Chapter Eight
Jenson
The next morning, I sit in my new office in the athletic wing of the college and rub my eyes as I stare at the screen of my laptop. I’ve been here since before seven a.m., going over film of the team’s games from last year. I can’t get Olivia out of my head. Her curves, the way she melted into me last night. I’m lucky I’m sitting behind my desk because every time I think of her, I get hard. Being able to take our time like this is a luxury, but my dick doesn’t appreciate luxury. Or patience. My dick has a pretty one-track mind when it comes to Olivia, and that’s to see her again as soon as possible with even fewer clothes on than last night.
“Jenson.” Coach Hughes steps into the room. “You want to show me what you’ve found?”
“Sure.” I gesture him over. “I’ve been staring at this one game all morning.”
He looks at my screen.
“The Saints.” He shakes his head. “That game damn near ruined us. We lost two lineman to injury; our receivers couldn’t fucking catch shit; and I swear, the punter forgot how to kick the damn ball. We had three special teams mistakes in the first half alone.”
I know all of this, of course, but I let him vent.
Losing a football game, especially when you know you didn’t put your best foot forward, can be downright demoralizing. You only get one game a week to make those brutal practices count for something. There is no game in a day or two to get out your frustrations; there’s just five days of practice until the next weekend.
“So what do you think?” he says when he’s done rehashing. “We play the Saints first this season. Can we fix what went wrong, at least on the offensive side of the ball? I’ve got Tucker dealing with special teams, and Bill and I are working on the defense.”
I pull up the series I’ve been studying. “This play here—where the tight end goes on a slant route and the wide receiver goes deep—how about if we have the slot receiver curl back and the running back become the intended target? That way, the blind side is protected better, and the linemen don’t have to block for as long.”
Like I’m learning he likes to do, Coach Hughes repeats what I just said out loud. Then, he slaps my back.
“I like it. Let’s try it at practice.”
I stand up. “All right—I’m meeting some friends for lunch. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
* * *
“This coaching position sounds like a great fit,” Dylan says as I sit at the restaurant table with him and Brayden and they ask me about my new job.
“Yeah, it seems to be so far…holy shit!” I stare at Dylan’s left hand as he takes a sip of water. “You’re married.”
His smile is wide. “I am. To the most incredible woman in the world.”
Jasalie and Dylan met the night the California Cougars won the Super Bowl. Jasalie had walls Dylan wasn’t sure he’d ever get through, and vice versa. But they were so clearly meant for each other, and before long, they were inseparable. Now they’re husband and wife.
Dylan has been a star quarterback since he was drafted right out of college, but his fame skyrocketed exponentially once the Cougars won the Super Bowl in February, and he was named MVP of the game. The three of us wanted privacy, somewhere Dylan wouldn’t be asked for tons of pictures or autographs, so I reserved us a private room at Maria’s Café, the low-key Italian restaurant at the edge of town.
The table is large, plenty big enough for us. Dylan’s nearly six foot five and keeps his body in phenomenal shape. Brayden was Dylan’s receiver in high school, and he and I are both well over six feet. Between the three of us, we need a lot of leg room.
“You’re married? When the hell did that happen?” I ask him. We’d managed to order and chat for a good twenty minutes before I noticed Dylan’s ring.
Brayden chuckles. “He and Jasalie eloped right after our weekend in Maine. I didn’t know, either, not until he showed up in Montana in his private plane because he wouldn’t let me fly coach.”
Dylan’s dark eyes sparkle as I continue to stare at the thick platinum wedding band on his ring finger. “It’s real, Jenson.”
I go silent as flashbacks of my own brief marriage hit me unexpectedly.
Meghan’s eyes filled with doubt and fear as we exchanged vows.
My own churning stomach sent me a clear message to trust my gut and call the whole thing off. Of course, I didn’t listen.
And Olivia was sitting in the very back pew by herself. I saw her when I was standing at the altar while I was supposed to be watching Meghan walk down the aisle, but my gaze got caught up in the blue dress Olivia was wearing, and my eyes traveled up her body to her face, which was etched in pain. To someone other than me, she probably just looked preoccupied, but the haunting emptiness in her eyes and the set line of her mouth are two things I wish I could wipe from my memory.
When the short ceremony ended, I looked for her again, but she was gone.
The empty space at the back of the church felt like a match to my heart.
