Page 3 of Playing for the Dark
He cannot be my problem; I will not do that again.
1. A Match Into Water - Pierce The Veil
Chapter 3
Zamir
Iwatch those perfect curves swaying back and forth as she’s practically running away from me to get back behind the bar. I flop back down in my seat. My drink is untouched; all my ice, melted. Throwing it back in one swig, I feel the watered-down, smooth bourbon burn on it’s way down. This day has taken turn after turn, but I can’t say it’s been boring. Usually, I would just be back at my place after a practice like that, sulking. Letting some of my pent-up anger out earlier was a nice change up.
Ellie’s beyond perfect. Point blank. Period. I don’t think she gives a flying fuck about who I am—well, the football me. No one knows the real me. I keep that under wraps.
Her jet-black hair hits right below her shoulders; a perfect amount to wrap my fist around. She has thick thighs, an ass to drown in, and a whole sleeve of tattooscovers her right arm. She has on black jean shorts, cut off right below her plump ass, with some kind of shimmery black fish nets underneath that lead into her platform Doc Martens. Her Sleeping with Sirens band T-shirt is tucked into what I’m guessing is her bra so you can see a little sliver of her stomach. Combine all of that with her, I don’t give a fuck personality—my kryptonite.
I had to turn the charm on earlier after the jackass hit me in the head. Thank fuck he did though. I ended up in that office with her after and that’s how I know there is a spark between us; if she’d quit running off when we get close, I could see what it’s about.
Waving her over, I throw two, hundred dollar bills down. “Keep the change, but I’m going to need your number,” I shoot that off with a wink and what I hope is a panty-melting grin.
She gives me a side eye but quickly covers it with a smile. “Of course.” She turns around, going to the P.O.S. system quicker than I can blink. She couldn’t care less about my ass, and I’m making it my mission to claw down that calloused shell she has around her soul.
She returns with a napkin, and to my shock, her number is on it. I’m grinning like a moron now. I tuck the napkin in my back pocket and stride toward the door.
“This won’t be the last time I see you,Shpirt Im.” The shocked look on her face is enough to keep me going. I hit her with one more wink before I’m walking out the door.
I swing my leg onto my blacked-out Ducati, putting on my helmet and gloves. Coach and the team owner hate that I ride, but it’s the only sense of freedom and adrenaline I get anymore. Sports bikes and fast cars are my only real weaknesses—and I might need to add Ellie to that list.
After a grueling and equally annoying workout, I left the practice facility, wanting to wind down with a drink. So, I headed over to Shenanigans, the bar across the street. In my four years with the Vegas Rebels, I have been there only a handful of times. I don’t like to drink during the season, but it’s technically pre-season, and I desperately needed to chill the fuck out after the practice we had today.
I speed through the couple miles between Shenanigans and my1high-rise apartment building. The other part I love about riding is the full-face helmet, giving me the complete anonymity I miss. Fuck, what I would give to not be known anywhere I show my face. I find myself going into stores with it on just to keep people away from me. I love my fans, but shit, it gets exhausting. The jersey chasers are usually falling at my feet, but if I’m being honest, it’s old now.
I never know people’s true intentions. Growing up around the worst humans you can think of, it wasn’t anything new to have to protect myselfmentally from the ones who just wanted to use me. It got awful in college when they realized I had a one-way ticket to the pros, as long as I stayed healthy.
Being openly bisexual has brought even more unwanted attention. Not every day do you see a bi man open and out in any kind of professional sport, but football? Yeah, it’s unheard of.Open and outare the keywords.
I re-signed with the Rebels this season since I’ve been with them for four years, and my rookie contract was up. I was starting to think they weren’t interested in extending my contract, but my agent, Chip, was adamant that I had nothing to worry about.
That fuck back at the bar did send that jab right through my heart. My biggest insecurity was being thrown in my face. I think I would’ve taken a stab wound before hearing that. Chip’s a weasel, but he’s damn good at his job. Being a wide receiver, we tend not to have super long careers. We take vicious hits multiple times a game, and I never planned to play professionally. I’ve had a dark past, and I thought that would take me out before I had the chance to do anything with my life.
Thankfully, I wasn’t next in line.
As I’m pulling into the parking garage under my building, my helmet Bluetooth cuts through my music telling me my cousin, Alex, is calling. Hitting the button on the side of it to answer, I say, “Kushëriri.”
“Z, how are you,vëlla?” He sounds exhausted, and I don’t doubt he is dealing with my certifiable uncle and father back in Chicago. He’s next in line for the Prifti family.
I grew up with a ruthless father. Coming from a long line of Albanian mafia, having a ruthless father goes hand-in-hand. No one knows aboutthatpart of my past. If I can call it my past.
“Can’t complain. Now, what’s going on? You don’t just call to cut the shit,Kushërir,” I grit out. I don’t like cutting the shit with any of them. I grew up with Alex; we’re close, but I can’t have him thinking I’m coming back.
They call, trying to lure me into the darkness that wants to come out so fucking bad some days. Alex is chiller about asking me to come back, but my father, on the other hand, thinks it’s my birthright to rule beside him like I didn’t just sign a twenty-five million-dollar yearly contract. If it was up to him I would’ve never been able to leave. They are keeping me here in Vegas for another four years at least.
“It’s Vito.” Oh fucking great, his dad. “I think he’s into some bad shit, but I don’t have any proof yet.”
There’s a long pause. “And you’re telling me this, why?”
“Because you know if my father’s in on the shit, Argon is right there following behind him.” Argon is my certifiable-ass father.
This soul of mine is murky, dipped in tar, tainted… I don’t like thinking about it, and if I had any doubt of who I was, or what family I was born into, my father made sure to beat it into me.
Argon’s favorite weapon of choice… beer bottles.