Celeste is beautiful, and she knows it. She’s five-ten with jet black hair and big black eyes. She has a model’s body—thin and leggy with minimal curves, but a decent rack—and she wants a modeling career. I don’t doubt one day she’ll have it. She’s determined. She’s already been in several commercials and ads for local stores and such.
“I saw you play on TV. Good first game.” She’s sitting on my bed in a pair of tiny shorts and a low-cut shirt, despite it being chilly outside. “Did you go see Samantha?” Her voice is smug, which means she already knows.
“Yeah, I caught her cheating with Jesse.”
“Don’t worry…I won’t say I told you so.” She lays back against the headboard. “I saw them last night at the club all over each other. Smart girl, Jesse’s loaded.”
“Whatever, Celeste.” I sit on my bed next to her. Between Samantha cheating and my dad fucking up my major, I’m annoyed as hell and not in the mood for Celeste’s shit. Some days, despite our four year age difference, she’s my best friend; other days, she’s more like the annoying little sister I never had. “And why the hell were you even at a club? You’re sixteen years old.”
“It’s called a fake ID. And even if I didn’t have one, every bouncer in North Carolina thinks I’m of age.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t change the subject. Everyone knows Jesse got his trust fund at eighteen, and he has no problem spending his money on whoever he’s fucking. Maybe you should come with a warning label: I’m rich but broke.” She cackles at her dumb joke. She’s right, though. My dad is rich, but I’m not, which means that while my parents have always provided for me, I don’t have a stuffed bank account I can access anytime I want. Hell, even after being married to my dad for over twenty years, my mom still doesn’t have her own bank account. She might spend her days socializing at the country club, dining at expensive restaurants, going to the spa, or shopping for shit she will never use or wear, but it’s all done with my dad’s credit cards. Henry Shaw lives for control. Giving my mother or me money would mean losing a slice of that control, and that’s definitely not happening.
In all honesty, I’ve never really cared. I have everything money can buy. I drive a nice-ass Audi A4, courtesy of my father. I have unlimited funds for food and clothes. My schooling is paid for. What I don’t have is money to spend on women, and apparently, that’s all women seem to care about. All through high school and college, it’s been the same shit with every female. They hear I’m rich, so they expect me to be their meal ticket. They hear I’m the quarterback, so they want to latch on to my status. I’m so fucking sick of all the fakeness.
“I refuse to believe money is all people in this world care about. I’m going to find someone who couldn’t care less about money, and when I do, I’m going to love the hell out of her.” Celeste cackles again and shakes her head. Since we were old enough to understand the difference between our living situations, we’ve had an ongoing debate. She believes money trumps love, and I believe money destroys it. My parents have a ton of money and they’re miserable as fuck.
“You’ve always been so naïve, Nick. This isn’t some fairytale. This is real life. Love is nothing more than a wasted emotion. One that only gets in the way of the important things like nice houses and cars and clothes…and eating at expensive restaurants! Oh! And vacations! And don’t get me started on social status…”
“There should be more to life than all that.” I grab the remote and switch the television on to Sunday football. “Money doesn’t buy happiness. It just buys shit.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Celeste says, her voice serious. “Because you’ve never been without money. You’ve never had to worry about the electric or water being shut off. If you want to go to Colorado to ski, you go.”
I don’t even know why I bother to argue with her. It’s always the same shit. I’m rich and my life is perfect…She’s poor and her life sucks…
Celeste continues, “You’ll see. All those broken hearts you’ve had because you keep thinking with your heart. Once you’re in the NFL and making bank, you won’t have to worry about all that. I guarantee once you’re making your own money, girls like Samantha will be begging to be with you, but it won’t be your heart they’re after.”
“They can come after me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be with them.”
“Let’s be real here, Nick. Those that are poor, want to be rich, and those that are rich, only want to be richer. Plus, you’ve had how many failed relationships in high school and college? You should just quit while you’re ahead.”