Player Boyfriend Quotes

If a man, who says he loves you, won’t tell you the details of a private conversation between him and another woman you can be sure he is not protecting your heart. He is protecting himself and the women he has feelings for. Wise women simply see things as they are, not as their low self-esteem allows.

He shakes his head, and I think this moment, right here, is when it really hits me that Sebastian's identity isn't queer. It's not gay. It's not even soccer player or boyfriend or son. It’s Mormon.

She wasn't his girlfriend. She was his bubblegum girl--only fun until she lost her flavor.

The fact that the person who you are sleeping with is also sleeping with another person or other people does not necessarily mean that he or she does not love you. And the fact that you are the only person who someone is sleeping with does not necessarily mean that he or she loves you.

Whenever you keep score in love, you lose.

Bridget decided she should at least enjoy some of the advantages of having a pretend boyfriend, especially the 3 Fs. Flowers. Fine Dining. Fine-looking man. And threw in an N: No expectations.

When you live with dignity no man will ever take it. Live without it and every boy will steal it.

Nev was the man in the parlor and the painter in his studio, the banker and the rugby player. The boyfriend who bought her prawn crisps and rubbed her back when she cried. The tender lover. The caged beast who came out to play when they got naked together. He could be any of them.

Rule #12: Don’t teach your ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend how to tie you up.

There were a lot of things people used to call him. A bad boy. A player. Cocky. Egotistical. And while he was still some of those things, he was also my idiot of a boyfriend with vivid green eyes and curly hair.

I’m sorry. I know how much players have to focus, and I know not to be a distraction. I just got caught up in the moment, in the great game, in your terrific pitching.” But I felt a need to explain more. “Look, Jason, I love baseball. I love the crack of the bat hitting the ball. I love the seventh-inning stretch and singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’ I love eating hot dogs and standing for the singing of the national anthem. I love doing the wave. I love Kiss Cam. I love that the game isn’t over until it’s over. “I love the thrill of a home run and the disappointment of an out at first. I love the way a batter stands at the plate and the catcher readies himself to receive the pitch. I love watching the pitcher windup. I love sitting in the stands and feeling like I’m part of the game. “And tonight, watching you pitch, I forgot that I’m only a small part—the spectator. Watching you, I felt like I was in the game, out on that field with you. You’re out there on the mound, living a dream that so few people ever experience. “I’m sorry, sorry that tonight I ruined the moment for you.” He was staring at me intently. I’d just bared my soul. Why didn’t he speak? What could he possibly be thinking? My nerves stretched taut. “Say something,” I demanded. “There’s nothing else to say,” he said in that quiet way he had. Then he lowered his head and kissed me.

She kept the picture, though. She carried it with her everywhere she traveled: Istanbul and Rome, Berlin where she lived for three moths, sharing a flat with two Swedes. One night they got blitzed and she showed them the picture. The blond boys smiled at her quizzically, handing it back. It meant nothing to anybody but her, which was part of the reason she could never get rid of it. It was the only part of her life that was real. She didn't know what to do with the rest. All the stories she knew were fiction, so she began to create new ones. She was the daughter of a doctor, an actor, a baseball player. She was taking a break from medical school. She had a boyfriend back home named Reese. She was white, she was black, she became a new person as soon as she crossed a border. She was always inventing her life.

London’s mom only has one boyfriend. And there’s a girl named Victoria who has two dads. But my mom has a boyfriend and a girlfriend.” “If you ever have any questions, you know you can ask me, right?” “Yes, Mama.” “And no matter what,” I say, leaning toward him to press my forehead to his. “You will always have me. Me and you, forever. Okay?” “Okay. I love you, Mama,” he whispers, putting his arms around my neck. “I love you so much, buddy.

I found him in the kitchen, at the table in the bay window, already eating his cereal. “I was going to fix you breakfast,” I said. He grinned. “I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out.” “No one can pour cereal like I can. That’s true.” I crossed the kitchen. He scooted his chair back, and I sat on his lap and put my arms on his shoulders. “Good morning,” I said, right before I kissed him. Oh, yes, this was definitely the way to start the day. “We’re in the house,” he said when we stopped kissing. “Thought we had a rule about not kissing in the house.” “Yeah, we also had a house rule--no falling for the player living with us. You see how good I am at following rules.” He grinned. “Lucky for me. Why don’t you come to Ruby Tuesday for lunch?” “Okay.” “Then practice.” “Definitely.” “Maybe we could do something afterward.” “Absolutely.” He kissed me again. He tasted like bran flakes and raisins and bananas. Me, I tasted like chocolate chip cookie dough. It was an odd combination but it somehow worked.

It meant nothing to anybody but her, which was part of the reason she could never get rid of it. It was the only part of her life that was real. She didn’t know what to do with the rest. All the stories she knew were fiction, so she began to create new ones. She was the daughter of a doctor, an actor, a baseball player. She was taking a break from medical school. She had a boyfriend back home named Reese. She was white, she was black, she became a new person as soon as she crossed a border. She was always inventing her life.

So, what...in the meantime, you just...” He glanced at her then back at the road. “Deny yourself?” Em gave a half smile at the incredulity in his voice. Clearly it was a foreign concept to him. “It’s okay. I have a battery operated boyfriend awaiting my attention when I get home.” He shot her a quick, open-mouthed stare, his lips parted enticingly. He looked so stunned at her admission she couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, didn’t you know that women did that, too? Did I shock you?” “Not at all.” He recovered quickly, a big smile splitting his profile. “I’m just trying to decide which is sexier. Self-denial or self-abuse.

For the first three years, it’s fun being a pro football player’s girlfriend.   “Marlee, let me see your hand! Did Chris propose yet?” Amber asks.   I’m in year ten.   “Still naked.” I wiggle my fingers in front of her the same way I did last week and the week before that . . . and the week before that. #HeDidntPutARingOnIt   Sometimes, I like to hashtag my life. #CheaperThanTherapy   I sip my margarita. “When it happens, I promise to let you know.” Or, you know, keep asking every time you see me.   “Marlee.” Courtney sighs. She stands at the head of the table clutching a glitter-coated gavel. “We made exceptions for you to join the Lady Mustangs. Try to acknowledge that and save your little side conversation until we’ve finished.”   “Sorry, Court.” Every time I call her Court, she strains her Botoxed forehead and glares in my direction, so obviously, it’s the only thing I call her. Well, sometimes I call her bitch, but she doesn’t know about that.   “As I was saying, the annual Lady Mustangs Fashion Show is in three weeks. Everyone must attend the next meeting so we can discuss the outfits for you and your husbands.”   I catch her eye again. She raises her chin, and her fat-injected lips form an actual smile.   “Oh, I’m sorry. In your case, Marlee, you and your boyfriend.”   See? What a bitch.   “Thanks for the clarification, Court, but I understood.

surrounded the camp and crept through the perimeter. After that, it was all pitchforks through the chest, people impaled on pokers, arrows through the throat, and harpoon guns in the eye. He crushed her boyfriend’s skull in a work clamp in the woodshop studio. They’d been dating for three weeks. “We’d been dating for six weeks,” I told her. “Who?” she asked, chin resting on her knees, feet on the passenger seat. “Tommy,” I said. It was the first time I’d said his name outside group in over a decade. “I was a cheerleader. He was a football player.” “That’s so Jack and Diane,” she said. “Were you in love?” I think about that sometimes, too. “We weren’t dating long enough to know,” I told her. “I feel like I was, but if I’m going to be honest we never got a chance to find out. I was planning to go all the way with him when Ricky Walker rang the doorbell.” “I

What about the backyard stuff?” he asked. “What about it?” “Is it okay if I use it, too?” “Oh, sure. The equipment is in a metal shed in the back. Just help yourself. It’s not locked or anything. And if you want company, just let me know. I’d be happy to play with you.” Did I just say that? I did not just say that. Like we were six years old and heading for a sandbox. He was grinning again, like he thought it was funny or stupid or I was having a Tiffany moment. “I didn’t mean play with you exactly,” I said. “I meant…you know, keep you company so you don’t feel awkward…you know, like I exercised with you.” “I’ll be okay alone in the backyard.” He stepped off the treadmill. “I’m going to go shower.” He waited a heartbeat, like he expected me to say I’d be happy to keep him company in the shower, too. Fortunately, my brain finally kicked in, and I kept my mouth shut. I watched him walk out of the room. I thought I’d known everything that would be involved in having a baseball player living with us for the summer. I was discovering that I didn’t have a clue.

I steel my spine. “I told you, you can’t have me again.” “Is it because you have a boyfriend?” “I don’t have—” Oh, fuck. Joe. I keep forgetting about him. “No. Not because of him. We broke up anyway.” Why did I just say that? Joe was a solid alibi. “You don’t seem too upset about that.” I shrug. “It was inevitable. Long distance and all.” He seems to weigh that for a moment. “So, you’re single again?” I’m struggling to suppress my smile. Shane so blatantly pursuing me isn’t as easy to shrug off as I expected. “More like happily unattached.” “Is it because you’re not attracted to me anymore?” He manages a straight face for all of two seconds before it splits into a smug grin. I can’t help my laugh, even as my cheeks flush. We both know damn well that I am; he’s caught me gawking too many times to argue otherwise. “Someone came back from his brush with nature loving himself a bit too much.” I’m sure it serves him well when he’s posing for calendars and selling his wares on stage for charity come December. “Nah.” He reaches out to snap a spent Shasta daisy off its stem. “I just had a lot of time to think about things while I was away. About things I want in life.

I’m sorry. I know how much players have to focus, and I know not to be a distraction. I just got caught up in the moment, in the great game, in your terrific pitching.” But I felt a need to explain more. “Look, Jason, I love baseball. I love the crack of the bat hitting the ball. I love the seventh-inning stretch and singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’ I love eating hot dogs and standing for the singing of the national anthem. I love doing the wave. I love Kiss Cam. I love that the game isn’t over until it’s over. “I love the thrill of a home run and the disappointment of an out at first. I love the way a batter stands at the plate and the catcher readies himself to receive the pitch. I love watching the pitcher windup. I love sitting in the stands and feeling like I’m part of the game. “And tonight, watching you pitch, I forgot that I’m only a small part--the spectator. Watching you, I felt like I was in the game, out on that field with you. You’re out there on the mound, living a dream that so few people ever experience. “I’m sorry, sorry that tonight I ruined the moment for you.” He was staring at me intently. I’d just bared my soul. Why didn’t he speak? What could he possibly be thinking? My nerves stretched taut. “Say something,” I demanded. “There’s nothing else to say,” he said in that quiet way he had. Then he lowered his head and kissed me.

You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.’ Let me introduce myself. I’m River. I’m your current boyfriend. Cross my heart and hope to die—not really, but you know what I mean. There are three things about you that caught my attention: First, you’re smart, too smart for me, but for some reason, you don’t care. Two, if you had wings, they’d be the colors of the rainbow. Three, you touch me, and I have peace. You’re a River-whisperer. Dad told me to take care of Mom, be a good brother to Rae, and wait for Anastasia. He somehow knew you were mine. Where are you from? Apparently, everywhere. Do you know how cool I think you are? Growing up moving around must have been hard, but it created a woman who looks at someone and sees underneath to the parts others don’t. What are you doing after this? I hope after this night, in the future, we’ll be together, in some city, crazy in love. Please tell me you’re single. You aren’t single, Anastasia. You’re mine. Also… I’m not a serial killer. True. Or an alien. (People in Walker really dig that stuff.) True. Or a player. I had my moments. Or a douchebag. Again, had some moments. Or a dick. Okay…maybe once or twice. I’m just the guy in front of you on a snow-covered mountain, baring his soul to the most beautiful girl in the world. You have dreams and I get it. I’ll wait for you forever. No matter how long it takes for us to come back to a place where we can be together for real. Your first reaction to this note may be to run as far as you can, but you only live once, and we can’t lose what we have. Fate has a way of bringing people together, and, baby girl, we’re meant to be. Kappa Boy AKA River Tate AKA Snake AKA Fake River AKA Anastasia’s Man

Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You gave me a six because you liked me, and you thought it would make you stop liking me?” “I thought it would be weird liking a guy who was living in my house. And I sorta promised Mom I wouldn’t do that. Really like the guy who was living here. Only I do.” “But you’ve been hanging out with Mac.” “Not really. I’ve been kissing Mac.” I put my elbows on the table, buried my face in my hands. “God, I’ve created such a mess.” I finally lifted my head and looked at him. “I’m not noble. I’m not like Tiffany with her orphans. I talked my parents into sponsoring a player not because guys needed a place to stay. I did it…because I wanted a boyfriend.” “You thought I’d be your boyfriend?” “No, that was too icky to even consider. I mean, you’ve seen my underwear. I’ve seen yours.” His mouth twitched. “I thought you’d introduce me around,” I continued. “I’d do things with the team. The players would get to know me, become interested. I just wanted a boyfriend.” It sounded so pathetic, so desperate. “And now you’ve got one,” he said. “But I don’t know if he’s the right one.” He grabbed the ice pack, stood up. “Let me know when you figure it out.” I watched him walk out of the room.

I talked my parents into sponsoring a player not because guys needed a place to stay. I did it…because I wanted a boyfriend.” “You thought I’d be your boyfriend?” “No, that was too icky to even consider. I mean, you’ve seen my underwear. I’ve seen yours.” His mouth twitched.

I didn’t even think to ask if you had a DVD player.” “Does a bear growl in the woods? It’s on the shelf above the TiVo.

I crossed the kitchen. He scooted his chair back, and I sat on his lap and put my arms on his shoulders. “Good morning,” I said, right before I kissed him. Oh, yes, this was definitely the way to start the day. “We’re in the house,” he said when we stopped kissing. “Thought we had a rule about not kissing in the house.” “Yeah, we also had a house rule--no falling for the player living with us. You see how good I am at following rules.” He grinned. “Lucky for me.

So you don't do one night stands. And you're not looking for a boyfriend, or a husband. What do you want, Reina?” I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. How could one sentence strike with the force of a lightning bolt? “How about you make me an offer?

The next eleven floors held a single apartment per floor and belonged to the principals of hedge funds and private equity firms and one Argentine model and her soccer player boyfriend who spent no more than a week out of the year in New York.

I said I was your boyfriend because I wanted them to know that you’re mine. Bodyguard, boyfriend, friend, whatever you want to call me is up to you. I’m yours and that’s all that matters. But to everyone else, I want them to know that I’m the guy they have to answer to if they hurt you.

Nice hammer,” Harlow said from behind me. “Hey,” I said, glancing around casually to see if Winnie was with her. “Nice shiner.” “You should see the other chick,” she muttered. “Can we talk?” Setting down my hammer, I followed her away from the other guys. Harlow seemed tense and I worried something was wrong with Winnie. “This is awkward and I feel weird coming here like this,” she said, pushing her blonde hair behind her ears. “Are you dating anyone?” My breath caught. A fear rose up in my chest at the thought of Harlow wanting to date me. What would that mean for me and Winnie? The look in Harlow’s eyes calmed my terror. I might as well have been a brick wall based on the lack of attraction she showed. “No.” “Some girl was hugging you outside a restaurant. Wasn’t that a date?” Frowning, I scratched at my jaw where I forgot to shave that morning. “That was a girl from high school. She might have been into me, but we went out as friends. I’m not dating anyone.” “Winnie saw you with that girl and she got really upset. I know she’s not ready to have a boyfriend, but she wants you. Do you want her?” Playing it cool might be the stud move, but I didn’t want to be a player. I wanted Winnie. Besides, for the second time in twenty four hours, someone close to Winnie wanted to play matchmaker. “Yes.” Harlow nodded. “She’s messed up. You know that, right?” “I know she’s fragile, yeah.” “Winnie has a lot of phobias. Not stupid shit for attention, but real chronic problems that won’t go away because you’re hot. She’s been in therapy for years and gotten stronger, but she’ll never be okay.” “I understand.” Harlow bit her lip then nodded again. “Do you want to take her out to dinner tomorrow?” “Yes.” Harlow smiled. “You better be chattier than that on the date or else no one will say anything. Winnie likely won’t say anything all night, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to. She just takes a long time to warm up to people.” I wasn’t sure what Harlow saw on my face, but she grinned. “She really wants to warm up to you, Dylan. Don’t fuck it up, okay?” “I’ll do my best.” When Harlow narrowed her eyes, I was pretty sure she might hit me. “I appreciate the way you tried to save us that day. You showed balls and I respect that. With that said, you better be taking this seriously, understand?” Leaning closer, I stared right into those suspicious eyes. “No one makes me feel like Winnie. If she needs to take it slow, we’ll go slow. If she wants to rush into it, we’ll rush. If she needs me to stand on my fucking head and sing the National Anthem, I’ll do it. So yes, I’m taking this very seriously,” I said, running a hand where short dark stubble took the place of my mohawk. “I told Winnie I would wait and I meant it. What you think is me being passive is just patience.” “Okay,” Harlow said softly. “You know when I came to Ellsberg, I was pretty messed up. My family was dead and I was in this new place with strangers. Winnie took care of me. She became my sister and best friend. I love her like she’s blood. Nothing personal, but if you hurt her, I’ll have to kill you.” “Fair enough,” I said, grinning. “Smile all you want, buddy, but I’ve got moves.” Harlow faked a punch, but I didn’t flinch. My mind was already focused on tomorrow. I hadn’t talked to Winnie since the day Nick’s dad showed up. I hadn’t seen her close up in weeks. I needed to be close to her even if she couldn’t do more than hide behind her hair all night.

You’re ready to drive back to school now?” Curtis asked, trying to conceal some of the disappointment in his voice. Genesis tilted Curtis’ head up to look at him. “Yes. I wish I could stay longer but the coach raised enough hell about me missing practice today.” “He bitched because you told him your brother is a cop and was shot at? That’s not considered a family emergency?” “No. He bitched because I told him my boyfriend needed me.” Curtis was so shocked he ended up leaning into Genesis’ broad chest to keep from falling over. Boyfriend. “You came back for me?” “If I came home every time God or Day were shot at, I’d flunk out of school for sure.” Genesis drawled. Curtis looked back down at his feet and Genesis gently lifted his head up again. “I know I said boyfriend. I want you to know, I’m not seeing anyone and I haven’t in a long time. I’m not a player or a tramp or whatever else guys try to be these days. I just want someone to spend time with that actually likes me. I just want to spend some time with you. It’s soon, I know. You don’t have to say boyfriend if you —” “No. B-boyfriend is fine,” Curtis said hurriedly. Genesis smiled and shook his head. “Good, then.” He bent and kissed Curtis lightly on his forehead. “I have to head back. I’ll call you later. And I’ll see you on Friday.” “Eight o’clock sharp,” Curtis whispered. Genesis kissed Curtis’ injured wrist and laid it back at his side. “Be good until I get back, bad boy.” Genesis leaned low until he was at Curtis’ ear. His voice threatening and growly. “I’d hate to have to spank you when I get back.” Curtis shivered hard as Genesis gave him a lingering kiss behind his ear, before backing up with a devious grin. Dear lord. How will I stop myself from behaving like a tramp? “Drive carefully, Gen.” Curtis said before Genesis got to the door. “Six days, beautiful,” Genesis said softly, right before he let the door close.

I have a beautiful wife, and a fucking awesome…boyfriend? I don’t know what I’m calling him right now, but either way, I’m lucky enough to have two amazing people, who want to be with me, and I really fucking hope I didn’t blow it because of you.

I’m gonna save you in here as Red, but can I have your actual name?” “Isabel.” “Isabel…” he says, trying it out on his tongue. “And yours?” I ask. “Hunter, your future boyfriend. No…your future husband.” This time I laugh so loud, I get an angry shh from the librarian, so I cover my mouth. “Why are you laughing?” “It’s a bit overkill, don’t you think?” “No,” he replies, looking offended. Then he leans in and changes my perception of everything. Drowning out everything around me, he whispers, “I don’t normally do this. I don’t talk to women or hit on random girls in libraries. I don’t even like to start conversations, but I would do all of that just to get to know you. I would do anything to get to know you. That’s not overkill. That’s fate.

Four years. I only had one boyfriend before him and none afterwards. I guess the idea of trusting someone again has never appealed to me.” “Or maybe you just haven’t found anyone worth trusting.

RULE #1: NEVER PUT UP WITH A DOUCHEBAG BOYFRIEND—DUMP THAT LOSER.

Beethoven’s String Quartet in A Minor, a piece I’d always loved since a college boyfriend first played it for me in his dorm room. I still remember the knobs of his spine as he bent over the record player and slowly let the needle down. The third movement is one of the most moving passages ever written,

trust doesn’t come in shades of gray. It’s absolute and filled with power. When trust is broken, it’s often not the act of betrayal that’s most surprising. The real shocker is who in your innermost circle betrayed you—a best friend? A boyfriend? A sister? A parent? Betrayal can appear small, like a little white lie, the whisper of a long-held secret in the hall at school, or the posting of a private confession on Facebook. Or it can be colossal and far darker, like a pretty young lacrosse player savagely murdered by her ex-boyfriend, or the mother with haunted eyes who drowned her babies in the bathroom tub. The truth is that big or small, betrayal cuts quite like no other evil. And when it comes for you, it finds its way quietly in the night like the slip of a knife at the base of the spine. As life fades to black, you ask over and over: What did I do to deserve this?

This mechanism, in which an opened secondary concept becomes more cognitively accessible, appears to account for the consequences of a controversial relatively recent phenomenon: video game participation. We know from considerable research that playing violent video games incites immediate forms of antisocial behavior. For instance, such games make players more likely to deliver loud blasts of noise into the ears of someone who has annoyed them. The reason? The games plant aggression-related thoughts in players’ heads, and the resulting easy contact with those thoughts provokes aggressiveness. A tellingly similar but mirror-image effect occurs after participating in prosocial video games—those that call for protecting, rescuing, or assisting characters in the game. Studies have found that after playing such games, players became more willing to help clean up a spill, volunteer their time, and even intervene in a harassment situation involving a young woman and her ex-boyfriend. Moreover, this helpfulness is the direct result of participants’ easy access to a range of prosocial thoughts that the games install in consciousness. In an interesting twist, newer research shows that sometimes violent video game play can decrease later aggressive behavior, provided that the participants have to cooperate with one another in the game to destroy an enemy. Additional details of the new research fit the accessibility account: playing a game cooperatively, even one with violent content, suppresses aggressive thoughts.64

A couple of players who ask not to be identified say Solo had broken team rules about curfew more than once. They remember a specific incident during a tournament where Solo spent the night with her boyfriend instead of in her assigned room. These players say they told Sundhage, who chose not to punish Solo rather than turn it into an ordeal. On the flip side, Hope Solo was the greatest goalkeeper in the world. Sometimes what makes an athlete so great on the field can be the same thing that causes them problems off the field. Could you have Solo, the top goalkeeper, without Solo, the troublemaker? With a few months until the World Cup, there were more pressing questions at the moment, though. What if prosecutors revived Solo’s case and she was convicted? What if she got into trouble again? Would the federation have to suspend her? Could the USA win a World Cup without Solo?

Hazel Hartley, my high school tutor who had a boyfriend, who can’t stand me and doesn’t date hockey players anymore. Despite Pippa wearing a Storm jersey with the name of her fiancé, goaltender Jamie Streicher, on the back, and despite Hartley working for the team, I haven’t seen her in a jersey since high school. Tonight, my gaze catches on her chestnut hair pulled up in a ponytail, her pale purple puffer jacket. I bet she’s wearing the black leggings that always make her ass look incredible. I wink at her; she rolls her eyes. I grin; she pretends to yawn.

You’re glad you were a terrible boyfriend?” “No,” I stammer, “I’m glad you found him. I’m glad you’re marrying my dad, I guess. Fuck, this is weird.

Whether he knew it or not, that smile of his is more powerful than he realizes. With one lopsided grin, Beau can make a woman forget her own name. Forget she has a boyfriend. Or convictions. Pure, unfiltered Beau eye contact is potent.

Keep it down. We wouldn’t want your boyfriend to know what I’m doing to you back here.

Sabrina surely had one dead ex-boyfriend on her record. But did Martina have a deceased ex-boyfriend in her past too? Biggie’s words swirled in my head, mixing with the reality I faced: ’Sabrina reminding me of Lil Cease with her crocodile teeth, the warpath we rode apart and together, our laughter, our tears—my tears, their laughter—the player haters, the cocaine-snorting bitches, the cats with no dough, try to play me at my show, pull up and crack doors, short-change bitches with 5 to 20 euro notes not enough to powder their beak and nose. They still tickle me, Sabrina and them midgets cripple me, make me as hard as Martina's nipples be, I'm sour like a pickle be. You disobey the rules. Now the year’s new and I want my spot back; fake two, all the planes I flew, all the bitches I went through, mothersnuggers mad, cause I’m blue, bitches envy us, too many bitches in my club guard your dogs before I stick you for your re-up, maniacs put my name in raps, living by hugs from fake friends, your whole life you live sneaky, you burn when you creep me, you slipping try to break me, living by my love, hating me, they like to hustle backward, Acid rain, Cadillac Fleetwood look what you made me do, you made me and my girl Marine blue make you, open the safe too’ Della Reese had been on my mind since a while as if she wanted to tell me something a wisdom she wanted to share with me. The lyrics and the words the bad people played mindgames with me kept mixing up in my head. ’Maniacs put my name in raps; the club is dead without me they can hustle only backwards with all the beef against me. Blunt wraps and Dutchies, all the smoking accessories; they can't touch me. One third is on me. Martina's butt a public touchy-touchy. My enemies holding their cats shaky. Sabrina is dead or alive, her ghost is under me.

When I was little, I figured I'd play in the NHL someday. It wasn't because I was the best player, but because I improved every single season. Some guys stayed the same or even got worse, so I imagined that I'd get better until I was the best. Stupid kid-thinking.

animal rescue and sanctuary?” “The very one.” I smile because I’m thrilled to have my dream job. He smiles back. “I know Sage. She’s with a friend of mine.” “You know Lee?” Where Sage is petite and ethereal, her boyfriend, Lee, is a South African rugby player with movie star good looks. “We’ve played rugby together. He takes it a lot more seriously than I do. He could’ve played pro.” “Not you?” Jesse is tall and broad enough to play a full contact sport. Not touching the idea of full contact with him with a ski pole. Nope.

Really. You read romance novels?” I bite into my first hard shell taco and moan. “What trope?” Trope. Another mental pat and I smile to myself when her eyes get soft. “Um.” She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Mostly the usual stuff. Uh, cowboy romance and…sports romance.” What’s this now? Sports romance? I sit up straighter in my chair. “That’s a thing?” “Yes.” “What kind of sports are you reading about?” She ignores me for a couple beats, choosing that moment to bite into her taco—on purpose, probably!—chewing thoughtfully and not answering the question. Swallows. Takes another bite. I swear to god she’s doing that to torture me. “Baseball.” “Like, baseball baseball? College or what?” “No, professional baseball.” “You’re reading a romance about baseball players?” “I mean—the guy is a baseball player. The girl works as the nanny.” The nanny? What the hell kind of book is this? “He hooks up with the nanny?! Is he married? Where’s the wife?

Me: Literally any word? And I say it and we leave? Trace: Yup—any word or phrase. Say, for example, you were talking and wanted to go and said wiener. I would know it was time to leave. Me: As if I’d be able to use the word wiener in a sentence casually in front of all those people. Trace: It wouldn’t have to be in front of anyone—you could whisper wiener in my ear. This has got to be the strangest conversation I’ve ever had with a man, in my entire life. Me: Um, yeah, no. Trace: What about smegma. Or moist. Ointment. Me: LOL I laugh, imagining the look on a baseball player’s face—or a wife’s, or a girlfriend’s—if I used any of those words in a sentence. Trace: Wanker. Phlegm. Plunker. Flaps. Me: No! Where are you coming up with these? Trace: It has to be a word that is distinct so there is no mistaking it’s the escape word! Me: I get that, but does it have to be gross? Trace: What’s gross about the word plunker? Me: LOL Trace: Fine. How about…Daddy. Me: LOL Me: Nice try—I am NOT calling you Daddy in public. Trace: So what you’re saying is, you’ll call me Daddy in private? Me: LOL NO!

This was awkward to infinity. Alex living here would change my entire routine. I was sharing a bathroom with my boyfriend. How scary was that? I had tampons and pads and everything in there. He was going to be naked in the shower on the other side of my bedroom wall. And I was going to be naked in the shower with him in my house.