I wasn’t stalking them. My body woke me up this morning at the usual time without an alarm, even though my brainknew Chelsea wasn’t mine any longer. Since I was up anyway, I threw on my workout gear in a huff and headed to the big gym on the first floor of the training complex, figuring I’d get in a good workout on my own before this morning’s all-important scrimmage.
Unfortunately, the practice field is briefly visible from one spot on the path to gym, albeit from a far distance, so I would have had to consciously avert my eyes not to see Chelsea and Moriarty together: the team’s golden boy and my coach, my mathlete, my girl. Not gonna lie, when I saw Chelsea working Moriarty instead of me on a sled this morning, I didn’t take it well. I felt powerless in that moment. Neutered. Discarded. Like a total loser. Rationally, I knew Chelsea didn’t have a choice in the matter. I understood that. But irrationally, I felt rejected and indignant. Angry and passed over. Not necessarily by Chelsea, but by the Mastodons. By football itself. By life in general.
It seems those teammates I entered the field with are going to continue interacting with fans at the security barriers for a while, so I move through a bunch of players stretching and warming up and find my own quiet spot on the field to do the same. Man, I wish Calhoun were here. If he were, he’d say something to make me smile, if only briefly.
Keeping my eyes to myself, since I don’t feel like talking or joking around with anyone and my best friend on the team is gone, I get down on the ground in my chosen spot and begin stretching my hammies. A moment later, Chelsea appears, her head blocking the sun and casting a much-welcomed shadow over my face as she peers down at me.
“Fill those gaps,” she whispers urgently. It’s so Chelsea of her. No greeting. Just straight to business.
“Good morning to you, too.”Shit.After what happened between us in my hotel room, I knew it’d be tough to be nearChelsea again and not get to touch her and kiss her again like last night. I knew the second she left my room I’d officially become an addict, with Chelsea Parker being my drug. But I convinced myself I could handle things without my blood pressure spiking and my heart exploding in her presence, because I’m a fucking professional. Apparently not.
“If a running back breaks through,” Chelsea says, “I want you to tackle him like he keeps calling your momma a two-bit whore.”
Man, after what got interrupted last night, I want Chelsea like I’ve never wanted anyone before.I crave her.In fact, if someone told me I could drag this woman away right now and fuck her somewhere inside the complex if only I’d murder another human being of my choosing, I’d snuff the life out of Jacob Moriarty without a moment’s hesitation. In fact, I’d consider it a happy twofer, since it would conveniently open up another roster spot for my position.
“Where’s Moriarty?” I ask Chelsea, interrupting the rambling coaching instructions she’s currently giving me. “Is he too busy cashing his first fat check to show up to practice like the rest of us peasants?”
“He’s finishing up a photo shoot in the media room. They’re putting out a big press release today.”
“Did you have your first one-on-one with him this morning?” There’s no good reason for her to know I saw them together during our usual time slot. She’d only think I was stalking her, which isn’t true. I don’t think. Not entirely, anyway.
Chelsea nods. “Yeah.”
“And? How’d it go?”
“There’s not much to report. Not that I’d tell you if there were. Worry about yourself, Ninety-Five.”
I frown. “Are you going to make Moriarty a fancy spreadsheet and personalized playbook, like you did for me?”
Chelsea exhales. “I’m going to do everything in my power to be the best coach possible to the player assigned to me. It wasn’t my choice to work with Moriarty, Luca. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Could have fooled me.” She runs a palm over her face, looking distressed and sleep deprived. “Now, stop thinking about him and get your mind right. Don’t read the screen late like you did yesterday, okay? Get right in there, and—”
“I don’t need or want your coaching anymore, Chelsea. I’ve got this, so you can run along and make all your dreams come true with Moriarty and forget I ever existed.”
She pulls a face. “Why are you being a dick?”
That’s a great question.Why am I being a dick?Rather than antagonizing her, I should be telling her about how I stayed up late watching film and studying my playbook, in between jerking off to fantasies fueled by everything that happened in my hotel room last night before Raul showed up.
My God, the sight of Chelsea’s glorious tits in that bra did crazy things to me. And when she straddled me and kissed me like a doomed plane passenger reaching for a fallen oxygen mask, forget about it. I lost my damned mind. On top of all that, I genuinely want her to succeed and make her dreams come true, even if she’s got to use Moriarty to get the job done. I genuinely want that for her. So, why am I acting like a kid pulling pigtails on the playground right now?
“Just giving you a hard time,” I mumble.
“Well, don’t.”
“I’m just trying to release you from feeling obligated to help me. I’m not your problem anymore, Chelsea. Raul’s got me.”
Chelsea looks indignant. “I don’t feelobligatedto help you, Luca. I want to. You’re not my problem; you’re my …”
I wait, and when she doesn’t finish the sentence, I scoff and say, “Yeah, exactly. There’s no word for what I am to you now. Which means I’m just in the way.”
“Goddammit, Luca.”
“Would you just go, Chelsea? Please. Look over your notes for Moriarty or whatever. I really can’t do this.”
“Dowhat?” When I don’t reply, her jaw tightens. “This is exactly why you’ve flamed out at all your past teams.”
