“Beckett Myers.” He pauses, letting the name sink in, and I’m pleasantly surprised. “Current quarterback for the Colorado Cougars, known for his precision and record-breaking strike rate. He never misses his mark. It’s usually his teammates that fuck it up for him.”
Wes isn’t wrong. Myers is a great player. One of the best. He’s a solid choice. The only problem being that, despite his teammates letting him down, he’s been with the same team sincehe was drafted, and there has to be a reason for that. Loyalty, maybe?
“What makes you think he’s interested in a move?”
“His agent.”
A laugh escapes me and it’s echoed around the room, drawing my gaze back to Keeley. She brushes a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and I picture my fingers entwined in the waves, tugging her head back as I…Jesus.
“That’s a good place to start,” I rush out when the laughter dies down. “I’m guessing he’s a free agent?”
“He is. We’ve been told he wants to retire in a few years but that he’s hungry for a Super Bowl win. Desperate for it, in fact. And while we can’t guarantee that for him, our odds are higher than most. I’ve also heard through the grapevine that he’s not happy. Hunter, his agent, didn’t say that when we spoke, maybe to protect his reputation if he ends up staying with the Cougars. But a reliable source mentioned that he’s one person in the spotlight and another person entirely when he’s around his teammates in private. They’re not the bonded team they claim to be.”
“Okay. What does he want?”
“A three-year contract, and a guarantee that the team is out to win. Even if they don’t.”
“I meant money.”
“As crazy as it sounds, his agent alluded to the fact that money didn’t matter as much as his other requests.”
“Seems too good to be true.”
“Well…” Wes trails off, removing his glasses before eyeing me apologetically. “Our reputation isn’t exactly glowing right now, and Beckett, understandably, has reservations. He’s concerned about what he’d be walking into.”
Fuck. I love this team, but most of my time is spent cleaning up messes, with a majority of them caused by outside forces orstaff from the past, Landon’s death aside. “Let me talk to him. Can you send me his agent’s details? Maybe give him a heads-up that I’ll be in touch?”
“I sure can.”
“And if that fails… Are you telling me we don’t have a backup other than our current backup who isn’t ready to be a starter and our draft pick?”
Wes falls awkwardly silent and I have my answer.We’d have to secure two quarterbacks in the draft.
Keeley smiles from across the table, and I raise a brow in question, my eyes betraying me as they drop to her lips. “What Wes’s silence is saying is… don’t fail and all will be fine.”
A laugh bursts out of me as I shake my head. “Thanks, Keeley. I’ll do my best.”
“You’ve got this. And if not, I know a wide receiver who I could bully into giving it a go. And you know Easton. He’d love it.”
She’s joking, of course, but I appreciate the humor. We have to stay positive. Beckett’s our man. And we’re going to secure him.
After another fifty minutes of the team running through realistic ideas in case my talk with Beckett doesn’t go well, we end the meeting no better off than we started. When it comes down to it, Myers is the best fit, and until we know for sure what he’s thinking, we’re stuck in limbo.
Keeley’s caught in another conversation when we leave, so I wait for her in the hallway closer to her office, reading throughthe millions of emails I’ve received in the hour I’ve been away from my phone. Or, at least, trying to read them.
I’m distracted.
Despite managing to hold very official discussions, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Keeley’s goddamn hair since she walked into the conference room. And I can’t for the life of me figure out why. It’s a haircut. It’s not a big deal.
She turns the corner, and the second she smiles I’m taken back to our kiss. It’s been months, and yet I’m always taken back to that goddamn kiss, which is really fucking inconvenient.
“Are you waiting for me?” she asks when she spots me, tucking her new hair behind her ears, drawing my attention to it.
“Why the change?” I blurt, launching right into it, making her laugh.
“Are you saying you don’t like it?”
“Did I say that?”
