Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Holy shit.
The thought makes me realize something massive.
Chelsea is Roman in female form. How did I not realize that before now? She’s the most competitive, focused, disciplined, and, yes, stubborn human I’ve ever met, besides Roman. No wonder I love the girl so much! She’s got all the best qualities of my all-time favorite person, plus a whole bunch of other ones, too, in addition to her being physically hot as hell and sexually addicting.
I run a hand down my face, suddenly realizing the futility of this entire conversation. If Chelsea is like Roman, and I’m suddenly positive she is, then she’ll need at least another week to come around and meet me in the middle here.
I exhale. “Okay, well, that’s everything I wanted to tell you. Do with it what you will.” I shrug, like I don’t give a shit what she does, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “Like you always say, I can lead a horse to water, but I can’t make her drink. Especially when that horse is the insanely stubborn Chelsea Parker.”
Chelsea’s eyebrows lift sharply, and my heart skips a beat. It’s the first reaction she’s given me since our fateful conversation outside the equipment storage room. And I know exactly what’s finally compelled her unwitting movement: Chelsea’s thinking something along the lines of, “Oh, I’m the stubborn one here? As if.”
I cross my arms over my chest and smile. “Yes, I know I’m stubborn, too. And by the way, I also know what I said about Moriarty and you was totally out of bounds and shitty. But you have to know I only said that to you for your own good. To get you to ditch your savior complex when it comes to me. But don’t worry, after you poke me three times—” I poke my chest. “My kneeling apology will fully address the Moriarty comment.”
Chelsea inhales deeply and her chest expands. But that’s all I get.
“Okay, well, thanks for hearing me out. I’ll text you the guy’s info right now. Bye for now.”
I salute her and turn away with a skip in my step. For the first time since my soul-crushing conversation with Coach Parker two weeks ago, which was followed by my heartbreaking dustup with Chelsea, I feel like me again. Like I’ve got something to work toward and live for. Indeed, after this one-sided conversation with Chelsea that wasn’t really one-sided at all, I know in my bones, without a shadow of a doubt, that Chelsea and I soon will be celebrating her new job—and the new era as a couple that will then follow on its heels—as early as next week. Two at the outside.
CHAPTER 35
Luca
Six weeks later
“USE YOUR HANDS like you mean it, Ninety-Five!” Coach Martinez shouts at me after the whistle blows on the practice field.
I shoot him a nod and return my gaze to the turf beneath my cleats. As my head bows, a drop of sweat trickles off my nose. I’m killing myself out here. But still, there’s no denying Coach was right: My hands were sloppy that time. Coach Martinez isn’t Chelsea in terms of his ability to motivate me. But nobody could possibly get inside my head the way Chelsea does, since that girl gets me like nobody else.
Chelsea.
She’s never far from my mind these days. How could she be, when I see her every weekday on the field and in classrooms? Always from a distance, though.
She never did poke me in the chest three times, unfortunately. In fact, at this point, Chelsea barely even looks at me. Man, I want to wave the white flag and surrender, but how can I do that when everything is still the same as it ever was? I’m still a fucking practice player, and she’s still here, presumably because of me. And around and around we go.
“Daddy’s home, Ninety-Five,” Moriarty mutters, yanking me from my thoughts. He’s taking my place in the scrimmage, which is fine by me. Frankly, I could use a second to breathe.
Wordlessly, I jog off without reacting to Moriarty’s condescending dig. I can’t stand the dude, but the team psychologist I’ve been diligently working with has helped me realize Moriarty wins whenever I let him bait me. So, I don’t do that anymore. It’s as simple as that. My job is to get him ready for game days. Period. And that’s what I do, to the best of my abilities, while getting myself ready, too. Just in case.
When I get to the sideline, I head over to Coach Martinez to get whatever additional critiques and observations he’s going to give me. And, of course, he doesn’t disappoint. He spews a long list of corrections and adjustments, all of which are fair. But to my surprise, he ends his diatribe with, “Now, go talk to Coach Parker over there. He wants to chat with you.”