kiss out of my head. The one memory that might have been good to forget haunted me in forbidden and selfish pleasure.
I was a gentleman. An honest man.
But if I didn’t control myself, I wouldn’t be able to strap a cup on for practice.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’re already pretending to have a baby together. It’s time to take the next step— carpooling .”
Rory checked the time. The mood swing shattered, and she dragged me out the door. “Oh, no! We’re going to be late!”
We raced to the garage. Fortunately, I hadn’t put the doors or windows on the Rubicon, and we hopped right into the Jeep. Rory needed a minute after the vigorous exercise, but she waved for me to drive.
“I’ll lean out if I get sick.” She pointed. “Go, go, go.”
Good thing I had an expert navigator in my passenger seat. I wasn’t used to Ironfield, but Rory knew a shortcut that got us to the practice facility just in time to arrive with the team. We’d scheduled a public kiss, and our PDA quota for the day was met before we left the parking lot.
Rory could check it off of the chart.
I knew she was dedicated, but she had made a spreadsheet—in her spare time —to guarantee our appearances. She wanted to give the Rivets empirical evidence that we were a real couple .
I didn’t argue. At least it got me a kiss, though as soon as I stepped onto the field, my focus switched to the game.
After eleven seasons in the league, I knew how training camp worked. Conditioning in the hot sun day after day was taxing, but I was eager to prepare for our first exhibition game. This was the football I liked. Men on the field. Fans cheering from the stands. Players who ignored the heat and sweat and injuries to line up for one more drill.
I made certain I was the first on the field and the last one off. It helped me to become the player I was. Yes, I was old. At the end of my career. But I understood the game better than anyone. Read the defenses. Saw the schemes. Knew where and when to block and juke. Age had destroyed my knees, but it honed my instincts, and I was going to use them to win.
When this season ended and my locker was cleared for good, I’d take home the final piece of my career.
A championship ring.
And we were working hard to get it.
Jack lined up the offense, keeping us past the scheduled AM practice slot. The coaches allowed it, and the players didn’t complain. No one wanted to be the first to admit they were exhausted after a full morning of drills.
“Let’s run through the game plan again.” Jack huddled us together. “I know I’m being a hard ass.”
“No one’s ever complained about that ass,” Lachlan said.
“And no one ever will.” Jack pointed the ball at him. “Don’t get jealous, Charming.”
“Just saying…one of us is the actual tight-end.”
The ball was pitched at his head. Lachlan didn’t duck in time.
“Here’s the deal,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how this season’s gonna go. Last year we…had some trouble after all that cheating bullshit. Apparently, that intel did help us win some games. We suffered without it. But not this year. We’re going to be prepared. We’ll practice these plays until they’re muscle memory. We’re gonna work together until all you see at night is my face. You’ll dream football. Eat football. You’re not gonna drill your girl without hearing my cadence in your head.”
“Fine by me,” I said. I dunked a cup of water over my head. Was it always this hot on the field, or was the headache screwing with me? “I’ve got a lot to learn.”
Jack grinned. “All-Star, you’ve probably forgotten more about football than we know.”
He wasn’t lying.
“This is a new offense. Gotta learn the ropes.” I nodded to the linemen clustered behind Jack, my guardians on the field. I’d owe them plenty of steak dinners by the end of the season. “I want to make sure I’m working well with all you fine gentleman.”
“He’s
I was a gentleman. An honest man.
But if I didn’t control myself, I wouldn’t be able to strap a cup on for practice.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’re already pretending to have a baby together. It’s time to take the next step— carpooling .”
Rory checked the time. The mood swing shattered, and she dragged me out the door. “Oh, no! We’re going to be late!”
We raced to the garage. Fortunately, I hadn’t put the doors or windows on the Rubicon, and we hopped right into the Jeep. Rory needed a minute after the vigorous exercise, but she waved for me to drive.
“I’ll lean out if I get sick.” She pointed. “Go, go, go.”
Good thing I had an expert navigator in my passenger seat. I wasn’t used to Ironfield, but Rory knew a shortcut that got us to the practice facility just in time to arrive with the team. We’d scheduled a public kiss, and our PDA quota for the day was met before we left the parking lot.
Rory could check it off of the chart.
I knew she was dedicated, but she had made a spreadsheet—in her spare time —to guarantee our appearances. She wanted to give the Rivets empirical evidence that we were a real couple .
I didn’t argue. At least it got me a kiss, though as soon as I stepped onto the field, my focus switched to the game.
After eleven seasons in the league, I knew how training camp worked. Conditioning in the hot sun day after day was taxing, but I was eager to prepare for our first exhibition game. This was the football I liked. Men on the field. Fans cheering from the stands. Players who ignored the heat and sweat and injuries to line up for one more drill.
I made certain I was the first on the field and the last one off. It helped me to become the player I was. Yes, I was old. At the end of my career. But I understood the game better than anyone. Read the defenses. Saw the schemes. Knew where and when to block and juke. Age had destroyed my knees, but it honed my instincts, and I was going to use them to win.
When this season ended and my locker was cleared for good, I’d take home the final piece of my career.
A championship ring.
And we were working hard to get it.
Jack lined up the offense, keeping us past the scheduled AM practice slot. The coaches allowed it, and the players didn’t complain. No one wanted to be the first to admit they were exhausted after a full morning of drills.
“Let’s run through the game plan again.” Jack huddled us together. “I know I’m being a hard ass.”
“No one’s ever complained about that ass,” Lachlan said.
“And no one ever will.” Jack pointed the ball at him. “Don’t get jealous, Charming.”
“Just saying…one of us is the actual tight-end.”
The ball was pitched at his head. Lachlan didn’t duck in time.
“Here’s the deal,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how this season’s gonna go. Last year we…had some trouble after all that cheating bullshit. Apparently, that intel did help us win some games. We suffered without it. But not this year. We’re going to be prepared. We’ll practice these plays until they’re muscle memory. We’re gonna work together until all you see at night is my face. You’ll dream football. Eat football. You’re not gonna drill your girl without hearing my cadence in your head.”
“Fine by me,” I said. I dunked a cup of water over my head. Was it always this hot on the field, or was the headache screwing with me? “I’ve got a lot to learn.”
Jack grinned. “All-Star, you’ve probably forgotten more about football than we know.”
He wasn’t lying.
“This is a new offense. Gotta learn the ropes.” I nodded to the linemen clustered behind Jack, my guardians on the field. I’d owe them plenty of steak dinners by the end of the season. “I want to make sure I’m working well with all you fine gentleman.”
“He’s
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