I spiral.
Call me superstitious, but don’t call me a fool. I know in my heart these dreams have affected my playing, and there’s only one thing I can do about it.
Go see her.
Get the closure I need to move on and play the kind of football I’m famous for.
Staring up at the ceiling of the hotel once I’ve rinsed off in the shower, checked in with the coaching staff, and stripped down to my skivvies for bed, I climb under the covers wide awake.
Blink up at the ceiling.
Close my eyes only to see Penelope’s face behind my lids.
She’s beautiful with long dark hair and blue eyes.
She came to the door wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but damn, she wore it well. I didn’t want to look her up and down, but when she’d led me to the living room to her brother, I couldn’t resist giving myself a glimpse.
Penelope is a pixie.
Petite but curvy, at least from what I can remember, I’d tripped on a pink scooter in the foyer on my way through to the living room only to discover more toys there. I’m assuming Davis Halbrook has had a few kids of his own by now. The other woman in the room must be his wife?
I wouldn’t know because Penelope didn’t introduce me.
She seemed more shocked than horrified to see me, so I guess I’ll take that as a good sign.
Checking my phone, I make sure it’s not on silent.
Checking it again, I make sure I haven’t missed a message.
She isn’t going to contact you, Jennings.
She isn’t going to dinner with you.
Why are you being a Debbie Downer, Jack? You don’t get anywhere by giving up, and you certainly don’t give up on the first try. But I’m not giving up. The ball is not in my court any longer. I’ve passed it off to her, and only she can dictate how the story goes. All I need is to see her, tell her about my dreams, and ask her why she disappeared in the middle of the night and never returned any of my calls.
Easy, right?
Who am I trying to kid? Penelope Halbrook is a flight risk. She proved that in college when she left me high and dry, just a naïve kid with a goal and a dream who thought he had his life mapped out for himself. I was a kid with a college girlfriend who found out the hard way she wasn’t in it for the long haul.
I thought we were going to get married.
I thought we were going to help each other realize our dreams. She wanted to be in advertising. I’ve often wondered if she was or still is.
I thought we were going to start a family. We had talked about having kids once we both had careers and enough money that we wouldn’t have to worry about bills or where the next meal was coming from. She hated relying on her brother for tuition and grocery money, but the jobs on and off-campus didn’t pay nearly enough.
Just a boy and his dreams.
Ha!
A boy who stands at six foot three, is built like a tank, and runs faster than most mortals is now a man who can’t get a woman to use his phone number.
Some things never change.
Chapter 3
Penelope
Jack has not changed his phone number since we were kids.
When I programmed it into my cell, I was surprised to see it was already there—blocked contact, sure, but still…
It was there.
My fingers hover over the two words UNBLOCK CONTACT. My thumb hesitates while my eyes are stuck on that name his friends used to call him.
Skip.
I hated that name back then, but I hear it every single day now.
“Penn, this is our friend Jack—everyone calls him Skip because it looks like he’s skipping across water in the end zone.” My friend Natalia, whom I met in a mass comm class, shoves a guy at me unlike anyone I have ever seen.
I wasn’t planning on drinking or flirting at the house party and wasn’t even dressed up. It was finals week and the beginning of football season, so everyone was out and in high spirits. The rookies on the team—along with the veteran players—promised to take our team to the championships.
I wasn’t a huge football fan myself, but the games had an energy that I loved. Electric. Fun. Loud and obnoxiously chaotic.
Since my brother played football professionally, I was used to it. I’d also gone to his games with our mom when he was in school before he’d been drafted.
“Penn?” Someone nudges my arm, and I glance up.
“Your name is Pen?” the guy, Skip, says. “Like pen and pencil?”
“No, like Penelope.” I was blushing, but I was also hot in this sweater, in this house, under his gaze.
“Nice to meet you, Penelope,” Jack says, extending his hand for me to shake. Rather than take it, I give it a long, hard look, unable to slide my hand into his.