Page 35 of Playing Hard to Hate
“ You put a girl between us. And not just any girl, but the girl. I didn’t do anything, and neither did she.
I’ve never been so fucking disappointed in you, Jackson.
You know how much she means to me. You fucking know.
” I spat his last name, shoved him against the lockers one more time for good measure, and then dropped his sorry ass.
I shoved my legs into my jeans, ignoring the silence that plagued the locker room now. Hunter and I had never fought before. We’d always been thick as thieves, and everyone had just witnessed our little spat.
Pulling a baseball cap over my wet hair, I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the locker room, ignoring Dexter’s attempt to get my attention. I needed to call Tatum. I needed to know if she had decided.
The usual horde of cleat chasers was outside the locker room, all of them wearing our baseball jerseys and screaming our names, hoping for one night of fun.
I usually liked to take one to a hotel on nights when we’d won.
Hell, I had been known for it in the tabloids, which is where Tate’s hesitation came from.
Tonight, I didn’t glance their way. I had too much on the line.
A reporter stopped me to ask about my opinion of the game. It wasn’t uncommon, and usually, I loved any camera time thrown my way, but not tonight.
The female reporter leaned forward, microphone in hand. “Griffin, back-to-back playoff wins. How does it feel?”
I fixed my hat and hoisted my duffel bag on my shoulder, flashing an easy grin. “Feels damn good,” I admitted, my voice smooth despite the adrenaline still running hot in my veins. “We came in with a plan, stuck to it, and got it done.”
More questions came fast and sharp.
“Do you feel like you’re proving yourself as a rookie?”
“How do you carry this momentum forward?”
“What adjustments did you make after game one?”
I answered them all, but my mind had already started to drift. I needed to call her.
Then came the question that yanked me back.
“Griffin, this should be a celebration, but earlier this week, news broke that the men responsible for the grocery store robbery you were caught in were released on bail. Does that take away from this moment?”
There it was. The shadow creeping into one of my biggest nights.
My jaw tensed, but I forced my expression to stay neutral.
Nick had drummed that into my head the night the news broke.
I couldn’t look too affected. “Look, I can’t control what happens off the field,” I said, keeping my voice even.
“Right now, my focus is on this team, this win. That’s what matters. ”
The reporters weren’t satisfied. “Are you concerned at all? Does it make you feel unsafe?”
Before I could answer, a voice shrieked from the side.
“Oh my god, Griffin!”
A girl in a tight crop top and my jersey plowed into me, wrapping herself around my arm like she belonged there . Security was two steps behind her, but she clung tighter, pressing against my side as cameras flashed wildly.
“You’re amazing!” she gushed, eyes wide, breathless. “I love you so much. This win was everything! I just had to congratulate you!”
I forced a smile, muscles locking tight as the cameras ate it up. The reporters loved this shit, loved turning me into the playboy athlete, the heartthrob every girl wanted a piece of.
Tonight, I didn’t want to be him. I hoped to God Tate had turned the TV off.
“Uh…thanks,” I said, carefully prying her fingers off my arm.
Security finally stepped in, pulling her away, but not before she pouted dramatically. “Call me, Griff!”
The moment she was gone, another reporter smirked. “You seem to have plenty of fans out there. Any thoughts on your growing popularity off the field?”
I rolled my shoulders, smirk back in place. “Comes with the job,” I said smoothly, the scripted line like acid on my tongue, and my stomach churned.
Because I knew exactly how this looked.
I needed to call Tate .
I needed to fix this before it even started.
Because I wasn’t letting anything —not rumors, not the past, and definitely not some random fan—get in the way of what I wanted .
Not this time.
Once I was in the safety of my Cadillac, I pulled out my phone and pressed her name. It rang and rang until it hit her voicemail. Lead filled my stomach.
I tried again. Voicemail.
I did it once more, determined to show up at her apartment and explain what she’d just seen on the TV when a different kind of fear filled me. What if the robbers attacked her tonight?
She answered on what had to be the final ring.
“She’s not going to answer, Griffin. You need to stop calling.” Millie’s soft voice came through the speakers of my SUV.
“I need to explain myself,” I told her desperately.
“Griffin, please. Just leave her alone. You’ve caused enough heartache to last a lifetime.
She was so excited, and you chose that bimbo over my best friend.
You’re a fucking tool, you know? She deserved so much better, and hopefully, the right man does come along.
” Millie hung up before I could defend myself.
Punching the steering wheel, I screamed. The thought of her with another man had my insides churning. Rage consumed me at the mere idea of another man even touching her.
I had ruined my one shot.