Page 73 of Playing Mr. Perfect

Me: How long are you here?

Clay: However long it takes.

My pulse quickens.

Me: Takes for what?

Clay: For you to realize we’re more than a weekend fling.

Chapter Nineteen

Clay

After a fitful night’s sleep spent convincing myself not to drive back to Pepper’s house, I’m up before the sun, getting my PT and workout done. I head out before the sun comes up for a run. The brisk air is exhilarating as I hit my stride. Few things center me like running does, and this morning I need centering. Leaving Pepper last night was not easy, but it was the right move. She needs to see that I’m into all of her, not just her body, and that I respect her career and her concerns.

The second I saw her in her office, I knew I made the right decision coming to see her. Not only had the chaos of the last week instantly fallen away, but I could see and feel how much she missed me, too. I don’t know if she tried to end us because of her schedule and where we live, or because our chemistry scares her, or for some other reason altogether, but after last night, I know she couldn’t fool herself into believing we were over any better than I could.

The house I rented isn’t far from the University of Virginia, and the sun is just starting to rise when I reach the campus. My first thought is that I wish Pepper were here to watch the sunrise with me. I never gave much thought to my grandfather urging me to get out and enjoy all this world has to offer, but after spending time with Pepper, that’s changed.

I take out my phone and snap a picture, texting it to him. No words necessary. I consider texting it to Pepper, too, but worry it’ll get us both sidetracked, and I have a schedule to keep to this morning. I put my phone in my armband and head for the track. I figured I’d have it all to myself this early, but there’s a young Black guy running. I hit the track, and not thirty seconds later he blows past me, saying, “Morning.”

The competitive bastard in me comes out, and I kick up my speed, waving as I sprint past him and call out, “Mornin’.”

I hear him laugh, and he blows past me again with a cocky grin.

Game on.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as we race around the track, flashing shit-eating grins with every pass. But he can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen years old, and I run out of steam before he does. I slow down to catch my breath and wave him on, but he doubles back, a little starry-eyed, and I know he’s recognized me.

“Hey! You’re Clay Braden.”

“That’s right. And you are?” I offer my hand, and he shakes it eagerly. He’s tall, lean, and fast, with a strong grip. In a few years this kid will burn up the field faster than lightning.

“Ben Clauson. Wide receiver.”

“I recognize that name. You had a hell of a season.”

“Bro!” He grabs his head with both hands and looks up at the sky, his short dreads poking out between his fingers as he practically shouts, “This is unreal. No fucking way you know my name.”

I laugh, remembering the thrill of meeting NFL players for the first time.

“Man. I can’t get over this!” Ben exclaims. “Clay Braden. What’re you doing here?”

“I’m trying to keep my time here on the down-low.” I have no idea what possesses me to admit the truth.

“Yeah. I swear it, man. I’ve got you.”

“I’m here to see my girl.”

“You’re dating someone from my school?” His brow furrows. “Bro, how old are you?”

“Far too old for that.” I laugh. “She lives in the area. Why are you running so early?”

“Between keeping my grades up and working full time to help my mom with the bills, I have to fit my workouts in when I can. I got a full ride, and I want to come back stronger next year. Can’t slack. I’m the first one in my family to go to college, and I want to do my mom proud.”

“That’s the way to do it. What about your father? Isn’t he in the picture?”

“Nah, but my mom and I are good.”