“Thanks, Dad.”
My old man snorts. “I don’t want to hear it. In my day we didn’t get to enjoy spring break in Cabo before the draft. You should be plenty relaxed.”
If he only knew. Kennedy and I spent most of the trip naked.
She must be thinking the same thing because there’s a flush in her cheeks. From embarrassment or arousal, I can’t tell. Then her foot finds mine under the table, and I’m certain it’s the latter.
God, I love this woman. The last five months have been incredible and if I have my way, it’s just the beginning. We haven’t talked much about what we’re going to do after graduation in May. There’s too much uncertainty for both of us. I have a decent idea of my top draft prospects, but there wasn’t much point making plans until we know for certain. Kennedy’s had a number of interviews, including a second interview with Gamut last week, but she’s still waiting to hear back.
“Here we go,” Dad says. We all sit up straighter and turn our attention to the screen where the NFL commissioner has taken the stage. I barely hear a word he says before the clock starts running on Cleveland. They’ve got a decent QB, but you never know what might happen in the draft. After weeks of mock drafts and pre-draft visits, I’m as uncertain as ever. This moment is the culmination of my life’s work. All the practices, the bowl games, the championship run. It’s all brought me here, to this moment.
Now it’s up to the football gods to decide where I go next.
My father’s been true to his word, remaining hands-off in the pre-draft maneuvering. In the months since my eligibility expired, I’ve visited Cleveland, New York, and Chicago, all teams with early draft picks. Any one of them could call my name. And I haven’t counted Pittsburgh out. They could be trading picks even now. But no matter which team calls my number, I know it’ll be okay because I’ve got all the love and support I need right here at this table.
It doesn’t take Cleveland long to decide and relief surges through me when they select a running back from USC.
Then New York is on the clock. I grip Kennedy’s hand so tight her eyes go wide and she lets out a tiny squeak. “Sorry.”
I try to pull my hand away, but she holds on. I appreciate that she doesn’t tell me to relax or have faith or trust the process. It’s impossible at this point. My old man wasn’t kidding. The process is brutal. Every second feels like a minute. Every minute like an hour.
My father eyes the phone on the table. “Quiet phone’s a good sign. They usually call before officially announcing the pick,” he explains to Kennedy. “But not always.”
Not always.
The commissioner leans toward the mic. My heart’s thundering so loud I barely hear the words coming out of his mouth. “With the second pick of this year’s NFL Draft, New York selects D’Andre Wilson, University of Georgia.”
My dad claps me on the back, and Kennedy’s smile is so wide I can see all her teeth. To the casual observer, it probably looks like they’re trying to keep my spirits up. After all, most people expected me to be the number one pick. But this scenario might work out even better.
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Chicago’s on the clock. Like my dad, my eyes are glued to the phone on the table. I silently will it to ring. Each passing second feels like an eternity and when the commissioner returns to the mic, my confidence falters.
“With the third pick of this year’s NFL Draft, Chicago selects Austin Reid, Quarterback, Waverly University.”
I fly out of my chair, forgetting to maintain decorum, and sling my arms around my father. “Congratulations, son. I’m proud of you and I know your mother would be too.”
Pride surges in my chest because I know he means every word. “Thanks, Dad.”
When I turn to Kennedy, I figure the hell with decorum and kiss her on the lips. The little vixen slips me the tongue. Oh yeah, she’s definitely turned on. I hold her tight and whisper, “I love you.”
“I love you too, babe. I’m so proud of you for staying true to yourself. Now get on up there and get your jersey.” When I turn to go, she slaps me on the ass for good measure.
I can’t believe I’m going to Chicago. It’s a dream come true. One of the attendants hands me a Chicago hat. I pull it on as I climb the steps to the stage. The lights are bright and the bill does little to cut down the blinding glare, but nothing can bring me down right now. I stride toward the commissioner as he extends his hand to me. I give it a few good pumps, and we pose for pictures with my new Chicago jersey.
Lucky number seven.
But is it lucky enough convince Kennedy to come to Chicago with me?
* * *
KENNEDY
My feet are screamingfor relief so I kick off my heels the moment we’re alone in the hotel room. I knew there would be lots of celebrating after the draft, but I didn’t realize quite how intense it would be. I guess I’ll have to get used to schmoozing,erm, socializing, but if it’s the price I have to pay for loving Austin, so be it.
It doesn’t hurt that he looks like a wet dream in his crisp black suit.
He flips on the bedside lamp and strips off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. The suite is a little extravagant for my taste, but I’m slowly getting used to Austin’s world. Plus, even I have to admit the soaking tub is divine.
Someday I’m going to have one just like it.
