“Yeah, Grant. What we’re seeing is an organization struggling to fit a square peg into a circular hole. It hasn’t exactly been working the way the fans would want. With the addition of Cooper Callahan being brought on as a coach for the rookie quarterback, I’m eager to see how that changes the conversation for this team going forward.”
“Fascinating development by the way. Who would have thought he’d return to the field so soon after retiring? It kind of gives fans hope?—”
A knock on the door stole Nico’s attention and he found himself opening it too fast, as if he were there waiting the whole time and hadn’t immediately sprinted across the room.
Cooper stood in the hallway with one hand shoveled into a deep pocket of white and red athletic shorts. Calm and collected.
“Everyone in this city drives like their foot is glued to the pedal. Not you, though.” Nico wagged a finger at Cooper with a smile. “Cutting it awfully close to missing kickoff.”
“Blame it on my driver.” Cooper glanced down and then looked back at Nico. “I don’t drive.”
“I guess we’re even, now,” Nico said, welcoming Cooper inside with a flick of his hand.
“Specify, please.”
“I was late yesterday and you’re late now, which means we’re squared away.”
“Not quite.” Cooper raised his wrist to check the timeon his smart watch. “By my calculations, you’re still running a fifty-two-minute time deficit.”
Nico pointed to the island that served as a barrier between the kitchen and the living room. On the top of it was a spread of cheese, crackers, and a tin bucket filled with ice and a few different brands of beer. “Do you want a beer?”
“That was the agreement, right?” Cooper stepped past him and hung his backpack off the back of a chair lined up against the island. He searched through the available options, grabbed a Modelo and twisted the cap off. “We have a couple drinks and watch the game.”
“Don’t forget the part where you point out all the mistakes I’d be making if I were the one playing the game.”
“That’s the real reason I’m here.” Cooper’s gaze held firm over the top of the bottle as he took a sip of beer. “To watch you squirm.”
“The Cobras won the coin toss and have opted to defer taking the ball till the second half,” Cedric Pearson announced.
Nico and Cooper landed on opposite sides of the short couch as the Portland offense took the field. It was a quick three-and-out and with thirteen minutes left in the first quarter, Jensen Fuller led the Cobra offense onto the field.
Nico watched as Cooper straightened himself, zeroing in on the game. But Nico wasn’t as interested in the game as he should have been. He was much more interested in studying his coach, taking note of the way his blue eyes seemed to brighten just a little. Noticed the way his hand always found its way to his face—brushing across his lips and scratching at the side of his nose. He was always inmotion. Restless. When his hand wasn’t occupied with caressing his own face, it was palming the neck of the bottle of beer.
Nico turned back to the TV just in time to see Fuller miss the throw on third down, and watched as the punting unit rushed onto the field with ten minutes left in the quarter.
It was going to be one ofthoseboring games and Nico was simultaneously relieved he was not there while swearing it’d be different if he were.
Close to the end of the second quarter, neither team had scored.
“We’re almost at half-time and you haven’t told me how bad I am at playing football yet.” Nico took a long chug. It was his third beer and he was feeling slightly more brave than before, but still not quite brave enough to… What exactly was he trying to do again? “Are you okay?”
“The only thing you’re going to learn from this game is that there should be mandatory retirement once a player reaches a certain age,” Cooper said, still nursing his first beer.
“Surely, there must be something you can teach me.”
“Just remember that you asked for this.” Cooper set his beer on an end table and rifled through his backpack, grabbed his tablet, and sat back down on the couch. Not in the space he was occupying before, but rather the middle seat right next to Nico. He swiped through the tablet and took control of the TV, casting footage from Nico’s lastgame onto the big screen. “Give me a minute to find what I’m looking for.”
“The anticipation is killing me,” Nico said deadpan.
Nico watched as Cooper zipped through the footage, went too far, rewound, and hit play just about thirty seconds before the concussion.
“Come on,” Nico pleaded. “Haven’t we run this humiliation ritual into the ground already?”
“Relax,” Cooper said. “I found something new to poke and prod you about.”
Nico peeled his gaze to Cooper, sitting so close to him. Cooper cocked his gaze to the side, meeting Nico’s, pressed a strong finger against his cheek and forced him to look at the TV.
“Watch it closely,” Cooper whispered. “Tell me what you see.”
