Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
The tantrums? Eh, I could tolerate those, too, because the sex was that good, and most problems could be easily solved with a new bracelet, a new purse, or tickets to a concert.
We both loved being photographed together.
Paisley was beautiful and social and was always ready to be seen in public on my arm.
Unfortunately, Mama Burke had seen enough.
Unfortunately for Paisley, when Mom has me doubting the decisions I make in my personal life, I’m likely to take her advice.
She rarely steers me wrong.
The thing was, she disliked Paisley the second she saw her holding court in the suite I bought for the Super Bowl—as if she were the hostess and my parents were there like everyone else, present to dote and fawn all over her.
Worse, the media picked up on the story, spreading it all over the internet, social media apps, showing the same videos over and over of my mother scowling across the suite at my girlfriend—it was written all over her face, and they had photographic evidence.
God, Mom was fucking furious after that game.
But it wasn’t as if I had any control over it!
I couldn’t help it if my girlfriend was a WAGzilla! I was down on the field playing a game; I couldn’t have predicted Paisley was going to piss my parents off by committing the ultimate sin: looking down on them.
It also embarrassed Mom when Paisley would show up to my games in stilettos or high heels or some kind of sequin outfit, and always with a squad in tow—as if she could invite anyone she damn well pleased.
My fault, yeah? I never said anything.
Paisley drew attention away from my game when she showed up in the box like that, hanging over the glass partition, always waving at fans, camera hungry from the start.
When it became apparent she was there for the cameras and not to watch my games, my mother gave me an ass chewing like she hadn’t since I was a teenager trying to skip football practice.
That was the end of Paisley Blue.
I simply could not handle the pressure of my parents’ censure, but if we’re being honest about it, there is a chance I might still be dating her today had it not been for their role in showing me her true colors. I wouldn’t have discovered them on my own; I was too busy to look that deep.
Paisley Blue. Ha. What a stupid fucking name, hey? Didn’t bother me at the time, of course.
I’d be lying, though, if I said I didn’t miss her sometimes. She was a firecracker, and I was the fuse that set her off—she loved what my mother calls toxic arguing—but at the time I didn’t see it that way.
“Andy—she wasn’t with you for the right reasons. All a parent wants for their child is someone to love them unconditionally so that when we’re no longer on this earth, they’re taken care of.” She runs a hand down her face, groaning. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation in the parking lot of the Shop ’n Save.”
Yeah, me either, but that’s the way the rubber ball bounces.
“What do you want me to say right now?” Mom says. “I’m hearing about this girl for the first time today. I can’t say one way or another whether I think you’re making a mistake.”
True.
“What do you need from me, Andy?”
I don’t know what I need from her; part of this conversation is too late. I’m already here, in Wisconsin—like an idiot, begging my mommy for her stamp of approval.
“You know we love you. No matter what you decide to do, or who you decide to date . . . in the end, we will accept her, no matter what. Even if she’s pretty to look at, but not so pretty on the inside.”
“Ouch, Mom, low blow.”
Her jab at my ex-girlfriend is a direct hit, and considering she rarely speaks about Paisley anymore—hasn’t mentioned her in months—this is surprising to me.
“So what’s your plan?”
“I don’t know. It’s probably horrible, but I was basically going to look up her address and surprise her?” Pause. “Or is that a bad idea?”
For a short moment my mother looks stunned at the idea of me showing up on someone’s doorstep. Or maybe she’s just constipated?
“Mom, say something.”
“You’re just going to show up unannounced? By now the media knows you’re in town. I’m sure it’s probably on the news, but of course you probably haven’t checked. How are you going to go anywhere without someone seeing you?”
Great point.
I don’t know.
“I’m going to assume you’re also going to take a meeting with the general manager and coaching staff the way you took a meeting with New York and Baltimore.”
“Yes, actually, I am. Business is business.” And I want to switch teams. Have for the past year. “If you don’t think I should show up there unannounced, what do you think I should do? Shoot her a text?”