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“Ayyy,” Austin and Cory yell at the same time as I sink a ball into the corner pocket with ease.

Austin pulls out his phone. “Two hundred?” he confirms, and I nod as he sends me the cash he owes me after thinking he could beat me at my own game.

“Wanna go double or nothing again?” I ask as I signal to the waitress I need another. The more tequila I drink, the better I play.

He shakes his head. “Nah, man. You’ve swindled enough out of me tonight.”

I laugh and turn to Cory. “You?”

“Nope. Coax?” he asks, naming the members-only club all three of us belong to.

I shrug. “I was just planning to kick back and have a few more here, maybe find someone to take home.”

“Here?” Austin says, making a face at me.

“What’s wrong with here ?”

“It’s a barbecue joint,” he protests, and I laugh. Coax is filled with celebrities and people who have the means to afford the exorbitant cost of a membership, but the girls who frequent barbecue joints are often a hell of a lot more fun.

“I can score a ten here,” I say.

“Didn’t you see the chick who rejected him in the takeout line?” Cory asks. He shakes his head and waves his hand up and down as if he just burned it. “Smokin’, man. Smokin’.”

I think about the woman who rejected me.

She was some level far beyond smokin’. She was electric. Dark blonde hair in that wavy style that looks like she just spent the day at the beach, legs that seemed to go on for miles, and tits begging for release from that button down shirt that tells me she didn’t spend the day at the beach…all this pushed me to my feet to walk over and take a chance. On top of all that, the way those clear blue eyes pinned me to my place was somehow different from the women who tend to fall to their feet—or knees, wink wink—in front of me.

I like a good challenge, but she has a boyfriend, and that territory is off-limits even though I told her my line had worked before.

I learned my lesson about sleeping with women in relationships long ago.

“I shot my shot and it was a hard no.” I brush it off by projecting nonchalance, but the truth is that every rejection hurts—even the ones where it’s because they’re involved with somebody else.

And more truth is that I don’t get rejected.

She’s maybe one of three women who have turned me down my entire life, and something about it tonight is rubbing me the wrong way.

Maybe it was the shot at my rumored sex life.

Okay, so the rumors are true.

Maybe it was the shot at my sport and my team.

Maybe it was the fact that she was too goddamn sexy for this place. I’m a T and A kinda guy, and she had the tits and the ass to back up that claim.

Dammit.

I have some more tequila to lessen the sting of that rejection, but it’s hovering.

There was heat there despite the rejection. I know there was. There was something different about her—something that would challenge me.

I talk a big game, and the truth is I do like things the way they are. It’s easier this way. But every once in a while, I wonder what it would be like to allow a girl into my life for more than one night.

I take a quarter out of my pocket and flip it up in the air to keep my hands busy. I catch it and flip it again. I’m also really talented when it comes to yo-yos. Around the world, walk the dog, the lindy loop, the fucking time warp…I’ve mastered them all. Call me a loser, but then ask me how these talents with my hands translate to other areas of my life.

I’m talking about the football field, of course, but if your mind went straight to the gutter, you wouldn’t be wrong there, either.

I flip the quarter up in the air again, but Cory grabs it before I catch it. “Hey!” I protest, and he hands it back.

“I’m going to Coax,” he says pointedly.

He wants to get laid, and the third floor at Coax is where that type of action happens. But I don’t want to go to Coax tonight…and there’s a reason for that.

I’m taking a short self-imposed Coax break.

I might have fucked a girl from there last week in one of the private suites on the third floor and I might have pissed her off. And by “might” I mean this is something that “definitely” happened.

Oops.

We had a nice time, and she was fine, but it’s not like I wanted anything more than a bang and a beer. She wanted more. She wanted a night on the town with Travis Woods, Vegas Aces wide receiver. She wanted me to take her on a date. She wanted me to take her back to my place. She wanted me .

I remind myself as the woman from tonight seems to hover in my mind that I’m not about that life.

One and done. Football is my life. I’m always down for some extracurricular fun, but I don’t have time to nurture a relationship, which is why I need to brush off this woman’s rejection tonight.

If I keep people at a distance, they can’t get attached, they can’t fall for me, they can’t get inside to see the flaws…and they can’t eventually decide to push me away.

Instead, I let my accomplishments speak for me. I allow my value to be found every Sunday during the season, and I let people see exactly what I want them to see.

Besides, letting someone in only weakens you. If I have to give my all to a relationship, I can’t give my all to football. Just look at half the guys on the team—the ones who are in relationships. It’s impossible to dedicate the type of focus you need when you’ve got a wife nagging you back home to change the baby’s diaper. My buddy Tristan never joins us on our Thursday nights out anymore now that he’s got a girl and a kid. Josh Nolan is married and has two kids, and I keep wondering when he’ll decide he’s retiring so he can stay home with his family.

No fucking thanks.

My phone starts to ring, and I glance down at the screen.

Liliana Woods.

My chest tightens as I see my mother’s name.

She never calls me.

I never call her, either.

The last time she called me, it was to let me know my grandmother died.

It’s not like I never communicate with my parents, but the communication is limited to a regular text message from my mother on the first of the month, as if I’m one more item to check off her To Do list. My father will email me upon occasion, but the last time I got one was six months ago when he decided he should comment on someone my agent is working with.

I chose not to reply.

So a phone call means either someone died or someone’s sick.

I’m at a bar half-drunk and on the prowl right now, and I can’t really think of anyone I care to hear about that’s back home in Los Angeles. My life is here now. When your own family abandons you, you find a new one, and that’s what football has meant to me. It’s how I’ve lived my entire life, from the moment I was sent to Huntington Prep through today.

I have nothing to say to my mother.

I click the button to send the call to voicemail, and I signal the waitress for another tequila.

Before she makes it over to collect my empty glass, my phone starts to ring again.

Liliana Woods .

Send to voicemail.

I laugh with my friends. I glance around looking for a candidate whose legs I can spread apart tonight. Maybe the waitress who’s on her way over with more tequila.

As she sets the glass down in front of me, a text message comes through on my phone. I’m starting to feel a little hazy from all the tequila, and I squint as I read it.

Liliana Woods: I need to talk to you about an urgent matter.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

It’s always urgent.

I toss my phone on the table.

“I’m heading out,” Cory says as he looks pointedly at Austin. “You coming?”

Austin looks a little torn.

“Go ahead,” I say, holding both hands up. “Don’t let me stop you. The truth is I’m avoiding someone I fucked last week.”

“Fucked?” Austin asks. “Or fucked over?”

Cory laughs. “You’re such a dumbfuck.”

I shrug. “I made the rules clear. It’s not my fault she didn’t like them.”

My phone rings again.

Richard Woods .

Well, at least I know my parents are both alive. I guess that’s something.

I down the tequila the waitress just dropped by and slam my glass on the table as I let the call go to voicemail. “You two have fun. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

New voicemail .

They head out, and I sit in the booth a while longer by myself as I debate what to do. There’s not many choices here on a Thursday night, and I don’t really want to hang around until the waitress’s shift is over.

I sigh as my curiosity finally gets the better of me.

I listen to the voicemail.

“Travis, it’s your father.”

Yeah, no shit. Thanks for the intro, Pops, but these new-age phones actually tell us who it is that’s calling.

“Your mother and I…we have some delicate news we need to share with you. Please get in touch as soon as possible.”

He cuts the call there. Delicate news? What the fuck sort of delicate news could my parents be calling to tell me about?

It’s the wrong place and the wrong time to call back, but is there ever a good time to call them?

When I’m not drunk and in a bar, maybe.

But alas, my good decision making skills have been squelched by tequila.

I ring back my father, and he answers on the first ring.

“Travis, hello.” He’s so goddamn formal all the time. It’s a wonder I didn’t end up a stuffy asshole like the two of them are.

“Whaz-ahh, Pops?” I say, using ridiculous and maybe a little drunken slang for what’s up .

“As I said in my voice message, I have some delicate news to share with you. Are you somewhere private and suitable to receive this news?”

I laugh. “Sure. Go for it.”

“There’s no easy way to say this and probably even fewer ways to hear it, so I’m just going to come out with it. Caroline and Simon Randall were in a tragic accident a few days ago.”

My chest tightens as he mentions Caroline Randall.

“Are they okay?” I ask, my voice soft as I suddenly feel the vulnerability take the edge off the cockiness I started this call with.

“No.” He clears his throat as the single word plows into me. “Neither of them made it. The funeral is tomorrow.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “What happened?”

“They were hit head-on by a distracted driver.”

“Their daughter?” I ask, my heart racing for the ten-year-old girl I don’t even know.

“Wasn’t with them. Their daughter…” he trails off and begins again. “Harper has been staying with the Callahan family as she’s close to their youngest and happened to be over there at the time the accident occurred, but as Caroline’s lawyer, you should know that I know everything.” His words are heavy and laden with meaning.

Harper .

I brace myself for what I already know is coming next. “Oh fuck,” I whisper.

“Yes. Oh fuck indeed.”

“It was one time,” I say. “I was eighteen and heading off to college, and she approached me.”

“Simon had a medical condition that prevented him from having children,” he says, ignoring my weak defense. “He always knew Harper wasn’t his, but he never knew who the biological father was. Caroline asked me to put an addendum in her will a couple years ago when her mother passed. She named the biological father as the custodian if neither she nor Simon were fit to raise her. You’re her only next of kin, and I guess she had this idea that you’d be able to provide the girl with a good life once you signed your first big money contract.”

I choke on my own spit at his words. “What?”

“She named you custodian.”

“I’ve never even met the kid,” I protest. “Just because I have money doesn’t mean I can provide anybody a good life. I can’t even provide my goddamn self a good life.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” he says.

“So what are my options?”

“You take the girl, or she goes to the foster system.” His tone is blunt.

The foster system. I can’t let that happen, but I can’t exactly take on a ten-year-old girl I’ve never met, either.

“Nobody else can take her?” I ask. “The Callahans? A grandparent? Fuck, I guess that makes you a grandparent. You?”

“Caroline made the addendum for a reason. She wanted Harper to be with her father.”

“She wanted Harper to grow up with privilege. A big money contract,” I echo. “That’s what you just said.”

“Whatever the case, I wanted you to know. Think about it and let me know what you want to do. I’m the executor of the will, and I’m in a position to help.”

The man has never helped me with a goddamn thing my entire life, so I take that with a grain of salt.

“Okay, well thanks for the info.” I cut the call and flag down the waitress.

I order another tequila, the sudden need to forget that conversation ever happened consuming me.

But as she sets down the glass in front of me, all I can do is stare at it.

I can’t pick it up.

A glass of tequila is going to make this go away as much as hanging up on my father did.

The fucking foster system? No way.

That girl has my blood running through her veins, and I’m man enough not to let that happen to her.

I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing as I pull open my Lyft app and request a ride home.

I don’t know what I’m doing as I search for a flight and find that one leaves in ninety minutes. “Can you wait at my place for a few minutes and take me to the airport?” I ask the driver.

“It’ll cost you,” the driver warns.

“I can afford it.”

I still don’t know what I’m doing as I toss some clothes into a duffel bag while my driver waits for me. I take a few extra swigs from my tequila bottle for good measure before I get back in the car.

And I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing when I stand on my parents’ doorstep still drunk a couple hours later as I raise my fist to bang on the door.