Free Gunslinger: A Sports Romance by Lisa Lang Blakeney

barely hold back a snicker in reaction to that arrogant comment.
    "I have a condition of my own," he announces.
    I look up and firmly hold his eyes with my own in anticipation of whatever this is.
    "And what could that possibly be?"
    "If you're going to manage my money, and make me more money, then I want you to learn all about what I do for a living."
    "I think I know enough about football to manage your financial affairs."
    "Do you? Because you didn't know who I was, darlin', and that's a sure sign that you don't know shit about the game.  
    "I am football."

SABRINA

    I've mopped my kitchen floor (if you can really call it mopping) with one of those hands-free wringing mops for the third time today. Every time I come back inside my tiny kitchen to check on the hot wings, which are warming in the oven, I see a new scuff mark that the legs of my counter stools have made across the floor, and so I mop yet again.
    Obviously it's my nerves getting the best of me. Jason is coming over to watch the game and to begin giving me my lessons on the basics of football. The fact that he will be my tutor and inside my house makes learning about it much more bearable.  
    When my phone vibrates across my granite counter I know who it is. Very much like me, Jason is prompt. I'm pretty sure it's him calling to let me know that he's on his way. He's supposed to be here in about thirty minutes.
    "Hello?"
    "Hey Sabrina, I'm outside. I came a little early, so we can watch some of the pregame coverage."
    What! I'm showered, but I'm dressed in my ratty Spin T-shirt and a pair of baggy sweats. I'm not wearing any make up, and I still have to empty this bucket of dirty mop water.  
    "Can you give me a few minutes?"
    "I'll watch the pregame show while you finish doing whatever you're doing. Don't worry about me. I'll stay out of your way. Is it okay to park the car across the street in this neighborhood?"
    Ugh, I guess I can't leave him sitting in his car. That would be seriously rude on my part.
    "Umm, your car will be fine across the street. You can park there all day on Sundays. Alternate street parking is only during the week."
    "Actually I was asking if it's safe. Have there been any break-ins in this area lately?"
    Okay, I feel some kind of way about that comment, but I'm going to let it go. I realize that Jason lives in a more upscale neighborhood than I do, and that many people make assumptions about the safety of Brooklyn. As if it's still stuck in a crime ridden 1980s time warp. I just thought he was smarter than that.
    "Not that I'm aware of. I'll unlock the front door for you because I have to run into the back for a moment. Let yourself in."
    "Will do."
    I live in a small garden floor apartment of a brownstone house in Brooklyn, New York. It's a revitalized neighborhood which is close to the Brooklyn Bridge, so it takes me only about thirty minutes to get to work, which I love. It's just long enough of a train ride, so that I can get a few chapters read of a book, but not too long of a ride that I fall asleep and end up lost somewhere in Harlem.
    I unlock my deadbolt and literally run straight down the hall to my bedroom and shut the door. Before I started mopping earlier, I laid out two outfits across my bed for today. A modest but casual T-shirt dress and a pair of jeans with a V-neck long-sleeved tee. Now that I'm looking at them for the hundredth time today, it seems pretty ridiculous to wear a dress to watch football in my own house no matter how casual the dress looks. So I go with the jeans and tee.
    I hear the door slam.  
    "It's me, Sabrina." Jason calls out. "Hey what's that smell? It smells fantastic in here."  
    "Some chicken I have in the oven. I'll be out in a minute. The flat screen is in the first room to your left."
    I swiftly put on my clothes, try smoothing my frizzy ponytail, and waltz out to my first "working" football Sunday with Jason.
    "Hi there."
    "Well hello to you." He takes a longer look at me than I think