Page 53 of The Player

“You need to make this happen, son, and playing like you did on Saturday is not how you win the Heisman.”

“Understood.”

Drew could’ve told him to go fuck himself—respectfully, of course. He was the one out there playing his ass off, studying, training, smiling for the cameras, and shaking the right hands. He’d played a hell of a game, but with Tariq in the race, he couldn’t afford the loss. His dad was right about that much, whether Drew wanted to hear it or not.

“All right,” his father said. “I’ll let you go. Call your mother tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“And hey, son?”

“Yeah, Dad?” Drew settled back, already bracing for another ten minutes of Melvin Junior this and Melvin Junior that.

“I’m proud of you.”

He looked down at the shoe still hanging loose off his foot.

“You’re doing it,” his dad went on. “Everything we talked about all those years, all of it. It’s really happening. And that’s you, Drew. You’re the one making it happen.”

Drew cleared his throat. “Thanks, Dad.” His voice still came out rough.

“Get some sleep, son.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Drew hung up, set the phone on the mattress, and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees.

Drew stood on Nicole’s porch with his fist raised and an overnight bag over his shoulder. It was past midnight, and he’d shown up unannounced. He should’ve taken his ass back to the truck.

After the call with his father, he’d eaten, finished his homework, and gotten ready for bed. He could’ve slept for a week, but instead he’d stood there looking at his unmade sheets, thinking about how bad he wanted Nicole there next to him. He was too damn tired to lie to himself about it. So he’d put his shoes back on, thrown some clean clothes and his toothbrush into a bag, and left without picking the whole thing apart.

Now that he was here, he felt like a needy little bitch. Who the fuck packed a bag to go somewhere they hadn’t even been invited? He’d told her he’d call, and he hadn’t even done that much. He wanted this, though. Hell, he needed it.

Drew knocked before he could talk himself out of it. When Nicole opened the door, he forgot every damn thing he’d planned to say. She had on a silky button-up shirt and pajama shorts that left most of her legs bare. Her hair was down in the back, with some kind of scarf tied around the front of it, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She looked that fucking good when she wasn’t even trying. Jesus.

Nicole gave him a slow once-over that ended on his face. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She looked at the bag and frowned. “Then what are you doing here?”

Drew shifted the strap higher. He knew the answer, but it took him a second to get it out. “I wanted to see you.”

“Drew . . .” She shook her head. “Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s late. I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair.

“It’s after midnight. I have a meeting in the morning.”

“Yeah.” Drew looked down at his feet. “You’re right, I should’ve called. My bad. I’ll go.”

He started for the steps, but Nicole caught his forearm before he made it off the porch. “Wait.”

Drew turned back. Nicole let go and folded her arms, and her eyes flicked to his mouth, then down to the bag. “What did you really come here for? A booty call?”

“No.” The answer came out fast. “I’m not here for that.”

Her face eased up some, but her arms stayed crossed. “Then what?”