Bigger picture? What could be bigger than my future?
He leans in close as if he’s sharing something confidential. “You’ve got one shot to turn your fifteen minutes of fame into a sustainable platform. You’re the first woman to get a D1 scholarship and clock meaningful game time. And you’ve got a pretty face. The media loves you.” My belly rolls like a ship in a storm. Goddamn pirate books. This is so not the time for pirate similes. Not when his every word lands like a blow, shattering everything I’ve worked so hard to build. “Leave the engineering stuff to the geeks and focus on your brand. You’re underleveraged. You should be doing interviews every week so that when your eligibility expires, you can start looking at endorsements. Hell, you guys win a national championship, you might even be able to play in one of the semi-pro leagues.”
He looks at me expectantly, completely unaware his dismissal of all my hard work—of my dreams—has gutted me. I don’t want to be a pretty face or a football player or a brand ambassador. I want to make a name for myself in the world of STEM, where I’ll be recognized for my ability to use my brain. Is that so hard to understand?
I clench my napkin in my fist as heat spreads across my face. Anger claws at the back of my throat, but the words don’t come.
He’s so wrapped up in his sales pitch, he’s oblivious to the harm his words have caused.
“I’m telling you, Kenny. What you need is a manager to hook you up with primetime media. Someone with connections. Someone who’d have the networks eating out of their hand.” He pauses and tips a glass of whiskey to his lips, draining it. His cheeks are flushed, a sure sign it’s not his first drink of the evening. “Your mom dropped the ball here, but I can fix it. My fifteen percent fee is nothing compared to the money you’ll rake in.”
How dare he. I see red at the mention of my mom, and a vein in my forehead begins to pulse. This was a mistake. I never should have agreed to dinner.
“Especially now that you’ve hooked a big fish,” he continues, unfazed. “Number one draft prospect? Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”
I’m trembling with rage, and it’s all I can do not to climb over the table and strangle him with his own napkin.
“You’re disgusting,” I hiss, climbing to my feet. My voice wavers, but not my resolution. I’ve got years of pent-up rage and he deserves every last bit of it. “I should’ve known you weren’t here for me, just a quick buck. You haven’t changed at all. You’re the same selfish, self-absorbed asshole you’ve been my whole life.” I’m breathing hard, nostrils flared, but I can’t stop. Not even when he glares at me and hardens his jaw. “You know what the worst part is? I wanted it to be true. I wanted so badly for you to give a damn about me, despite twenty-one years of evidence to the contrary. And you know what? The only mistake my mother ever made was not kicking your sorry ass to the curb the minute she realized what a selfish bastard you are.”
I turn on my heel, not bothering to wait for a response. I’ve had enough of his bullshit to last a lifetime. The hostess stares openmouthed as I stalk past. I’m guessing this sort of thing doesn’t happen often at the Four Diamond hotel, but I’ll be damned before I apologize.
The night is crisp and cold when I step outside, but I gulp the cool air down like it’s the remedy for my burning anger. I’m not sure if it helps, but there’s no denying the shift in my emotions as fury gives way to hurt. Tears stream down my face before I can stop them, and the tiny bubble of hope I’d nurtured fractures, vanishing like any possibility of a relationship with my father.
I pull my phone from my purse and text Austin through tear-filled eyes.
At times like this, I usually call my mom, but that’s out of the question. Knowing I met with my dad would only hurt her. Besides, she’d probably hunt him down and castrate him if she knew how he’d behaved. How he hurt me.
No, the only person I can count on right now is Austin.
Turns out, he’s waiting at a coffee shop just up the street. The headlights of the Jeep round the drive in less than three minutes, and he’s at my side before I can open the passenger door. He reaches for me, a grim expression on his face, and I tumble into his arms, a streaky, tearstained mess.
I doubt this is how he pictured spending his Sunday evening, but Austin holds me tight, wrapping me in his warm embrace as he kisses the top of my head. He doesn’t bother with meaningless platitudes or apologies, and I’m thankful for it. I just need to be held, to inhale the scent of his spicy cologne and listen to the steady beat of his heart.
He seems to understand exactly what I need, even without words, and I marvel at how far we’ve come since that day on the soccer field. How could I have ever believed he was like my father?
Chapter Twenty-One
Austin
“You’re killing me.” Kennedy bends over, her perfect ass on display in a pair of leggings that look like they might be painted on. I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing underwear, which does nothing to help my current semihard situation.
We’re hanging at her apartment, and I’m counting down the minutes until Enzo leaves so I can have my way with my woman. Enzo and Kennedy are mostly just ignoring me and trying to work out the bugs on their robot. It’s a squat little fucker with googly eyes,
