My Accidental NFL Boyfriend

Caleb’s POV:

            I stare at her figure wandering through the 7/11 aisles as I pumped gas. She had been unbelievably quiet since I picked her back up. I didn’t understand exactly why she had stormed out of the car only to come back to me, but I wasn’t complaining. The ride was long and it was boring and she kept great company, except the sadness that seemed to loom whenever she looked at me. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t a goddess; my football friends liked her because she was feisty and unlike the girls I used to bang. I still noticed the 7/11 guy checking her out from his counter, his eyes trailing across her body however. He just didn’t understand that her body was mine—wait, what? I already ended it. It was a fake relationship and didn’t matter anyway.

            I remember the torture I put her through high school. Her tears were salty and sweet; it made her eyes look just like a doll’s when they were wide and terrified. Her tears now just pained me. That’s why this is for the better. I can’t admit I’m soft for her; I’m one of the biggest players on the Jets! I’d get made fun of for sure, and I’m already the talk of the week of my supposed “rejection”. Just a few calls and I make the biggest sports gossip in an hour.

            There was one thing I didn’t completely grasp. Carly was never that cruel to her when she was little.

            I walk toward the 7/11 window as she checks out, the man striking a conversation and she was shifting from foot from foot. Her  discomfort was obvious.

            “Jay?” I question, and she turns sharply, her mouth agape as I glare at the man. I sweep over there and grab her waist, my height towering over the weasely, acne filled geek at the counter.

            “Um, hi,” she responds, her eyes averting to everywhere but me. Why wasn’t she looking at me? What could I possibly have done wrong?
            Her, “I love you” repeats in my head a thousand times.

            Was she serious? Wait—was I seriously thinking that she was being truthful? How could anyone love me? I was the asshole player; I loved the role and I played it quite nicely. Her brown hair brushes against my chin as I lay my cheek on top of her head. Flustered by my advance, she wrenches herself out of my grip and lays her 5 dollars for her pop, chips, and candy.

            “Wow,” I chuckle, “You’re still a child.” I gesture to the food she was cradling like a baby. Without a word, she walks out of the shop and toward my car.          

            Why is she ignoring me?

            I follow after her like a lost puppy, watching her little butt sway from side to side in front of me. When did she get such a nice butt? She was always so skinny and lerpy during highschool. When I flew her dress up senior year, her butt was as flat as ever and her boobs were mosquitoes. I mean, she still did have small boobs, but I liked small boobs. I would never admit that either though—that was a taboo word for my friends.

            I get in the car and look at her; she didn’t even spare a glance. She was looking out the window.

            “Jay.”

            She doesn’t turn.

            “Jay, what did I do?”

            She looks at me quickly, “What didn’t you do?”

            “I’m sorry, can you specify?”

            “Sorry I can’t get through that thick, steroid filled head of yours!”

            “I know you can’t, you never could!”

            She looks out the window again.

            “What am I supposed to say? I love you too?” I joke.

            She looks at me quickly, alarmed.

            “Wait…”  I finally realized it. I slam on the breaks in the middle of the parking lot, causing her and me to jerk forward.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” I softly look over to her.

            “Tell you what?”

            “I’m sorry I never realized it.”

            She looks over to me, her eyes watery. “It’s too late anyway.”

            “I’m sorry that I don’t feel the same way.”

            She smiles at me pained, “It’s okay. I didn’t expect you too.”

            I pull back out of the lot, my heart pumping. I actually did want her. My team wouldn’t accept that. I couldn’t get in a committed relationship—I only wanted her to be my girlfriend to get the two crazy psychos out of my life. I couldn’t bring my real feelings into the picture. I didn’t love her, oh no. I couldn’t love anyone. I liked her—yeah, that’s right. Only like. Easily replaceable. She was easily replaceable by any girl I looked at.

            She didn’t look at me throughout the whole ride.

            Oh, how I’d  love to see her soft brown eyes again.

ok i'm kind of at a writer's block; i thought I had the story planned out but then I realized I didn't have it planned out at all. ):

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