“You. Dominique Price. The team needs you. Not Deacon Hunt. Where the hell is your head at?”
Fuck if I know. Leaving the weights where they are, I turn around and stalk off in the direction of the locker rooms, but of course Roman follows. Like a dog with a bone, that asshole never leaves well enough alone.
Stripping my shirt over my head, I turn and head for the showers, turning the water to cold. It’s my third one of the day, but fuck if I care. Dropping the rest of my clothes, I step under the spray, hissing as the cold water sends needles of ice into my skin.
I make quick work of rinsing the sweat from my body despite the temptation to drag it out. A quick glance in Roman’s direction shows he’s got no problem waiting. A little nudity doesn’t bother him.
Turning the water off, I grab one of the hanging towels and wrap it around my waist. I keep a few extra changes of clothes at the gym and head for my locker to retrieve one of them. Roman stays a few steps behind me like a wraith, forcing me to acknowledge his presence.
“My shoulder is better.” Something he’s aware of given he practices with me more days than not. “Stop with the hovering.”
“Your shoulder is only fine because you’ve been taking it easy and using your other arm during practice, but with the weights you were lifting, it’s almost like you want to re-injure your shoulder. Why?”
Shaking the water from my hair, I throw on my clothes, chewing over my response. “They were well under my max.” It’s not a lie.
“And well over the weight restriction the team doctor put you on.” Also not a lie. “You’ve been careful for weeks. What the hell happened to make you suddenly lose so many brain cells you’d risk injury all over again? Are you trying to fuck what’s left of our season?”
My jaw clenches and I hang my head, hearing the disappointment in his voice.
“No.” I slam my locker shut and press my forehead against it. “I’m not looking to fuck up our season, okay? I just needed to blow off some steam.”
“Why?” His expression is tight as he looks me over. He leans against the lockers, crossing his arms over his chest.
I want to tell him everything that’s going on. The shit with Aaron. How I’ve been sleeping with Kasey. Everything. But none of it is my shit to tell, so instead of responding, I mirror his stance, folding my own arms over my chest.
“For once, Rome, can you let this one go?”
He gives me a look. One that gives me a loud and clearnoin answer.
“Does this—“
“Price, you’re here?” Coach walks in, drawing both our attention. “Good,” he continues as though I responded. “I need a word.” He flicks his head toward Roman. “Valdez,” he greets.
Roman nods.
Coach turns his attention back to me, dismissing Roman from the conversation. “In private,” he adds and then stalks off to the office he keeps in the back.
Exhaling a breath of relief, I follow him. With any luck, Roman will be gone by the time Coach finishes filling me in on whatever it is that's on his mind.
Coach takes a seat behind his desk while I move in to claim one of the two positioned on the opposite side from him. Tugging back the worn fabric covered chair, I sink onto the nearly nonexistent cushion and lean forward, threading my fingers together and resting my elbows on my knees.
Coach cuts right to the chase. “I got a call early this morning.” He gives me a knowing look like I should know what the call was about, only I haven’t got a clue as to what he’s talking about. When it becomes obvious that I’m in the dark here, he leans back in his seat and gives me an assessing look.
“An agent for the Richland Royals reached out to me.” An agent for the—no shit! It takes several beats for his words to hit me. “He wants to set up a meeting between you and Andres DeAnde.”
If I hadn’t grown up with nannies and tutors who constantly preached the laws of etiquette while growing up, my jaw would be open and on the floor. But regardless of my upbringing, I’m struggling to maintain my composure. To hold onto my usual mask of indifference. This is big. And completely out of left field.
“What does the owner of the Richland Royals want with me?” I’ve never met the guy. Not that I’m suggesting I should have.
DeAnde is an NFL team owner and I’m a college quarterback so far beneath him, it is shocking to know I’ve somehow caught his attention. If it wasn’t for the football connection, I’d assume his interest had something to do with my parents. Richard and Sheridan Price have made it a habit to meddle in my life whenever it suits them. Scheduling interviews with tech executives, arranging dates with women they deemed suitable for marriage. It’s never ending with the two of them.
But the one thing in my life my parents have never had an interest in, is football. There’s no reason for them to call in any favors now. Not when they’re the ones who’ve vehemently forbidden me from playing pro after graduation and going all the way.
“Good. You know who he is. Means you understand the seriousness of this.” Coach leans forward in his seat and steeples his fingers on top of the desk. “I have no idea what he wants from you. And before you say what I think you’re about to, give this opportunity some thought. You don’t have to give me an answer right now, but I’m willing to hear one if—“
He holds up a finger when I open my mouth to respond, and I bite back my words, snapping my mouth shut to wait until he’s finished.
“I’m willing to hear your answer now if and only if the answer you give me is a yes. If you want to say anything besides that, I want you to sleep on it and come back to my office tomorrow.”
