The Playmaker

MAXWELL

After my shower, I dress quickly so I can answer the questions from the press fully clothed and head home.

All I want to do is dive headfirst into a bucket of chicken and pass out. Unfortunately for me, I’m caught by Daniel Stryker, a sports reporter from the Athletic News Network.

“Maxwell! Despite the loss, you had a great first game tonight coming off an injury from last season. Rumors say you’ve been outsourcing help to improve your game. Care to comment?”

I offer him a disingenuous smile and answer his question.

“My offensive coordinator and I have reviewed a lot of my shortcomings from last season and are working tirelessly to improve.

As far as the rumors go, I do have an offensive consultant to help with technique, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Okay. Max, the fans want to know why someone like you needs some college girl to fix your technique. Have things really gotten so bad?”

I frown and ignore his question. “No comment.”

Before he can ask anything further, I push my way past the annoying reporter and exit the locker room. I’ve dealt with my fair share of rude press, but Nova hasn’t.

I can’t help but wonder if she’ll take any heat just for being associated with me.

“Hey, Maxie! Wait up!” I turn my head to see my other best friend, Lucas Sutton. His dark-blond hair is still wet from his shower, and he shakes it like a dog, spraying water everywhere.

“Come out tonight! We’re going to Jackson’s,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

My rookie year, I mostly frequented clubs or bars downtown, but on game nights, it’s the most crowded area in Georgia.

So we started going to places on the outskirts of town rather than within walking distance of the stadium. However, I really don’t feel like going out.

I’m getting old—okay, so thirty isn’t exactly old—and all I want to do is rest my body.

“I don’t know…” I trail off, looking at my watch.

“Just two drinks. Then you can get home just in time for bed.” He raises his brow at me, and I consider the options. “Come on. Even Smiley’s coming out, and he’s got a kid. You have no excuse.”

“Fine.” Even as I say this, I can barely keep my eyes open.

Jackson’s is a nice bar in Decatur, and although it’s pretty busy for a Sunday, it’s not as crowded as most of the Atlanta bars are this time of night.

Highlights of tonight’s game play on the screen above me, and I nurse a glass of whiskey while I watch Anderson and Miles chat up two girls.

I pull my baseball cap down over my eyes and keep my distance.

Normally, I’m not opposed to the attention, but I’m so fucking exhausted right now I’m afraid I might fall asleep where I sit.

Shaking my head to keep myself awake, I decide to head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.

I’m about to reach for the door to the men’s restroom when the women’s door pushes outward at full force.

I jump out of the way just in time so that it just barely misses my shoulder, but what does nearly knock me over is the girl who’s coming out.

A shock of chocolate-brown waves cascade past a pair of generous tits with the word Crusaders plastered across the front of her white T-shirt.

Her tiny waist is accentuated by her wide hips and tiny denim miniskirt, and those fucking legs—her only exposed skin—are perfection.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you the—” She pauses mid-sentence, and her hazel eyes widen when she finally looks up at me.

“Nova?” I nearly choke on fucking air.

“Umm... Yeah.” Her words are slurred slightly, and she raises her index finger to her mouth and bites down like she does when she nervously watches a play.

For some reason, it draws my attention to her lips, and I notice they’re plump and glossy.

I shake my head, but not because I’m tired. No, I’m wide awake now. I just need to shake the inappropriate thoughts I’m having about her mouth from my mind.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

“Uh. Well, I came here with my friend Lily. And she made me drink for the first time, but I’m not sure why I feel so loopy. I only had like…”

She counts her fingers and wrinkles her brow as if she’s trying to remember how many drinks she had. “Three shots? What’s a lightweight? The bartender called me that.”

She giggles—a high-pitched, shrill sound.

“Is Lily here?” Why would her friend let her drink so much if she’s never had alcohol before? She needs to get out of here before someone sees her like this.

Just then, Nova’s cell phone rings in her hand. She answers it and holds it to her ear.

“Hey, where’d you go?... Lily, are you insane? I’m alone in a bar, and I’m pretty sure I’m drunk... No... No, it’s fine; I get it... Yeah, okay.” Nova ends the call and rolls her eyes.

“Lily is a cheerleader, and apparently it’s in their rules that if they’re in the same place as the football players, they have to leave immediately.

“If someone caught her here, she could be fired; that’s why she left so early. She said she’d order me an Uber, though.”

She shrugs her shoulders and tucks her phone into the back pocket of her tiny skirt.

“Tell her don’t bother. I’ll take you home.”

Why am I getting involved?

Nova nods and starts toward the bar area, but I grab her wrist to stop her. “The guys are here. You don’t want to be seen like this. Trust me. We’ll go out the back.”

I release her wrist and nudge her forward with my hand. Once we’re out the back door, I keep an eye on Nova as I walk her to my car.

She doesn’t appear to be blackout drunk, but she’s definitely tipsy, and it’s affecting her balance.

I place a hand on the small of her back to keep her steady, but she shrugs me off dramatically and whips her body around to face me.

She’s about to say something, but unfortunately for her, she hits the curb behind her and trips.

I reach out to catch her before she face-plants into the sidewalk, but she scrapes her shin against the curb.

“Uh-oh,” she whispers, assessing the damage. She giggles as blood begins to trickle from the wound.