Chicago.
My pulse quickens. I have a million questions, but I do my best to remain impassive. No sense getting myself or Coach excited.
Coach grunts. “Lot of guys in this senior class getting looks, so I’m going to open practice the week of the Michigan game.”
I should’ve seen this coming. It’s the same week Hart’s coming out. Sounds like it’s going to be a full house. Did my old man already talk to Coach about my prospects? If he has, Coach hasn’t mentioned it, but I doubt he would. The man’s a closed book when he’s not busting my balls.
“Have you given any additional thought to what we talked about?” he asks.
He’s referring to Chicago, to blazing my own trail and finding a team that’s a good fit for my style and skill. I play dumb. “Sir?”
Coach shakes his head. He’s not buying. No surprise there. I’ve always been shit at lying, especially when it comes to authority figures. “Son, I think you need to be a realist here. Based on their current rank, Chicago could very well have the number one draft pick and they’re in desperate need of a QB to build the program. I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t think your name was on the short list. Hell, the scout said as much.”
I shrug, reaching for indifference. “No sense wasting his time or mine. I told you, Coach. It’s not in the cards.”
“Be that as it may, it wouldn’t hurt to show them what you can do. Let them know you’re open to a conversation at the NFL Combine in the spring.” He pauses, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the cluttered desk. “I’m also going to schedule an optional practice for Sunday. Mainly drills. It’ll be a good opportunity for some of the juniors and seniors who don’t get as much press to showcase their skills. I’d like you to consider attending.”
He doesn’t have to say the Chicago scout will be there. It’s implied. Coach has to walk a fine line, remaining impartial while also advising players he’s coached for years, many of whom have nowhere else to turn for career advice and view him as a father figure.
The hard-ass kind that doesn’t take any lip or no for an answer.
If Coach can sense how bad I want to meet with Chicago, he doesn’t let on. And neither can I. My old man would flip the fuck out if he knew I expressed interest in a team other than Pittsburgh. Which is why there’s no point shining Chicago—or myself—on.
It’ll just make it harder when the Steel City calls my name in April.
Hell, the sooner I accept the path that’s been laid out for me—the one I’ve chosen—the easier all of this will be. I start making noise, things could go sideways and the next thing you know my old man’s telling the owners I’ll sit out a year before I play for the wrong team. Not exactly how I want to start my career in the NFL.
“What do you say?” Coach asks, rubbing his chin. “Can I count on you for Sunday? If I tell the scouts you’re participating, it could help some of the other guys get a look.”
Shrewd bastard. He thinks I won’t say no if it’s for the benefit of the team. “I’ll think about it.”
Kennedy
“We should do that again.” I curl into Austin, shamelessly rubbing against him so I can soak up his body heat. We’re tangled in the sheets, my head resting on his chest, and despite the workout he just gave me, I’m freezing. Probably because Becca and I agreed not to turn the heat on before November. We’re holding out to keep the electricity bill down, but it’s just as well because having Austin around is like having my own personal heater. The man is always hot, not just when we’re burning up the sheets. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s one of those dudes who wears shorts all winter.
Austin chuckles, his warm breath rustling the hair on the top of my head. “Give me twenty, and I’ll give you a repeat performance.”
“And you call yourself an athlete.” I scoff and poke him in the ribs, tilting my chin to look up at him. With a strong jaw and eyes like Caribbean waters, he really is beautiful. Although I suspect he’d prefer the word handsome. Too bad. My brain, my label. “Aren’t you guys supposed to have stamina?”
He gives me a lazy grin, revealing the sexy little dimple that melts my marshmallow heart. “You do know I played three hours and twenty-six minutes of Big Ten football today, right?”
I snort-laugh and clamp a hand over my mouth. “You didn’t play the whole time.”
“You want to see stamina?” A mischievous grin spreads over his face, and I know I’m in trouble. “I’ll show you stamina.” I roll out of his arms, but it’s a half-hearted escape attempt. He’s too fast, and let’s be honest, I kind of want to be caught.
He grabs me around the waist and turns me over, pinning me to the bed, his muscular thighs straddling my hips. The view’s not half bad, so I don’t resist when he raises my arms over my head, binding my wrists together with one hand. If he wants to prove he’s got stamina, who am I to argue, especially when it involves orgasms?
Austin leans forward, lowering his soft lips to mine. The scruff on his chin scratches my face in the best way as he parts my lips with his tongue and plunders my mouth like a pirate in search of booty.
Pirate? Booty?
I giggle. Might be time to lay off the pirate romance novels.
Austin pulls back. “Oh, that’s funny, is it?” He caresses my side with his free hand, his touch sending a shiver up my spine as visions of orgasms dance in my head. Unfortunately, he’s got something else in mind and my fantasy grinds to a halt when he starts
