“I had no idea players felt this way. Is it really that big of a problem?” Jen asks.
“It’s bigger.” Quinton doesn’t hesitate. “You know, with the news about CTE starting to make ripples, some people are acknowledging the real danger in playing football. But we’re only talking about it because so many former players are suffering and dying. CTE is just one aspect. Nobody is talking about the rest and that’s one of the things I want to do. And as a society, we need a hard time talking about racism, but we need to have that dialogue. In a company where seventy percent of its players are Black, but only nine percent of managers and zero percent of owners are? That’s a problem. Racism isn’t just saying mean things. It’s a system that makes it impossible for minorities to reach certain levels.”
“Wow, this is really amazing.” Jen breathes out, enthralled with Quinton—lost in the passion behind his words. And I don’t blame her.
Even though I know what the foundation is and the passion he possesses for his causes, I’ve never heard him speak this way. With me, he’s guarded. He’s precise, but never emotional. Listening to him talk to Jen, however, there are feelings I can’t even begin to unpack fueling his words. This isn’t just a cause he wants to champion, this is his life’s mission. Like every year spent perfecting his craft wasn’t for a huge contract or championship ring, but for this moment . . . for the opportunity to speak and have people listen.
I wait for Quinton to say something, to thank her, but instead it’s like he has gone somewhere else. Like the mask he’s always wearing slipped and he’s struggling to put it back in place.
“I told you it was going to be big,” I cut into the silence and give Jen a quick hug. “Thank you again for letting us come in today. We’ll get out of your hair now, but I’ll shoot you an email with the updated spreadsheets later.”
“Yes.” Quinton’s deep voice comes out strong and confident—and very close. Whatever was going on with him a few seconds ago is in the past. “We appreciate your help.”
Then he mimics my goodbye and leans in, wrapping his long, strong arms around Jen. And poor Jen, who has been the epitome of professionalism, turns into a blushing, giggling disaster. “It’s been my pleasure,” she says once she’s gotten herself under control, aka when Quinton stops touching her.
Poor Jen.
I mean, I get it! Technically speaking, he is very handsome with his stupidly flawless skin, full lips that look both lusciously plump and firm, his hair that is long and unruly on top—like he’s begging you to dig your fingers into it—and the bone structure of a god that is highlighted with a perfectly maintained beard. And on top of all that, he just gave her this impassioned speech about all of the good he wants to do in the world. Who wouldn’t giggle? Maybe if she spent more time around him, she’d become immune to the charms that are few and far between when he’s around just me.
“Later!” I wave to Jen, who still looks a little light-headed as we turn to leave.
We push open the door and are met with the chaos of Downtown Denver on a weekend. Fall has just arrived, but it’s chilled the air just enough to make for a perfect Colorado day. The glare of the sun off the glass windows surrounding us reminds me that I have somehow managed to forget the sunglasses that I keep in my car and the ones I try to keep in my purse.
But even in the midst of crowds of people on their way to lunch and the women chatting on their phones with oversized bags slung over their shoulders, nothing can seem to distract from the awkwardness lingering between us. The noise around us is still not enough to break the uncomfortable silence and tension as we walk to the parking lot Jen told us to park in.
“That was a good speech.” Even though his head—and ego—is already inflated, I can’t help but say it.
“Oh yeah. That? Thanks.” His steps falter a bit.
Huh? Look at that. I guess me being nice to him is the one thing that can knock him off balance. I’ll have to remember that.
“Have you been practicing what you’re going to say at the launch?”
I wanted to prepare a speech for him, but he won’t let me. He’s okay with it for press conferences, but he wants what he says at the event to be all him. Which I get.
A thing I’ve learned about Quinton by observing him these last few weeks is that he’s quietly very smart and dedicated, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been practicing in front of mirrors. He’s always writing something down in his notebook or on his phone. He’s able to come to meetings in my office hours after the cars have left the player’s parking lot because he’s studying film. But when reporters talk to him and ask about something other than the stance he’s taking, he never really takes credit for what he does. When he throws a great pass? It was all the receiver for running a perfect route. No interceptions? The offensive line blocked for him all night.
It’s actually really admirable. But
