Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (25 page)

“Probably,” Sophie concedes. “I just so wanted it to be juicier than that.”

“So, Willa,” I say, ready for a change in subject. “How are you and Dan?”

“Really good,” she says, smiling. “Actually, would you guys be cool with him coming to visit soon?”

“Of course!” I say.

“When is he coming?” Sophie asks.

“He has fall break in three weeks,” Willa says. “Is it okay if he, you know, stays here?”

“Absolutely,” I say.

“Y’all put up with me and Luke when he’s over, so I can’t tell you that your boyfriend who lives in New York can’t stay here,” Sophie says, making Willa and me laugh.

“You stay at the Delta Tau house most of the time, though,” Willa says. “I feel like I hardly ever see Luke.”

“Do you want him over more?” Sophie asks. “Because he always feels like he makes y’all uncomfortable because of, well. Our volume.”

I laugh. “I like Luke and I like you, but y’all are freaking loud. And shockingly immodest.”

“Why, Courtney,” Sophie says. “Are you lecturing me?”

“I’ve just seen way more of Luke than I ever needed to.”

Everyone laughs at that and Sophie says, “So, not to badger you on this, but do you think you’re going to talk to Adam tonight?”

“I probably should, huh?”

“Not if you don’t feel ready or don’t want to,” Sophie says.

I sigh and say, “No, I’ll call him. I’m sure he’s freaking out.”

I go to grab my phone and Sophie says, “He’s in a meeting with his offensive coordinator right now, but said he’d let me know when he’s done.”

“Oh,” I say, hating how out of the loop I am.

“I’m sure it’s killing him to not know what you’re thinking right now,” Sophie says.

“Maybe,” I say. When I see the look Willa and Sophie are both giving me I say, “Probably.”

“So,” Willa says. “Want to watch an episode of
Buffy
or something on Netflix while we wait for our fro-yo?”

“Yes,” I say, very ready to focus on something else. “
Buffy
, please. I need to watch a girl kick the shit out of vampires.”

“Your wish is my command,” she says, and we all sit back in the couch and settle in.

Adam

“Does all of this make sense?” the team’s head publicist, Amanda, asks.

I nod.

“And you think that Courtney will be on board?”

“I sure hope so,” I say.

“Why don’t I give you a few minutes so that you can call her. Because if she’s not willing to commit to this, I’ll have to move to Plan B.”

Seeing as how much I like Plan A, I’d rather not have to move on to Plan B. As Amanda leaves the conference room and heads into her office, I pull out my phone.

There are tons of messages, but I ignore all of them and find Courtney’s number to call her immediately.

“Adam,” she says in lieu of hello, her voice full of emotions that I can’t quite decipher. I’ve never heard her say my name like that before.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m so sorry about all of this. You have to know that I would never cheat on you. Ever. I love you so much and would never put you through that.”

“I know,” she says. “At first I was really freaking upset because, I mean, the pictures don’t look good. But I never actually believed that you would cheat on me. You’re not that type of guy. If you were, we would’ve gotten together back in high school. Probably right after you started seeing the volleyball player.”

“It always comes back to the volleyball player,” I say, not being able to keep myself from laughing.

“Damn straight,” Courtney says, laughing as well, and I know that we’re going to be fine.

“You do know that the only reason I kept dating the volleyball player was because you stopped talking to me, right?”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I had such a huge crush on you and didn’t know how to tell you because you’re, well,
you,
and I was a doofus in high school.”

“So instead of telling me how you felt, you kissed volleyball players?”

“Well, I kissed volleyball players because I was a doofus. But I didn’t want to be with her. I wanted to be with you. But you stopped answering my calls and wouldn’t hang out and I never saw you unless our entire families were together. So I figured that you didn’t feel the same way about me as I did about you, and I kept dating the volleyball player.”

She sighs and says, “If we had just talked to each other, we would’ve gotten together years ago.”

“Yep.”

“That’s really annoying,” she says, making me laugh, before asking, “How were your meetings?”

“The tape review with the offensive coordinator was fine. I have to show up early to do some extra drills for sleeping through when I was supposed to be there, but I deserve that. I actually just got out of a long meeting with the team publicist.”

“Okay.”

“She thinks that we are, and I quote, ‘media darlings’ because of the whole Score List thing. According to her, our relationship has been public enough that people feel involved in our relationship and she says that the public likes us together. So obviously, the public is very mad at me right now.”

“I think I like the public.”

I laugh and say, “Amanda thinks that, instead of ignoring it, we should start being more public together.”

“She does realize that I live in Missouri, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She wants you to be at all of our games.”

“What?”

“I know. It’s a lot.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

“How am I supposed to manage that?”

“She’s going to set up your flight schedule so that you don’t miss any classes and she’ll be paying for your flights out of her PR budget. It’s going to be a lot of flying. If you’re not up to it, I’ll tell her and we can work with the games that you’re already planning to attend.”

Courtney is quiet and I start to get nervous. I understand that it’s a lot of traveling, and with her schoolwork that’s going to make this hard. But the thought of seeing Courtney once a week, and having her at all of my games, every single weekend, makes me incredibly happy.

“Okay,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll give it a few weeks and if it’s too much, maybe we can back off so that I’m at every other game.”

“I’m sure we can work it out,” I say, a huge smile on my face. “I’m so glad you’re cool with this.”

“Of course I am,” Courtney says. “Did you really think I was going to turn down going to that many professional football games?”

I laugh and say, “I really didn’t know. But I’m so glad that you’re on board. I’m so pumped that I’ll get to see you every week.”

“That part doesn’t suck,” she says. “So is there anything else we’re going to have to do? Or is it just me being going to games?”

“Well, I’m sure Amanda will have photographers around. So there will be shots of us together leaving the hotel or at dinner or whatever. And I’m sure that she’ll work her magic so that at some point during the game the cameras will show you in the team’s box.”

“What?” she shrieks. “On national television?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do people honestly care that much about us? I mean, with Jax and Melissa, I get it. But us? We’re nobody.”

“If you don’t want to be on TV, I’ll tell Amanda.”

“Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I think I’m more okay with TV than with freaking photographers everywhere. As if I’m not already self-conscious all the damn time, I now have to think about what I look like and what faces I may or may not be making and my posture at all times.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” I say. “I’ll talk with Amanda and see if we can work it out so that we know when we’ll be photographed and be ready for it. Surely that can be arranged.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Really? You’re okay with all of this? And with me?”

“Of course,” she says. “Just don’t get photographed with that Mariella person ever again.”

“Believe me, I won’t,” I say.

“I know,” Courtney says.

“I love you. So much.”

“I love you, too,” she says back. “But I definitely expect some sort of very large present to make up for the emotional roller coaster that was today.”

“I think that is something I can handle.”

Courtney

Becca and I head into the mall, and for once I’m excited to be shopping.

Since I’ve lost enough weight that nearly none of my clothes fit anymore, I talked my parents into letting me use the emergency credit card for a few new things.

“So where should we start?” Becca asks excitedly.

“I don’t know. Gap?”

“For jeans and stuff, sure,” Becca says. “But we need to get you some sexy going-out clothes, too.”

We head into the store and I immediately go to the wall of jeans, grabbing a few bootcut styles in the sizes I think I might be now.

“Bootcut?” Becca asks, scoffing. “Girl, you need to show yourself off. Let’s get you in some skinnies.”

She grabs a few pairs of her own to add to my pile and a salesperson appears, whisking the jeans away to a dressing room for me.

“Shirts?” Becca asks.

“I think I’m okay,” I say.

“Courtney, I am begging you,” Becca says, looking me up and down. “No more baggy shirts.”

“Fine, but just a couple,” I say, going over to the T-shirt table and picking up some basic crew necks in different solid colors.

“Oh my God, Courtney,” Becca says. “We’re putting you in V-necks. You’re hot and have amazing boobs and no one should ever wear crew necks. Not even moms and grandmas.”

I can’t help but laugh and put the crew necks back, picking up some V-necks instead. I’ve always felt self-conscious about V-necks because even when they’re modest necklines, I feel like my entire chest is on display. But it won’t hurt to try a few on.

“Let’s do this,” I say, heading back to the dressing room, feeling overwhelmed by the number of jeans in front of me.

I grab the first pair I see—one of the skinny pairs that Becca picked—and wince when I see the size. There’s no way my ass is fitting in these.

But I’m amazed when it does. In fact, these look great on me. They’re snug, but not too tight, and they make me look curvy instead of like I’ve been stuffed into a sausage casing, like I figured they would.

I grab the black tee and throw it on with the jeans and am shocked at how good I look in clothes that fit properly. You can see cleavage, yes, but it’s not an obscene amount.

“When you’re ready, I’m out here,” Becca says through the door.

I take another look at myself and open the fitting room door.

“Holy Mother,” Becca says. “You look freaking awesome.”

“It’s not bad, huh?”

“Not bad? They should hire you to model. You are working those jeans and that shirt. Like, I’m pretty sure no one has ever looked
that
good in Gap clothing.”

“Thanks,” I say brightly. “Can do you me a dumb favor?”

“Of course,” she says.

“Can you take a photo of me wearing this? Not a posed one, just me sitting or walking or something.”

“Ah ha. The paparazzi test.”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling stupid for asking, but glad that she understands. She pulls out her phone and I take a seat on the bench, making sure that my posture is normal and not ramrod straight.

She snaps a few photos and then asks me to get up and walk up and down the row of fitting rooms as she takes some more.

She reviews the photos on her phone and says, “Obviously this isn’t a professional camera, but I must say that you look good in these shots.” She turns her camera around to let me see and at first I agree with her.

But then I start to really look. When I’m sitting, you can still see a roll right above the band of my jeans, and from a certain angle, my boobs look like they’re trying to bust out of the shirt.

“Maybe I should go up a size in the jeans and tee.”

“Absolutely not,” Becca says. “Another size up will be baggy and you don’t want that. You want to show off that body you’ve been working so hard for!”

I nod, knowing that it’s stupid to buy clothes that are too big. “Maybe I’ll just do a really strict diet this week so that I can drop some water weight.”

“What do you mean
strict diet
? You’re already on a strict diet.”

“Yeah, but maybe I’ll do one of those diets that supermodels go on before a runway show.”

“Courtney, that is terrible for you. I read an interview with one of the models and she was talking about the Victoria’s Secret diet. They only do it for two days before the show, and she said she feels like shit the entire time and then eats her weight in pastries the next day.”

“Well, if it works for them it’ll work for me, too.”

Becca bites her lip and I ask, “What?”

“Just make sure that you’re getting enough nutrients. Don’t starve yourself just because some people are taking photos of you. You look amazing. And if you think about it, the weight you’ve lost has come off really quickly. If you keep going, you could make yourself really sick.”

I’ve heard this before. Ryan keeps calling and non-so-subtley asking about what I’ve been eating, and I feel like Kate, Sophie, and Willa have started paying extra attention to what’s on my plate when we have lunch together. Granted, I have gotten even more strict with my diet, cutting out meat in addition to carbs and sugar because I read a plant-based diet is the best way to lose weight—but it’s only because I know I can do more. The faster I lose the weight, the faster I can get back to normal.

So, for the rest of the week, it’s just going to be egg whites for breakfast, kale salad for lunch, and an avocado with lime juice for dinner. No salt, because I don’t want to look bloated, and I’ll drink a ton of water so my skin will look healthy and dewy.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll buy the shirts and two pairs of these jeans.”

“Woo!” Becca cheers. “Now on to some sexy dresses and maybe a couple new pairs of shoes? And some new makeup?”

“You’re as bad as Kate,” I say, rolling my eyes but unable to not smile. This is actually fun.

“Kate has great style,” Becca says. “And admit it, you’re having fun right now.”

“This is definitely not the worst shopping trip I’ve been on.”

“I will take that as a victory,” Becca says, smiling. “You should see if they’ll let you wear these clothes out of the store. Because, really, you should just trash those old clothes and forget they ever existed.”

I look at the pile on the floor in the dressing room—the worn jeans that are now two sizes too big and the navy blue, stretched-out crew neck shirt—and suddenly can’t remember how I ever wore those and felt confident in them.

“You’re right,” I say. “Good-bye, old clothes.”

Hello, new Courtney.

“There are more photos,” Willa says as I’m packing for my trip to New Orleans.

Since the story about Adam and Mariella broke on Monday, publications have been digging around for more photos of Adam with women. Any women.

Which means that there have been photos surfacing of Adam signing an autograph for a woman or running in the morning beside a woman or getting out of a car when there’s a woman standing near him. Any photo that shows Adam interacting with any woman in any fashion has shown up somewhere and it’s become “proof” that he’s cheating on me.

Of course he’s now paranoid and freaked out and pissed that the media is doing this. It’s not like it’s that big of a story. We’re not celebrities and probably only a few people even care about us. It must be a slow sports news week, because here we are, four days later, with more stories surfacing online.

“It’s so ridiculous,” Sophie says from the couch where she’s perched next to Luke, both of them typing furiously. “You should call up ESPN and give them the real story.”

“I’ve been expressly instructed by the Saints publicity team not to speak to any media that isn’t approved by the Saints publicity team.”

“I’m guessing they don’t know about me and Soph,” Luke says.

“Are you writing a story about me?”

“Will you let me?” Luke asks.

I know him well enough to know that he isn’t actually joking.

“Not yet,” I say. “Maybe when all of this dies down.” I put the last of my new clothes in the large suitcase Willa lent me since my suitcase is too small to hold all my new clothes, and then turn to her. “So what is the photo this time?”

“Adam is looking at a group of girls on the street.”

“Great,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So, what, are they saying he had an orgy with them or something?”

“Nothing that drastic,” Willa says. “But the headline is ‘Kistler’s Roaming Eyes Find Lots to Gaze Upon.’”

“Boo,” Sophie yells without breaking stride from typing.

“Let me see it,” I say, crossing the room to Willa.

She angles her computer screen to me and I look at the photo, where, indeed, Adam is turning to look at a group of five college-aged girls. They’re all dressed in short dresses and heels, and have freaking shiny hair and freaking hourglass figures.

How is it possible that so many women look like that?

I sigh and Willa says, “You know that it’s nothing.”

“I do,” I say. “But it does look like my fiancé is checking out an entire group of girls who look like Kardashian clones.”

“One of them probably called his name or a car horn honked and Adam looked that way,” Luke says.

“I’m sure.”

But it still bothers me that so many pictures exist of Adam interacting with random women. From what I understand, his entire life is practice, weight training, conditioning, sleeping, and occasionally hanging out with guys from the team. From what he’s told me, he rarely has time to go to the grocery store. So how these photos can even exist baffles me.

“You doing okay over there?” Willa asks.

“Just trying to figure out how these photos even exist when Adam supposedly only has enough time and energy to go to the stadium and back home every day. I mean, I understand that New Orleans is a city and that there are people everywhere, but still. It’s a little weird, right?”

“I don’t really think so,” Willa says gently. “But then again, I grew up in a city, Eve though you are busy and aren’t doing all that much, you’re still constantly surrounded by people.”

I nod and chew on my bottom lip.

“Why don’t you call Ana?” Willa asks. “She’s good at talking about this kind of thing, and she was asking about how you’re doing with all of this the other day.”