one
dallas
“The best way to start a relationship is not to start one at all.”
– Dallas Colter
“I don’t mean to sound like a cynic, but why are you datin’ her to begin with?”
With my foot up on the locker room bench—the one directly in front of my cubby—I glance over at my teammate Diego, who’s standing beside me, his hands poised to grab the padding around his shoulders. He’s keen to spill his guts about some girl he’s dating, something about breaking up with her and blah blah fucking blah I don’t have time for his bellyaching.
His face is scrunched up like he didn’t understand the question.
“Why am I dating her to begin with?” He shrugs. “I dunno. I thought we’d have a ton of sex and it would be more fun.”
“Fun? Banging the same chick all the time?”
Honestly, I’m not banging anyone at all, so it’s not as if I have any room to talk.
But still.
That’s beside the point.
I finish tying my sneakers, then rise to my full height. Smack Diego on his uniform chest plate with a smirk.
“I said I thought we’d have tons of sex—I didn’t say we were having tons of sex.”
“And how’s that workin’ out for you? Your dick fall off yet?”
“It’s not working out.” He pulls at the waistband of his shorts and takes a look down the front. “And no, it hasn’t.”
“Why ain’t it workin’ out?”
Diego follows me to the drinking fountain where I intend to fill up my water bottle. He’s like a stray puppy who’s lost his way—or a pestering fly that won’t quit dive-bombing me.
Too bad I can’t swat the bastard away.
“There’s no chemistry.”
That sounds like a him problem, not a Dallas problem.
Still, I humor the guy, raising a brow, feigning interest. “Shouldn’t you have realized there was no chemistry after your first date?”
I’m no expert, but that part seems obvious.
“How the hell should I know? I’ve never had a girlfriend before!” His voice has risen an octave, panic across his brow.
“You’ve never had a girlfriend before?”
“No.”
Now why on earth does this fact surprise me? It shouldn’t. Lots of my teammates haven’t had relationships. Being a serious athlete doesn’t leave much downtime, let alone time for dating.
Fucking, yes.
Dating, no.
“Yeah, me neither.” I scowl at him because he hasn’t left my side and insists on breathing down my neck. “How long have the two of y’all been together?”
“Two months.”
Two months? Is he being serious? That’s not a relationship. That’s…that’s…dating. Or ‘seeing each other’, as some people say.
I squint over at him. “And you’re sure she’s your girlfriend? That doesn’t seem like an awful long time. I got eggs in my fridge older than that.”
“You have eggs older than that? That’s actually disgusting.” Diego laughs, watching as I fill my water bottle.
I roll my eyes. “It was a metaphor.”
“Dude, are you going to help me or not?”
Without hesitating, I give him a firm “Not” before walking back to my cubby. I need to pack my shit up and get gone so I’m not late for my athletic trainer, Shelby, who hates it when I’m late. And I’m almost always late.
As I’m stuffing things in my bag, Diego gets even closer, encroaching on my personal space with his nonsense.
“You’re seriously not going to help me?”
“Help you with what?”
Here I am listening to his bullshit, the whining—what more does the dude want from me? I’m not a relationship counselor.
Glancing up, I catch sight of myself in the small mirror inside my cubby, the scruff covering my cheeks, jaw, and chin.
Damn, I need a shave.
On the other hand, it’s getting cold, and the fur on my face helps on those long walks to class.
On the other hand, I’m starting to look like a caveman.
Whatever.
Who gives a shit?
“I need help breaking things off with Ryann.”
This gives me pause. “Her name is Ryann?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s a guy’s name.”
Diego rolls his eyes. “Can you focus for one second?”
“I’d focus if I gave two shits.”
“Dude, I’m your mejor amigo. You have to help me out.”
Whoa, where did that come from? The closest people I have as best friends are my brothers because family doesn’t fuck you over, and family doesn’t ask you to do things like break up with their girlfriend.
I’m Diego’s best friend? Since when? “Helping you out is one thing. Breaking up with a chick for you is another.” I heft my duffle over my shoulder. “Why are you bein’ so dramatic? Send her a text and be done with it. Also, stop callin’ me dude.”
Bein’ so dramatic…
I cringe hearing my Southern accent creeping in; it’s something I’ve been trying to lose, but man, when I get salty with someone, it tends to slip out.
“I told you…I’ve never had a girlfriend before.” His hands are splayed as he pleads with me.
I snort. Big deal if he’s never had a girlfriend before—as if that’s an excuse for being a dipshit. “I’m telling you it’s been two months and she’s not really your girlfriend. Just stop messaging her back. She’ll get the hint.” I walk toward the exit.
“I am not doing that. It’s rude.”
“Have you officially had the talk?”
“What talk?”
I wave a hand in the air. “You know—the talk. The one where you say, ‘Are we girlfriend boyfriend? Are we seeing other people or just banging each other?’ That talk.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “People do that?”
How the hell should I know! “Seems like it would have been a good idea.”
“Well, no. We didn’t have that talk…”
“And you said you barely have sex?”
“I mean, there’s no time.”
No time to have sex?
I hold up my hand, stopping in my tracks. “Did you have sex with her?”
I realize it’s none of my fucking business what goes on in his bedroom, but it would shed some light on some of their issues as a couple—again, not that I’m an expert…
Diego hesitates longer than I’ve ever seen any man hesitate.
“No.”
“Are you jokin’ me right now?”
Diego stands there looking like a wet turd. “I’m just not feeling it, man—she’s giving me sister vibes.”
Oh shit. Sister vibes?
Yikes.
That’s a huge problem—but not my problem.
It’s his.
“Jesus Christ, kid, and you let it go two months before you’re going to say something to her?”
“She’s too nice. I don’t know how to tell her.”