This time, it paid off. We won the game. No point sweating what-ifs. But I can’t say that to Coop. It wouldn’t be very captainly and I sure as shit wouldn’t accept that answer from one of my guys.
“Duly noted.”
He just nods, and I head for the shower. Clock’s ticking, and Coach won’t tolerate lateness. Especially from me.
I make it to his office without a minute to spare. He’s sitting behind his desk, flipping through the grade book. I didn’t do as well as I should have on my midterms, but my grades are decent. Doesn’t stop a sheen of sweat from rising on my forehead.
“Coach.”
He closes the grade book and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and giving nothing away. I wait him out. If one of my guys is about to get benched for grades, I’ll know it soon enough.
“I’ve been getting a lot of calls from scouts this week. You played a hell of a game against Ohio.” He pauses. “There are a lot of guys who want to come out and see you play. Including Chicago.”
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.”
36
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 wordhandsome. 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 thewholetime.”
