The Pickup (Imperfect Love 1)

Me: I’m out. Minimum 10 months. They let me go.

Kill: Fuck. What are you going to do?

Me: If it were up to my mom… charity functions.

Kill: Fuck that.

Me: You up for some company?

Kill: Fuck yeah! But what about Fiona?

Me: Apparently she’s looking for her next meal ticket.

Kill: Bitch. Where are you now?

Me: Home

Kill: Get your ass up here!

Me: I’ll get everything settled here and be on my way in the next few days.

Kill: I’ll get a room ready.

Me: And the women.

One thing that I’ve learned from Fiona is that it doesn’t matter how much you give or try, it’s never enough, and I’m done doing both. Fuck my parents, and fuck Fiona, and fuck love. It’s time to get fucked.

Kill: That’s a given.

He says women are a given, but the truth is, I haven’t seen Killian with a woman in years, not since our sophomore year. The guy went from practically sleeping his way through the student body to barely looking at a woman. I’m not sure what happened, but he refuses to talk about it. Anytime I see him at a football function or charity event, he always has a woman on his arm, but in all the years I’ve stayed with him or vice versa, I’ve never seen him bring a woman home or spend the night out with one.

Two

Nick

Fourteen Months Later

We’re sitting in a booth in Club Envy, partying like we do most nights. Only tonight, we’re partying with a purpose.

“Bro! You fucking nailed those tryouts. You and me,” Killian shouts over the music. “You and me! We’re going all the way!” We clink glasses, and Killian announces “My boy is back!” before we both throw back our shots. It takes everything in me to tamper down the nagging feeling that once again somebody is after me for what I can do for him. But I remind myself that Killian isn’t like that. He’s not like my parents, who both went radio silent—after my mom threw a fit—when I up and moved to New York, or the women who only want me for what I can give them: materialistic possessions, trips, nights out at expensive restaurants. The tabloids say I’m a manwhore, a playboy of sorts, but you know what? Those women who spread their legs with dollar signs in their eyes aren’t any better. I tried the hearts and flowers route and look where it got me…so don’t judge me when I finally come to my senses and give everyone what they want.

For the last year, Killian is the only person who has had my back. After putting my condo on the market and having my shit shipped to New York, I chartered a plane and refused to look back. I’ve been living with Killian at his place, and it’s been like one long party. On the days he’s home, he helps me with rehab, and he’s done it without knowing if I’ll ever be able to play again. So, no, Killian isn’t like that. I know that, but sometimes I have to remind myself. When it’s all you know, it’s hard to accept otherwise. I heard through the grapevine Fiona is still attending dance school and living it up in North Carolina in a nice as hell apartment. Seeing as she was broke as fuck when we met tells me one thing: she did, indeed, find her next meal ticket.

“I think I spot Melissa. I’ll be back.” Killian fist bumps me before walking away to find his friend. They hang out more often than not, but nothing seems to ever come of it. I look to my left and then my right. I’ve got a woman on each side of me, both fake blondes, and both vying for my attention. One is rubbing up on my dick while the other is licking down my neck. I bring another shot to my lips as I ignore the buzzing in my pocket indicating I have a phone call coming in—most likely one of my parents who are back to acknowledging I exist since there’s a good possibility I’ll be getting my career back tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re both on a plane heading to New York right now.

I press my finger against my pocket to stop the vibration, and when it starts up again, I pull it out and shut off my phone. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with them. Tonight, I’ll pretend they don’t exist. After all, they spent the last year pretending I don’t exist.

When I look up from my phone, I spot the most gorgeous fucking woman I’ve ever seen, standing at the bar. She’s wearing a black lacy top and matching shorts. Her brown hair is down in waves, and she’s sporting the most adorable pout as she tries to get the bartender’s attention.