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)
Coach Martinez heads toward the door, along with his two official assistant coaches. But before the three men exit the room, Coach Martinez stops at the door and calls out to Chelsea, “What are you waiting for, Coach? You heard him. He said the big guy wants to see me and my coaches.”
“Oh!” Chelsea blurts, her excitement practically bouncing off the walls of the small room as she pops out of her chair. “Coming, Coach!” She’s practically panting with glee, but before she heads off, she pauses long enough to point at me sternly and then at my notebook as if to say, “Study while I’m gone.” And then, with her message firmly conveyed, she skips away like a middle schooler who’s stampeding into a boyband concert.
Once the adults are gone and we kids are left alone to run amok, it’s instantly clear none of us wants to study or otherwise “use our time wisely.” On the contrary, the minute we’re left to our own devices, it’s plain to see we’re all relieved to have a break from the grind.
Not surprisingly, it’s gregarious Calhoun who leads the revolt.
“Hey, Maguire,” he says. “I noticed you and the big guy’s daughter looking awfully cozy over there, player.”
I roll my eyes. I haven’t been called that nickname since my college days.
“Yeah, I noticed that, too,” a veteran middle linebacker says with a suggestive arch of his eyebrow.
Calhoun clucks his tongue. “Are you the lucky guy who got picked to get personal coaching from her?”
Shit. The precariousness of the situation suddenly dawns on me. “‘Lucky’ isn’t the word I’d use,” I reply with a scoff. “It’s more like she’s my punishment for yesterday’s stunt on the uprights. Coach Parker decided to slap me with a babysitter to teach me a lesson.”
That gets a laugh. Or maybe they’re all just reliving the hilarity of my gymnastics routine.
Calhoun leans back in his seat, looking a bit skeptical. “Chelsea made it sound like whoever got picked would get extra coaching. She made it sound like a huge advantage, not a punishment.”
Shit, shit, shit. “That’s because her daddy made it sound like that to her so she wouldn’t feel humiliated. Trust me, man, Coach Parker made it abundantly clear to me he’s punishing me with Chelsea.”
Everyone chuckles in commiseration at my sorry plight, exactly as I’m wanting them to do.
“She’s eager, I’ll give her that,” I add, feeling like I’m on a roll. “She’s got some real pie-in-the-sky pipe dreams about her future career in the NFL. Apparently, she’s hoping to use me as proof of concept that she’s got some coaching chops, so she can work her way up to something bigger, whatever that might be.”
“Does she have the chops, you think?” Calhoun asks, looking genuinely curious.
I shrug. “The jury’s still out, I’d say. But from what I’ve seen so far, I get the feeling she’s in over her head, so there’s no reason to feel jealous about me getting saddled with her. Feel pity for me.”
Again, everyone chuckles, even more heartily this time, and I know my dart has hit its intended bullseye.
Looking at his iPad, one of the rookies says, “The staff contacts sheet lists her as one of the player liaisons.” He looks up with a suggestive expression on his face. “Pretty sure that means she’s at the players’ hotel with us, instead of the one down the road where the coaches are staying.”
A third-year guy, Garrity, replies, “Yeah, I saw her last night at the ice machine right before curfew. She was wearing Buckeye pajamas and slippers, so she’s definitely staying at the hotel.”
Holy fuck. Chelsea’s staying at my hotel? Why didn’t she tell me that when we parted ways last night at the training facility?
“Good to know,” the rookie says with a smirk. “As my player liaison, she can certainly come to my room anytime she wants to show me her Buckeye pajamas.” He wiggles his brow. “She can liaise with this player anytime she wants.”
Anger flashes through me. Protectiveness. Jealousy. But even so, I bite my tongue. If I don’t play my cards extremely close to my chest when it comes to Chelsea, every single guy in this room will quickly sniff me out. And once that happens, it’ll only be a matter of time before one of them will snitch to someone who very well might say something to Coach Parker.
“Careful, rook,” one of the seasoned veterans, Henley Bradshaw, growls out. He’s actually the perfect guy to say something. As the starting middle linebacker, he’s basically the quarterback of the defense.
“Aw, come on,” the rookie says with a laugh. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how hot she is. That girl’s eyes are so damned blue and pretty, I can see my future babies in ’em.”
A few young guys chuckle at that, but not as many as the first time the rookie made a dumb joke. Surely that’s thanks to the way Henley Bradshaw is now folding his massive arms over his chest and glaring at the rookie with unmistakable reproach.