Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
All of a sudden, the scene on TV cuts from the talking heads to a press conference. And there he is. Roman Maguire. Sitting behind a long table with two older gentlemen—one with a salt-and-pepper short-cropped Afro and the other with combed-over white hair—in front of a bank of microphones. Behind the three men, the backdrop is covered in thunderbolts—the logo of Roman’s new team.
I take Harper’s hand and squeeze it, feeling physically ill. You’d think Roman’s gorgeousness wouldn’t bowl me over anymore, after all the internet stalking I’ve done of him over the past ten days—but seeing him on air and knowing that’s him in the present moment is like seeing my Roman again. The man who rolled around with me in bed, naked, for the better part of a week. The man who generously planned date after romantic date and kindly held me close when I cried.
To this day, I don’t know why Roman did all that for me, especially now that I know he was never interested in pursuing an actual relationship. But the fact remains he did, and it was swoony as hell.
On TV, the older gentleman with the white hair welcomes everyone to the press conference, while a chyron identifies him as the owner of the Thunderbolts. He makes some introductory comments about his organization’s commitment to winning, to their fans, to the city of Los Angeles. Blah, blah, blah. Until finally, the man says the words I’m dying to hear: “Which is why I’m thrilled to introduce the Thunderbolts’ new quarterback, Roman Maguire, and our new head coach, Otis Hardy.”
Everyone surrounding me in the bar explodes with exclamations and reactions. People are variously clapping, hooting, booing, and cursing.
I look at Harper, and she looks taken aback by the sheer intensity and loudness of the reactions all around us. Before coming here today, I finally told another living person, Harper, the secret I’ve been keeping since Hawaii about Roman’s new team. I also told her what Roman said about the football world losing its shit over the news. But even with that forewarning, I don’t think either Harper or I could have anticipated the reactions happening around us. If a bar full of Seagulls fans in a Podunk town in Washington are reacting to Roman’s bombshell news like this, I can only imagine how diehard football fans in both Baltimore and LA are reacting.
“Are you kidding me?” a guy behind us at a table booms. “How is anyone gonna beat the T-Bolts now?”
“With a solid defense,” someone shoots back. “Which is exactly what we’ve got.”
“I’m happy for Roman,” a man to my right says. “The Crusaders never deserved him.”
“When they brought in Coach Keller,” a woman says, “that had to be the final straw for poor Roman. Who’d want to play for an egomaniac like that?”
Someone else chimes in to say, “‘Poor Roman’? Please. You should be pissed the Seagulls weren’t smart enough to nab him.”
A man from a different area of the bar shouts, “Fuck my life. With both Roman Maguire and Coach Hardy, the T-Bolts are going to be unstoppable this season.”
“No, they’re not,” another man spits back. “Roman’s gonna choke, like he always does, whether he switches teams or not. The guy is washed up. A total loser.”
Several men agree enthusiastically with that sentiment.
“Jeez,” I whisper to Harper. “They’re so mean.”
From behind the bar, Darcy addresses one of the naysayers sitting on the other side of Harper. “No, it’s not a quarterback ‘choking’ when a receiver fumbles in the red zone, or when a tight end can’t catch a ball thrown straight into his goddamned hands to save his life.”
Thank you, Darcy, I think. At least someone else understands it’s not all Roman’s fault.
“The buck stops with the quarterback,” the guy talking to Darcy at the bar insists. “If Roman was an actual winner, he’d find a way to win when it counts most. Period. No fucking excuses.”
Harper leans in and whispers, “How does Roman shrug it off when people tear him to shreds like this? No wonder he felt so connected to you. He understood your viral pain on a whole other level.”
I freeze.
Holy shit.
I’ve never put that together before. Roman understood my pain. Is that why he went to such great lengths to show me a great time and help me forget my troubles?
Someone behind us says, “I’ve always figured Roman Maguire is all about the Benjamins over winning. Now we know it for a fact.”
Harper leans into me. “They must not know about Roman’s son in LA. If they did, wouldn’t they talk about Roman possibly changing teams for him?”
“Roman never talks about his son in the press,” I whisper back. “I’m sure they have no idea he exists.”
My mind is suddenly racing. My heart, exploding with regret. When Roman told me about his son in the restaurant, I thought him not mentioning him before that moment meant his feelings for me had never evolved beyond simple lust. But now, I’m thinking my knee-jerk reaction back then might have been too harsh. Who knows what it’s like to be a huge superstar like Roman? I’m sure it’s incredibly difficult for him to figure out when he can safely let his guard down with anyone—especially someone new to his life.