Dylan (Wild Men) Read online

  Maybe this time I can save us both.

  The very idea makes me panic because I don’t have twenty-five thousand dollars. I don’t have twenty-five hundred dollars. I live paycheck to paycheck—between my rent each month and trying to pay down my student loans, my financial health could be better. Trying to pay off my mother’s debt is a pipe dream. I nearly wish I didn’t know the option was out there because not knowing at all would certainly hurt less.

  I fold the letter up and put it into my purse, and then I go into my bedroom and open the blinds. I smile in relief at the cloudless L.A. sky. Should be clear skies for flying. Knowing my cab will be here any minute to take me to the airport, I throw a dress and another package of sculpting clay into my suitcase.

  When I race into the bathroom to grab my make-up bag, I nearly trip on Bessie, who meows up at me. I reach down to pat her soft kitty fur before realizing I forgot to pack my hairbrush. I pick up my brush but continue to stand in the bathroom anxiously, certain I’m forgetting some essential item, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is.

  Before I can solve the mystery, Balaster, my other white fluffball of a cat, comes around the corner and arches his back for a pet. I lean down and grab him up in a hug, reaching for Bessie at the same time.

  “I’ll see you kitties in a week.” I bury my face in their fur. “Rosita will take good care of you.”

  My front door creaks. I lean my head out of the bathroom doorway and smile at Rosita walking into my apartment. She’s wearing her usual blue housedress and matching slippers, and she heads for her favorite spot—my couch.

  “Hi! You’ll remember to feed the cats right?” I say.

  “I’ll stop in twice a day,” she promises as she takes a seat. “Now, if only you’d meet a nice man out there in Tucson and bring him back here to Los Angeles for some company of your own.”

  “I have company, Rosita,” I call back to her as I grab Joel’s sleepover toothbrush and throw it into the garbage. I know that’s unceremonious of me, but so was the way he treated our engagement, so it’s like peace out.

  “I mean human company, Jasalie,” Rosita says. “You need someone besides these two cats to love.”

  I walk into the living room as Hollywood Now! blares out of my television. “Today,” the journalist says with a big smile, “we have exclusive pictures of California Cougars’ quarterback Dylan Wild leaving the gym. Dylan was most recently linked with actress Natalie Torpe. When will the league’s MVP, and L.A.’s sexiest bachelor, have any new tricks up his sleeve, maybe in the romance department?”

  Dylan Wild. My heart lurches. The gorgeous man who helped me out at the Super Bowl party. God, that was awkward when he tried to flirt with me, and I ran away like he was a horrible creature. Which he wasn’t, of course. He was easily the sexiest man I’d ever interacted with. He was so confident I’d say yes to him that for some reason, I just had to say no. But then the way he handled his awful teammate and saved me from making even more of a scene—that drew me to him all over again. I didn’t see him for the rest of the night.

  No matter. It sounds like Dylan routinely finds another “most beautiful woman in the room.” In L.A. it’s always the same story—the prettier they look, the less you can trust them.

  I toss my dirty socks at the TV and then grab the remote to turn it off. “Stupid gossip,” I complain. “God, L.A. can make me sick. I’m happy to be going out of town, even if it is for work.”

  After Bill and the team owner chatted it up at the Super Bowl victory party, Hal Cotton gave Apex the chance to run this whole team event for the Cougars in Arizona. If we do it right, there’s a great chance he’ll sign on as our client out here in L.A.

  I never dreamed I’d be going to Tucson again for work or any other reason. The fact that I’m suddenly going to be staying in the same city where I was born and where my mother lives now feels like fate. Figuring out how to get the money to pay off her debt is another thing entirely.

  I sit down and rest my head on Rosita’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you this week. What will I do without our nightly chats?”

  She reaches out to stroke my hair. “I admire you, Jase. You’re standing on your own. I’d never be so brave. I married Martin right out of high school, and we were together until he passed. I miss him.”

  I silently wonder what it feels like to really love someone in this world and for them to love you. I’d give anything to know that feeling.

  I linger on Rosita’s shoulder for a second longer before dragging my long legs into a standing position. One of the only things my biological parents gave me was the gift of height. I stand six feet tall, and yeah, some of the time I feel like a model, but mostly I feel like an absolute oaf.

  “Honestly, maybe that girl at the bridal salon was right. I need shoes that shrink me.”

  “Shoes that shrink you?” Rosita wrinkles her nose. “You mean flats.”

  “No. Flats are too high. I mean shoes that actually make me shorter. Maybe ones with concave bottoms or something. You know, where they sink into the ground.”

  Rosita snorts with laughter. “All because Joel said you made him feel small? There are no shoes that shrink you.”

  “So what’s my solution?”

  “You need a man who’s on your level, honey. That’s why you and Joel didn’t work out. He wasn’t the one.”

  I make a face. “My experience with Joel was a clear sign that some people are meant to live alone. I’m twenty-seven, and I haven’t come close to finding a Mr. Right.”

  Rosita stands up and faces me. “Just remember, honey, it only takes one good man to erase a lifetime of bad ones. And you never know where you’ll find him, sometimes in the most unlikely of moments…”

  “I made my first and last attempt at a commitment when I stupidly got engaged to Joel,” I say to her firmly. “I thought I could be like other people. You know, normal people who marry and have families. But now I know I was right all along. Some people are just meant to be alone. So a fling in Arizona? Possibly. The real thing? Not in a million years.”

  She tsks at me. “Are you afraid, honey?”

  “While I appreciate your concern, I assure you I’m okay.” I turn and usher her into the hallway. “Make sure to text me every day about the kitties. I’ll miss you, and I’ll see you when I get back. ALONE. Bye!”

  I go into my bedroom, throw the rest of my clothes into the suitcase, and sit on top of it to get it to shut. With all of the sculpting clay I have in there, there’s not much room left for apparel.

  I hear honking. Knowing it’s the cab, I grab my suitcase and go to leave, calling out goodbye to Bessie and Balaster as I go. As soon as I reach the door, though, I turn back. I run into the bedroom and, for reasons inexplicable to me, I grab an unopened box of condoms from my bedside table drawer. Just in case a small miracle happens in Tucson, Arizona this week.

  As I walk out to the cab, the wind blows so strongly it knocks the cab driver’s hat off.

  “Winds of change, maybe, huh?” he mutters as he grabs it back off the ground.

  Doubtful. I climb into the car and take a romance novel from my purse. If I can’t fall in love, I might as well read about it.

  Dylan

  My alarm goes off too early as usual. I roll over and look at the time.

  Then I remember—football season is over.

  For the next few months, I don’t have to jump out of bed and try to beat the Los Angeles traffic to make it to practice on time. I don’t have to come home and eat enough food for three men in order to keep up my strength. I don’t have to let the hot shower pound over my body that’s so sore from taking a beating in Sunday’s game. Or Thursday’s game. Or a hard full pads practice. Until training sessions start up again, I can do whatever the hell I want.

  I lie on my back with my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling. The thing is—what I want to do is football. It’s always been football. I’ve loved the sport since I was a kid messing ar
ound with my four cousins, plus Jenson—my best friends—who’ve been there for me through all the ups and downs of going from a “regular” guy to a celebrity. Comes with the territory of winning a championship and being named MVP. And I’m beyond lucky that one of those cousins is my teammate, so we’ve been able to take this crazy ride together.

  My cousins are my touchstones. When the world of media and fame tries to poison me with alternating adulation and criticism, Cam, Brayden, Colton, and Ayden remind me of what really matters. And Jenson may not be a cousin, but he’s at every party, every get-together. Anything that matters, Jenson’s there. He and Colton met as kids at football camp, and he grew up with us, too.

  But other than them, I’m kind of flying solo. I always thought by twenty-eight I’d be with someone, a woman to share my home—and life—with. But any woman I bring into my life will be entering a fishbowl. I can’t protect her against every false tabloid rumor, rude reporter, or rabid fan. So I’ve stopped looking for anything real. I hate set-ups and, whenever a teammate or worse, my agent, has tried to fix me up, the results have been disastrous. The few times I’ve met women on my own have been just as bad.

  I’m starting to think it’s not possible to meet a woman who can handle all the bullshit that comes with my job and who genuinely likes me for who I am and not for the fame and money. Not anymore. Maybe before I won a championship. Maybe before I got that hundred million dollar contract. But now the people who recognize me nearly outnumber the ones who don’t, and I no longer know who to trust.

  I reach over to my bedside table and turn on my cell. It rings immediately.

  “Hi, Tim. I’m up.”

  “Dylan, the plane leaves at nine-thirty sharp.” My agent’s nasally voice comes through the receiver loudly. “I’m going to try to set up an interview for you while you’re in Tucson. If I get it, I’ll fly in and meet you at the hotel.”

  I run my hand through my hair. “This is supposed to be a weekend off, Tim. Just the coaches and players having fun after the season.”

  “There is no off-season for the MVP,” he says in my ear. “We need to capitalize. What happened with getting a date? Remember, if you want to land that commercial and get the big donation to your charity in return, you need a woman on your arm this weekend. Bryce is one of those old-timers: he’s traditional, believes in having one lady on your arm. You know the type. With all the tabloids and gossip shows picturing you every other day, he’s concerned you’re a womanizer, and if you spend the event alone, he’s worried you’re just waiting to pick up any random girl at a party. So settle his poor nerves, and bring some nice girl to Tucson with you.”

  “Tim.” I try to keep my voice level. “There is no woman. I told you that already. You know all those paparazzi stalk me just to get a photo of some girl throwing herself at me so they can sell magazines without getting sued.”

  Tim groans. “Dylan. You could have any woman you want. What’s the big deal? Ask somebody, or let me set you up with someone, and that’s it. You wine and dine her for the weekend, let the media and the paparazzi photograph you for a few days straight, and boom—at the end of it, you get to star in a national commercial, and your charity gets a huge donation. What could be better?”

  I close my eyes. It should be an easy decision. And a couple of years ago, it would have been. But right now, all it makes me feel is used. I’ve had enough bad dates for a lifetime, and I’ve gotten tired of seeing the women who line up after games hoping to suck my dick or show me their breasts just because I can throw a football.

  “I got you that deodorant commercial remember?” Tim says into my phone. “Big bucks. The ad’s running everywhere. These opportunities will dry up in a year if you have a bad season or get injured, God forbid. So now is the time to make it happen. You’ve got the looks, the personality, and the hardware—don’t waste it.”

  I roll my eyes. My dad hired Tim for me before I was drafted. He’s an old family friend, and I’ve stuck with him because I trust him. But I don’t like him. He’s an insufferable ass.

  “Tim, I’ll see what I can do. I have to get going.”

  I hang up and go zip the suitcase I packed last night. I glance at the condoms on my nightstand. Not going to bring them. Not going to sleep with someone again that I don’t give a shit about. I did that too much my rookie year, and then I gave it up for real dating. But that hasn’t worked, either. I haven’t been on a true date in months. My teammates are fucking with me that my dick’s going to shrivel up and disappear if I don’t stop being so damn selective.

  Without warning, my mind takes me back to the party after the Super Bowl when I did legitimately ask a woman out. For the first time in ages, I was genuinely interested in somebody. And the craziest thing happened…she turned me down.

  She was breathtakingly beautiful with gray eyes that turned to ice when I flirted with her. I thought she was going to knee me in the nuts. But her telling me no just fired me up more until I found that asshole Green assaulting her. He won’t be back with the team next year—between his love affair with the media and showing up drunk to meetings, he already was on the owner’s last nerve, and what he did at the Super Bowl party sealed his fate. Good riddance to him. But then the woman disappeared into thin air. Figures. I finally found someone I wanted to take to Tucson with me, and I lost her.

  I head for the shower. This weekend isn’t going to be the time to end my dry spell. It will be all about relaxing and having fun with the boys. No women and no mistakes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tucson, Arizona

  Jasalie

  “I’ve never even had a celebrity crush, let alone slept with one!” I laugh with Lilla as I look at her through the hotel bathroom mirror while I fiddle with my hair. “And I’m not about to start now. So the answer to your request is yes. You’re more than welcome to spend the night chatting up the players, and I’ll deal with the staff.”

  “You are the bestest!” Lilla grabs me in a big hug. “You always sacrifice your own happiness for others, Jase.”

  “I’m telling you it’s not a sacrifice. But I’m glad I can help you out. You’ll be much better with the players than me anyway.” I flip on the hair dryer and attempt to bring some order to my normally-straight blond hair, which seems to have developed a mind of her own in the desert.

  “Jasalie! Let’s go. The whole team’s probably downstairs already, and Bill’s going to kill us if we’re late.” Lilla grabs the still-running hair dryer out of my hand and turns it off.

  I pull my hair back into a bun and secure it tightly with pins. Then I walk into the bedroom, make a fist and smash my just-completed clay sculpture of absolutely nothing important back to a formless blob.

  “Why’d you ruin it?” Lilla asks me. “I liked it!”

  “Because it sucks.” I used to enjoy sculpting, but lately, it feels more like trying to sing with no tune.

  “Jasalie, I really think you need to work on your career issues.”

  “You sound like my therapist.”

  Mindy, my most recent therapist, recommended I try journaling letters to my abandoning mother. I promised her I’d try once I got to Arizona, but now that I’m here, I’ve been avoiding it. Instead, I’ve been spending all my free time wondering how to help my mother out of her financial jam.

  Lilla’s rambling drags me out of my head. “I’m just saying, you think your sculpture sucks because you’ve made sculpting into work.”

  I stare at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Ever since you’ve started trying to sell your stuff, all you’ve done is complain about your sculptures,” she says.

  I can’t believe it, but Lilla’s spot-on. Not that I want to admit that. I wash my hands to get the clay off and pick up my purse. “Okay, I’m all set. You ready?”

  Lilla grabs my free hand with both of hers. “We’re going to see Mr. Dylan Wild again! I never got to introduce myself last week. I know meeting Dylan is old news for you, but…” She coll
apses into giggles.

  I smile at her teasing, but inside, I’m cringing. “Please don’t remind me. I made such an ass of myself. But it’s fine. I’ve moved on.”

  Hopefully, by the time we get downstairs, that declaration will actually be true.

  “Oh, Jasalie, where’s your passion?” Lilla asks me. “Not just for sex but for life? Where’d it go? Did you even know what an important cultural figure hit on you? Probably not—you never read magazines, and you seem like the type who hardly turns on the news.”

  Of course I know who Dylan Wild is. The California Cougars are the hottest team in America right now. They’re the newly-crowned kings of the sporting world. And being their quarterback, Dylan Wild is the hottest guy—in every way—in the league.

  I clear my throat and brush past Lilla to open the hotel room door for us.

  “Like I said, I’m not interested in sleeping with a player.” I let Lilla walk out ahead of me. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Okay, but you’re sure you reviewed all the names and faces from the Cougars media guide?” she says as we walk down the hallway.

  “Of course. It’s business. I always take my work seriously. But remember,” I warn her. “A lot of the players have significant others. So don’t just start randomly hitting on anyone with a penis. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine. Besides, you never know with these athletes. Usually, they’ll sleep with anyone.”

  “Sounds like a dream come true,” I say sarcastically.

  “Shut up.” She swats at my arm with her purse.

  Lilla’s too young and naïve to be suspicious of love. She still thinks it’s fun and exciting. And part of me wants to feel that way, too.

  We reach the elevator bank, and I press the down button.