I end the call and slide onto a stool at my kitchen island. Hire a PR, get a girlfriend… what if I can get both?
* * *
The next morning, I’m on the field watching the boys run laps around the field while I drink a cup of coffee. This is definitely the better side to be on when the laps, sprints and mad dashes come out. I laugh to myself when I think back to when Adam and I were running this same field all those years ago… staying out the night before drinking with the cheerleaders in the abandoned parking lot just outside of town, then having to be on the field at six-thirty in the morning, begging for anyone to put us out of our misery. Coach knew exactly where we had been the night before and used that information to torture us. Adam learned, but I didn’t, and repeated that same scenario a few too many times in college. I’m amazed they still drafted me.
Another runner catches my eye, though. Over on the track, which circles our football field, I see a woman running laps as well.
Francesca.
I’d know her anywhere now that I’ve gotten a look at her again. She’s not the 15-year-old I left behind when Adam and I went to college. Her long legs are toned, showcased in purple short shorts, and that ass is round and firm. I can tell from here. And that ponytail again. Fuck, what is it about seeing her ponytail swing back and forth? I imagine it would swing the same way as she bobbed up and down on me. That long hair wrapped around my palm. As she gets closer to us as she circles the track, I have to adjust myself in my shorts while my two assistant coaches yell at the boys to huddle up.
“Coach?”
I’m snapped away from my gawking. Clearing my throat, I toss my coffee into the receptacle and squeeze the back of my neck with one hand and clench the other into a fist, trying to get myselfunder control. What is it with this girl? I tamp down how turned on she’s gotten me, then I spin to address the team.
MY team.
“Fellas! You’re looking a little slow out there this morning. Too much partying? Do I need to drive around town to make sure you’re all tucked in your beds by ten o’clock each night?”
The boys laugh amongst themselves.Connor, my wide receiver, pipes up. “There’s only one of us you need to check on, Coach.” He elbows his best friend, my first-string quarterback, Jameson. My eyes trail to Jameson as the rest of the team ‘oohs’ at him, and he drops his eyes as his cheeks redden. I laugh to myself because this sounds just like Adam and me all those years ago. If it was going to jeopardize my game, he would out me. Not to be a dick, but because he cared. And he wanted me to be the best.
“Oh? And why do I need to check on you, Jay?” I question as I cross my arms over my chest, watching him squirm and elbow Connor back. Connor speaks for him.
“Because he was out late with Layla last night. Like he is most nights.” The boys bark and start pushing each other around. Real classy, but again, it’s like I’m watching myself all those years ago. Teen boys don’t change, only the decade they live in does.
“Cheerleader Layla, right?” I eye him, knowing exactly who Layla is.These two are town sweethearts. However, Jameson is going places. I know Layla will support him. I hope she will anyway, but I don’t want their relationship to be a deterrent to him getting on with his life. Plus, they’re young. Too young to be making permanent decisions, even if by mistake.
The team makes little rumbling comments. I’m picking up a word or two, but they keep it respectful. They won’t dare piss off their quarterback.
“You did it Coach! You were out partying every night and you were still drafted first! An hour past curfew will not break me,” Jameson replies.
And there it is. There’s the terrible reputation that colleges don’t want me putting on their kids. The same kids who saw me and think they can pull the same antics and have the same turnout.
A flash of purple catches my eye as I see Chess approaching our huddle as she circles the track again.
“Yes, I did party. And yes, I was drafted first. But maybe if I spent more time in the weight room or training room or in my own bed,alone,” I emphasize the word, “I’d still be in the NFL, instead of here with you jack assess!” The boys laugh and I turn just in time to see Chess snicker to herself as she passes us, my eyes trailing her ass as she does.
Dylan jumps in next. “But that’s the perk of making it big! Getting all the chicks!” He does some sort of pelvic thrust, and I groan and roll my eyes.
I clap my hands before this gets out of control. “Alright, get in your lines. Let’s run that play we were working on yesterday and fine tune it.” I blow my whistle and the team breaks. I make a mental note to speak with Jameson alone. I need to make sure he isn’t getting sidetracked. Maybe with the rest of the team too, clear up some misconceptions of what they think making it big really means.
My other coaches walk through the play with the team, and I wait for Chess to come around again. As she gets closer, I walk towards her. She’s eyeing me and slows down.
“That was some pep talk you gave those boys,” she smiles.
God, how can I earn more of those smiles?
“I have the gift of gab. What can I say?” I wink at her. She stutters a step slightly, then tries to pick it up and keep passing me, but I reach out for her arm. “Wait, I want to ask you something, Chess.” She slows again, eyeing me with concern. Damn, what the hell happened to her? She never used to be this wary around me. “I could use your help,” I say.
She pauses and when I say nothing more, she says, “Help. With what exactly?”
“Can we meet at the diner after this? Catch up a little?”
“Jackson, what do you need? I need to help my mom get started with this festival.”
“Oh! You’re meeting with her today? I’ll come with you since I’m supposed to be involved and all.”
Please let me tag along.
