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“A fake engagement,” Ellie blurts.
A fake what now?
“What did you just say?” I ask, certain I didn’t hear correctly even though I know what the fuck she just said.
“A fake engagement,” she repeats a little more quietly. As if I didn’t hear her the first time. As if her words don’t tap into every fucking fear I have. “Listen, I know it’s crazy, but you’re already under fire for being here at all. We can’t play it off like this conversation happened months ago since it’s clear it’s from the ball last night. Snubbing the media like this isn’t going to do you any local favors, and an engagement is one way to show that you’re serious about the girl. It’s one way you won’t even need to address this issue, and instead you show how much you’re in love with her.”
“That’s crazy, Ellie,” I mutter.
“Is it? Or is it just crazy enough to work?”
Her question is rhetorical, obviously, and I don’t address it.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? In the meantime, I’ll work on other avenues of mitigation. What makes you a good guy? What can I capitalize on?” she asks.
What makes me a good guy?
Fuck. I don’t know. Am I a good guy?
Maybe that’s a better question for Ava…but if she’s seen this video, she might be coming up empty right about now, too.
“I’m a good football player.”
“Right. We’re aware of that. But beyond that…what makes you you?”
What makes me me?
It’s a great question.
I’m the life of the party, but lately I feel pretty damn lonely in a room filled with people unless Ava’s there.
I can hold a conversation with anybody about anything.
I’m good at a lot of things, but I’m only great at one thing.
I’m tall. I have a big dick. I’m athletic. I’m in good shape. Some of my muscles have muscles.
Somehow, I don’t think any of that is what she’s looking for.
I’m thirty-two, and I’m terrified of commitment. My brothers are all at various stages in their lives where I feel like the odd one out. Lincoln is married with two kids, and he scored the head coaching position of his dreams. Spencer is engaged and loving life in Minnesota. Even Asher seems to be doing just fine coming off a yearlong suspension. He’s thriving in Vegas, turning himself around to prove he belongs on the Aces despite his stupid wardrobe.
And then there’s me. The guy who’s new to town, who’s trying to fit into a new team, who’s spending more time with the girl than with the guys he’s supposed to be building a brotherhood with.
And Ellie wants me to propose to her?
Fake or not, the entire idea gives me an ache in the pit of my stomach. It gives me anxiety like I’ve never known before.
I’m not ready for that step. Ava’s not ready for that step. I’m not even sure I ever want to get married. I should know this shit. I’m thirty-fucking-two, and there’s so much that’s unknown.
Is this my last season?
What will I do next?
Do I want to get married someday? Have kids someday? Have a future with Ava—or someone else?
No.
If it’s not Ava, it won’t be anyone. I’m in love with her. Only her.
