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)
Motherfucker.
Suddenly, that murder hypothetical I was thinking about earlier seems like something I’d gladly do for the sheer hell of it—and maybe not quite so hypothetically. Like I always say: Fun is fuel. Well, as I’m suddenly realizing, murdering Jacob Moriarty would be the best kind of fun—my version of jet fuel.
CHAPTER 22
Chelsea
IT’S PAST CURFEW for the players. Past my bedtime, too. And yet, I’m lying awake in my hotel bed, secretly working on Luca’s personalized playbook. Seriously, though, what sane woman could even think about falling asleep after watching Luca smashing it at two straight scrimmages? Luca’s triumph has been especially thrilling, because Moriarty’s looked sluggish, sloppy, and rusty alongside Luca’s sharp performances.
I realize I should have been rooting for Moriarty to show up in top form, given that he’s the Mastodons’ poster boy and I’ve been tasked with whipping him into shape. But I couldn’t help but feel enthralled watching Luca wiping the turf with him, over and over again. Thankfully, when Luca quickly realized Moriarty wasn’t keeping up with him, he stopped acting like such an insecure little prick toward me and everything went back to normal between us. Whatever that means. Ever since Raul interrupted us almost having sex the other night, I’m not quite sure what’s normal for us any longer.
But anyway, based on Luca’s recent performance in scrimmages, I’m now more determined than ever to get Luca across the line and onto the active roster, even though I’m not technically assigned to him anymore. Following tomorrow night’s preseason exhibition game at our home stadium, if there’s any indication Luca’s not an easy “keep” for the following week, then I’ve already decided I’m going to go balls to the wall with my father in that night’s meeting and beg him to give Luca another game to prove himself. Rinse and repeat, as necessary, until Number Ninety-Five is wearing a Mastodons jersey at the opening game of the regular season.
I’m going to fight for Luca, not only because I’d kill for that job in operations but also because I know deep in my bones Luca is the impact player the Mastodons need to boost their defense. Moreover, he’s a perfect fit for the team in terms of personality and leadership skills. Everyone in our locker room adores Luca Maguire. And that makes him especially effective at inspiring his teammates to give their all, just like he does, during each and every play.
I’m so damned convinced Luca is the missing ingredient to what could be our new unstoppable era, I’ve formulated an idea for a new defensive scheme. One that would require two edge rushers to line up on our side of the ball together, rather than only Moriarty lining up while his backup sits idly by waiting to relieve him.
First things first, though, I have to get Luca through the next three weeks of preseason games and onto the fifty-three-man roster. And that’s what I’m still determined to do, even if I’m no longer officially assigned to him as his personal coach.
A quiet tapping noise draws my attention to the right side of the room, and when I look toward the sound, a scream hurtles out of me at the face staring at me from the other side of my balcony’s sliding glass door.
Wait, that’s Luca. He’s standing on my third-story balcony and pressing his face comically against the glass!
My heart racing, I lurch out of bed and bound over to him.
“What the hell?” I shout. Gruffly, I open the door and add, “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“You paid me an unexpected and delightful visit the other night,” he says calmly. “So I figured it’s only polite to return the favor.”
“Jesus Christ!” I grab the front of his Mastodons sweatshirt and yank him into my room. “Someone might have seen you!”
He snickers. “Only Spider-Man. He was coming down as I was going up.”
“How the heck did you even get here?”
“I climbed.”
I blink rapidly, feeling flabbergasted. “You could have broken every bone in your body, Luca. My room is three stories up!”
He waves dismissively at the notion. “I’m an excellent climber.”
“A promise-breaker, too. You swore you wouldn’t come to my room again, remember?”
Luca raises an index finger. “Actually, I promised not to come to your door again. That’s exactly what you made me promise, and I never have.”
I stare in slack-jawed awe for a long moment. I’ve never felt such utterly conflicting emotions in my life: simultaneous rage and arousal. This nutjob is a maniac for pulling such a reckless and stupid stunt, especially on the eve of his first preseason game when everything’s on the line. But that doesn’t make the fact that he apparently couldn’t stay away any less enthralling and hot.
“After all the times you’ve called me Montague,” Luca says. “Did you really think I’d never appear on Juliet’s balcony at some point?”