’t appreciate how cool I am.
Which is strange. Most women can’t get enough of me. I have them begging for me to take them out, trying to blow me at clubs and in the bathroom at restaurants. Married women, single women, older women.
It’s a problem I knew I’d have but one I wasn’t actually prepared for.
Obviously, my pops used to talk about it. He had an issue with infidelity for a time during their marriage, but they stuck it out. Mom had four boys to worry about, and Pops traveled all the time, and she just wasn’t in a place to pack up her kids and leave her husband.
I remember the fighting; the house was big but not so big we couldn’t hear the shouting through the walls when they thought we were asleep.
It was always worse during the off-season.
My pops was used to being on the road, doing interviews, and working out. He hated sitting around and acted like a tiger in captivity those days he had no games, no preseason, no training camps.
So he’d go out and drink.
Pick up random women in bars and bang them; women who were all too eager to share pictures online and sell their stories to the papers. They’d banged Derek Colter of the Dallas Steers, and they wanted the world to know—they wanted their fifteen minutes of fame and whatever payout they could get.
I would never do that to my partner.
Never.
When the right woman came along, I wasn’t planning on sticking my dick in anyone else.
I loved my father, but I didn’t always respect his choices, and now he was gone and wouldn’t see the man I was becoming.
Duke:When’s the last date you were on, and why didn’t it work out?
I sound like a sappy asshole who gives a shit.
Posey:It’s been a while. I was seeing someone, but we ended things a few months ago, and I haven’t really been on any dates since.
Duke:What made you decide to start dating NOW?
Posey:I don’t know… it’s cliché, but all my friends are in relationships now, and well, I hate being a 3rdwheel—not that I want to date just to have someone at a DINNER party, but it would be nice to share that with someone.
Duke:Plus the sex.
Posey:Obviously.
Obviously.
I stare at that word, trying not to imagine Posey banging some dude, but it’s not as easy as I would think it’d be.
She’s cute.
She smells good.
She feeds me.
Well. She hasn’t cooked me anything per se, but she did take me to the grocery store and let me buy food, which is almost the same thing.
I lie here on the top of my bed, on top of the covers, glancing around, suddenly curious about her bedroom, what it looks like, how she has it decorated. I’ve only seen her office, and from what I can tell about that, she likes modern, clean lines and dark colors.
This guest bedroom isn’t froufrou or feminine—I don’t feel out of place here at all. Gray walls, gray-striped comforter, dark pillows, dark dresser.
Considering how cutesy she dresses, it surprises me that the house isn’t cutesy, too.
Duke:What does your bedroom look like?