I never have been.
“It’s nothing. You know how she is,” I say, trying to brush the moment off.
“Looked like something to me,” Dom says, wagging his brows and smiling like this is one big joke.
I glare at him. Liam glares at me.
“Well, I’m saying it again in case you forgot—I’m staking my claim on Addie. I’m interested,” Liam says, his words only for me. “I’ve liked her for months.”
“Huh. Yet you never managed to tell us who you were simping over until just now,” Dom points out. “Kind of lame, if you ask me.”
“Fuck off,” Liam tells him, and not good-naturedly either. “I don’t need you two ganging up on me.”
Before I can say a word in my defense, Liam stomps off, heading for the offensive line, who are all standing clustered together with their coach, who looks ready to launch into a huge speech.
“What’s his problem?” Dom mutters once Liam’s out of ear shot.
“He’s mad I supposedly stole Addie away from him Saturday night.” I turn my glare onto Dom. “That was your idea, by the way.”
Dom shrugs, his expression pure innocence. “How were we supposed to know he has a thing for Addison? He hasn’t told us shit. That guy always keeps his feelings to himself.”
Whereas Dom loves to blab his feelings to anyone who wants to hear them. I love my best friend. He’s loyal, and I can trust he’s always got my back. We don’t keep anything from each other for the most part, but I’ve never really talked much about my feelings for Addie with him. They’ve always felt too…special.
Okay that sounds lame as hell even in my head, but I can’t help but feel that way.
And that’s exactly why I keep my feelings about Addie mostly to myself—kind of like Liam.
“What am I supposed to do?” I turn to face Dom fully, my voice low. “Just let him stake his claim and back off from her?”
Just the idea of letting Liam have his chance with Addie sends a sharp spear straight into my gut. It’s that fucking painful.
“First, you’ve got Sasha, so you can’t say shit until you end things with her.” He pauses for only a moment. “You’re planning on ending things with her, right?”
I lower my voice. “I was going to break up with her last night when we got together, but she bailed on me at the last minute.”
“About damn time.” Dom holds his hand up for a high five and I slap it halfheartedly. “Get rid of her and then you can pursue Addie.”
“I can’t do that if Liam is into her.” Just saying those words makes me feel miserable.
“Wait a minute. Doesn’t it kind of matter what Addie thinks about you two assholes?” Dom points out.
“Probably.” A ragged exhale leaves me. The problem is I have no clue what she’s thinking. We’ve danced around each other for years, the attraction between us always right there, growing and growing.
At least it was for me.
Was it for her?
And now here’s Liam ‘staking his claim,’ like some sort of gold mining prospector. I remember learning that shit in the fourth grade when we studied the history of California, so I know what I’m talking about.
Well, Addie isn’t a piece of property he can claim. She’s an actual human being with thoughts and feelings, and we’re not even taking those into consideration.
Oh, and I’m a complete dick to insert myself into this situation when I already have a girlfriend. Doesn’t matter that I plan on breaking up with her next time I see her, I have no business thinking I have a chance with Addie when I’m still with Sasha.
I’m an asshole. If my mother knew I was thinking like this, she’d probably call me an asshole to my face.
I stew over the situation for the rest of practice. To the point that I’m extra aggressive out on the field and take out a few guys on my team when I ram my body into theirs. I’m surly and noncommunicative and every time Liam glances in my direction, he has a knowing look on his smug face that tells me he’s aware of what’s bothering me and he likes that he’s the cause of it.
Such a bunch of bullshit.
“Callahan, get your ass over here,” my dad hollers at the end of practice, just as I’m grabbing my water bottle from where I left it beneath the bench.
I take a long drink before I snap the lid closed and jog over to where my father is standing on the sidelines, a stern expression on his face.
A face I look a lot like, though not fully. My brother Jake is more my dad’s clone. I’m a solid mix of both my parents with some throwback genes in there, making it so nobody can figure out exactly who I resemble.
“What’s up?” I ask, once I’m standing directly in front of him. The rest of the coaching staff is already leaving, so it’s just the two of us. Considering he’s my ride home, I don’t understand why he just doesn’t talk to me when we’re in his truck and headed back to the house.
“Son, you need to be careful out there.” His voice and his expression are both so damn serious, I start to feel remorseful about my behavior out on the field. “You’re a lot stronger compared to some of those guys and I don’t want you hurting anyone.”
“Got it. Sorry,” I say with a single nod, my voice clipped.
Dad tilts his head to the side as he considers me. “Something bothering you?”
“Nah.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “I’m fine.”
“You were good out there today.” Reaching out, he settles his hand on my shoulder, giving it a shake since I have my practice gear on. I remember when I was little and absolutely idolized him. There was no one better than my dad. Who else could say their father played professional football and won a couple of Super Bowls?
Not very many kids. Not any of the kids at my school could make that claim, and it made me feel special. I played football because of my dad and my brother. We both wanted to be just like our dad growing up.
Jake’s playing professionally and my dad is always saying I could do the same, if I really wanted to. I’m not a quarterback like them, but I have the potential. I just need to bulk up more if I want a shot, but I don’t know if either of those things are possible.
I’m not so sure I want a shot, though. Is that what I want to do with my life? Play football in college and go on to play in the NFL, if I’m lucky enough?
It’s dangerous, especially being a defensive lineman, which is a position I was drawn to since I was a little kid. I had no problem mowing kids down on the field, and I was always big for my age. I’m not as big as a lot of the pros, though I’m fast—and fearless. The position is risky. I could get hurt and destroy my career.
Not sure if I want to take that risk.
“Thank you,” I tell him as his hand drops. Dad’s getting older. He’s just as lean as he was when he was playing professionally, but he doesn’t have as much muscle. Plus, he’s got gray hair at his temples, though Mom constantly tells him she thinks the grays are sexy.
I always roll my eyes and pretend I didn’t hear her say that.
“I still can’t believe that you’re taller than me,” Dad says, after he grabs his bag and slings the strap over his shoulder and we’re walking side by side to the parking lot. “You and Jake both.”