I’ve had my heart checked regularly. It’s fine.
Is this fear that I’m going to turn into him—or her?
Or is it more self-centered?
My career is dying, and the idea of being useless to my team—I clench my hands at the thought—is like carving my skin off with a dull knife. You know how everyone has one thing, thatone thingthey’re great at, that thing that keeps them centered and happy? Maybe it’s a spouse,a friend, or a home you love. For me, it’s the exhilaration of catching that pigskin and taking it to the end zone. If football is gone, if I lose theone thingthat’s kept me sane for all these years, what will happen to me?
Will I lash out like my dad?
Will mental issues like my mom’s rear up?
I bang my head on the wall.
I need sex, a good, hard, rough fucking. It’s been months since Decadence, and I—
“Yo. You all right?”
My thoughts cut off as Jasper appears at the door of the penthouse. I glance up, stuffing down the turmoil. I compose my face quickly and rise to my feet. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
He nods. “Is this about practice? You seemed off—”
“I wasn’t,” I say sharply. “I caught your throws, didn’t I?”
He holds his hands up. “Cool, cool. So, um, is this about me getting cheese-puff dust on your couch? It might have gotten on one of the loungers too—but it’s not bad. I sprayed some cleaner, and it sorta got worse.”
My temper stirs as I follow him inside. “You ate puffs on my couch?”
“It was Cherry’s fault,” he adds. “She jumped in my lap, and I spilled the bag ...” He trails off as he gives me a sheepish look. “She loves them, Tuck, and it’s almost like real cheese.”
I pinch my nose. “She has her own treats, special ones I order. Your diet is fucked up. Don’t screw with hers.”
Wearing his plaid pajama pants, he slaps his bare stomach. “I have needs, Tuck. Sweet and salty needs. Donuts and bacon. Cheese puffs and Snickers.”
I take in the mess in the living room: pillows on the floor, sports magazines spread out, soda cans, candy wrappers on the coffee table.
My eyes laser in on the orange-smeared arm of the couch. I’m not OCD, but Jasper could test a monk.
“I’m going to straighten up before bed,” he assures me.
“Fine. Where’s Courtney?”
“Bed, thank God.” He changes his voice to a falsetto and dips his wrist. “I need fresh towels, Jasper; I need sparkling water, Jasper; I need soft toilet paper, Jasper; I want to watch HGTV, Jasper.”
A ghost of a smile crosses my face. “You’re damn close to her voice.”
He groans. “Just curious, how long will she be here?”
“Oh, this is fun. My two houseguests don’t like each other.”
“She’s a spoiled brat and treats me like the help.” He raises his arms. “I’m not her maid. I can barely get my own towels.”
“She just showed up today, so cut her some slack. She broke up with her boyfriend and has nowhere to go.”
“Come on—she’s got model friends around town. She comes running to you every time they have a spat. She wants to be your girlfriend.”
“Hmm.” Courtney and I dated, broke up for a while, and then dated again. Plus, Courtney was with me the night Lollipop brandished a knife. I can’t just cut her off because she can be annoying. She’s a friend. I don’t have many.
“Speaking of roommates, any timeline on your apartment being ready?” He bought three apartments below mine and is having them renovated into one.