Page 24 of Hard to Score

He sighs when I don’t bite. “Brexton. It was Brexton Kincade.”

And with that name, he has my complete attention. The damn woman has owned my thoughts. Because of her insistent praise of my skills? Because she opened my eyes to my discontentment?

No. It’s more than that.

If I’m honest with myself, it’s because she’s gotten to me.

I miss the smell of a real grass field just after it’s been mowed, and knowing I was part of a team.

She’s right. Fuck is she right.

Of course, I get to smell the real grass, but only from the sidelines. Only with a clean uniform. I’ve forgotten what it feels like when an offensive line is charging at you, competing to take you down and dirty so their team has a better chance at winning.

But you’re a competitor and competitors like to compete.

Her opinions, her comments, they just keep circling in the background, just keep taunting me in the best of ways. In the worst of ways.

Brex and I have history, we connect even now, but I can do nothing about it, about her, other than defend her out of professional courtesy from a douchebag like Hobbs.

“She’s a sport’s agent trying to win you over. I doubt she wants your jock, Hobbs. I hate to break it to you, but I assure you all females aren’t dying to be with you. She’s simply trying to do her job.”

He emits a suggestive chuckle. “Yeah, her job is to do me.”

I grit my teeth. Fucking prick needs to be taught some manners about how women weren’t put on earth to bow down to him.

That and the fact that I might feel slightly jealous when it comes to how much attention he’s been paying her.

Ridiculous but still true nonetheless.

“Real classy.”

“Can you blame me? Who would pass up a chance at having that banging body and burying your face between those thighs?”

“Cut the shit, Justin,” I say and take a step forward. He always takes it too far. “We can all agree that she’s hot, but don’t be a dick. She’s doing her job and doesn’t deserve to be subjected to assholes like you.”

He nods, and I wait for him to come back at me but he doesn’t. Rather he hangs his head back and blows out a long breath. “Fucking Finn.”

“Sanderson?” I ask referring to his agent.

“Yep.” He meets my eyes and lowers his voice. “No offense to the NYC.”

The NYC? Only douchebags say shit like that.

“But Finn would love for me to stay here forever, man, but it’s not my vibe. I could use some Cali sun and those gorgeous women. Big tits. Tiny waists.”

“Good personality. Good morals. Intelligence,” I throw out there to highlight how shallow he is.

He shrugs unapologetically. “Hey man, it doesn’t matter if they understand quantum physics. All that matters is how they look on my arm and how their ass looks when I’m fucking them from behind.”

I run a hand through my hair as I come to the realization. He really just said that out in the open without checking to see if there were any reporters nearby to quote him.

Thank fuck, there aren’t.

“If you plan on moving there, the last thing you should do is call it Cali. Big faux pas.”

“Faux what?” he asks.

“Never mind. Just don’t call it Cali. That’ll get your ass kicked right out.”