“So, have you spoken to Levi and Marco about their camps yet?” Luca asks, pissing me off by launching into yet another new topic of conversation. Seriously? Doesn’t he realize it’s time to go?
Roman starts answering the question, but I can’t take it anymore.
After marching over to Luca’s broad shoulder, I tap on it furiously and bark out, “Time to go to the all-team, Maguire.”
“Is that Chelsea?” Satan asks, and my heart explodes at thesound of my name coming out of his world-famous mouth. I’ve met lots of football players in my life, thanks to my father and brothers. Some of them extremely high-profile. But never have I met anyone as famous—and, yes, handsome—as the man on Luca’s phone screen right now.
“The one and only,” Luca replies proudly. “Say hi to Satan, Chelsea.” He snickers. “That’s what she calls you, Roman.”
“Love it. Thanks.”
What’s happening? Luca’s told his brother about me? What did he say?
“Whip Luca into shape for our whole family, Chelsea,” Roman says playfully. “God knows we haven’t been able to do it ourselves.”
My stomach tightens as I realize I’m smiling involuntarily at Roman Maguire.
“I’ll do my best,” I choke out. “But he’s awfully stubborn.”
“As stubborn as they come,” Roman agrees.
“Ha!” Luca booms. “If you two want to see stubborn, just look in the mirror at yourselves.”
“Guilty as charged,” Roman says. “How about you, Chelsea?”
What the fuck is happening?I came over here to drag Luca away, and now I’m amiably chatting with my hometown’s nemesis and joking about our mutual stubbornness? My brothers would literally murder me if they knew.
“Yeah, guilty as charged, too,” I manage to say. “Listen, Satan. Your brother’s got to hang up now. Surprise, surprise, he’s running late for an all-team session with the big guy.”
Roman scoffs. “Good luck getting that guy anywhere on time, Chelsea. Luca’s always late for everything. Even when he was born, he came out bizarrely later than his twin brother. Turns out, he was just hanging out in our mother’s womb, taking a Zen little snooze.”
For some reason, my brain hurtles back to Bloomington.Specifically, to Luca standing in that hotel lobby with a bag full of melted ice cream. Based on the state of those two soupy pints, he wasn’t late for our date back then. In fact, I’d guess he was more than a little bit early. Why does it give me a shiver of delight to find out that wasn’t standard practice for him?
“Thanks for the intel,” I reply smoothly. “I’ll keep that in mind going forward.” When Roman smiles at me in response, a wave of acute guilt washes over me. One that prompts me to quickly add, “Hey, Number Ten, I feel like I’d be betraying my people if I didn’t say something to you, now that I’ve got the chance: ‘Fuck you, Roman Maguire.’ I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from.”
Roman hoots and guffaws. “Of course I do. I’d say the same thing to me in your shoes.” He cackles heartily again, which kind of embarrasses me, actually, since it only proves what Luca said earlier: The winner in a rivalry isn’t nearly as gassed up about it as the loser.Damn.
“Bye, Chelsea,” Roman finally says after composing himself. “You’re everything Luca described and more. Love you, Lukie. Bust your ass, kid. Show ’em what you’re made of and make the family—and yourself—proud.”
CHAPTER 13
Chelsea
CLAPS AND CHEERSring out across the auditorium. That’s not a surprise. Dad’s always been exceptionally talented at inspiring his players and coaching staff. Here with the Mastodons, as he stands onstage down below the crowd, is no exception.
I look at Luca sitting next to me, and I’m thrilled to discover he’s clapping along with everyone else, and just as effusively. I’m not sure if Luca’s actually buying the motivational words my father’s selling or if he’s simply joining in to avoid looking like an asshole. But either way, I’m happy to see he’s not zoned out and daydreaming like earlier today during our film review session.
“Okay, let’s move on to some team bonding to wrap things up on a high note,” Dad says with a glint in his blue eyes. “I’m in the mood for a song or two. How about you?”
A huge round of applause erupts, since everyone knows what he’s alluding to. Thanks to my brothers, not to mention my all-time favorite TV show about the behind-the-scenes inner workings of the NFL, I’m well aware it’s a longstanding tradition in this league, no matter the team, for rookies to be called upon during training camp to sing an acapella song for the amusement of their teammates and coaching staff. If arookie bombs, the whole room will loudly let him know that in no uncertain terms. Heckling is encouraged, in fact.
But if the guy manages to impress or at least thoroughly entertain, irrespective of singing talent, the audience will also let him know that in spades, too. Either way, there’s not a rookie alive who finishes singing at training camp and doesn’t know exactly how his performance went down, which in turn gives him an idea of where he stands socially, too.
“I know it’s typically only rookies who sing at training camp,” Dad says into the podium microphone, his low grumble of a voice cutting through the excited din in the auditorium. “But since I’m the guy who gets to make the rules, I’ve decided to kick things off with a non-rookie—a fourth-year journeyman who’s a newbie to the Mastodons organization.”
Every eyeball in the joint instantly shifts to Luca. Who else could Coach be talking about after that stunt Luca pulled on the uprights yesterday?
With a laugh, Dad continues, “The player I’ve got in mind has made it abundantly clear he loves being in the spotlight. A little too much, if you ask me. So, I’m thinking this is the perfect opportunity for him to show off not only his big personality, but some leadership skills, too.”
