Page 54 of Hard to Score

So I talk about the flight here to Seattle. How we ran game prep drills today once we got here, and how I think Klingerman hurt his knee while running a play. She gave her two cents on how this isn’t a good time for him to be hurt since he’ll be up for free agency next year, and I suggested he may retire.

“What about your day?” I ask when I’ve run through the paces of mine. “What hot new athlete are you chasing after now?”

“It’s quite the opposite actually,” she says. “I had to have the conversation with a longtime client that it might be time to hang up his skates.”

Her words are like a gut punch to me—words every athlete fears hearing. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Which is why I’m already on glass number two of wine.” She blows out a sigh. “And it’s never easy, but I’d much rather have my clients go out on top and happy than on the bottom with their reputation tarnished for holding on too long.”

“How’d he take it?” There is silence on the other end of the line and then a sniffle that just adds to the twist in my gut. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s just part of the job. On the plus side, I negotiated a kick-ass endorsement deal for a female soccer player today that will help compensate for the crap wages she gets paid simply because of her gender.”

“That’s a definite plus.”

She continues, telling me about her day.

Snippets.

Little pieces of our daily lives shared and listened to. Parts of ourselves offered up and accepted.

It’s the first time I get a glimpse of what it would be like to have more with Brex. Having that person to talk over the day with, even if it is a bit like sleep, play, repeat, it’s my job. And normally, I have no one to discuss it with.

Yet, with her, it feels natural.

Hell, I’m not a stranger to dating or just plain sleeping with a woman to pass the time. I’ve done sex without commitment on occasion. I’ve casually dated. But with Brexton, what I can’t quite put my finger on, is how it feels so effortless when it should be the exact fucking opposite.

It should be complicated and troubled, because isn’t that what I was told her family was? Isn’t that all I’ve known since the day he walked away from the game?

And yet the mere thought of her has a smile on my face.

The sound of her voice makes me want to be with her.

And that feels so fucking right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

BREXTON

“YOU’RE WORKING ON A SUNDAY and you’re watching football?” Chase asks when she walks into my office. “Do I need to check your forehead for a fever?”

I lift my middle finger in the air but don’t bother looking up at her. “One, I’m catching up before I leave for Iowa tomorrow. Two, I’m always working. And three, since when is it weird for any of us to watch sports? Last I checked the sign on the door said Sports Management,” I say, stretching the last two words out like I’m speaking to a child. She offers me a middle finger in return. “If you’d like to know, I’m watching to make sure Whittier doesn’t fuck up again with the added bonus of checking in on Hobbs.”

“You mean the man who’s already thrown two interceptions? That one?” She perches her hip on my desk and I look up to meet the eyes of my youngest sister. She’s in yoga pants and some cute tank top, looking flawless without trying as per her usual.

“Yes, that Hobbs.”

“Any leeway with him? I haven’t seen anything new on the weekly status reports.”

“Because those reports are annoying.”

“And yet they keep the pulse of everyone and everything.”

“Spoken by the rule follower,” I tease, because while we’re all disciplined, Chase goes that extra mile to follow every rule to a T. When she just stares at me, demanding an answer, I continue. “There is nothing to report. I’m trying and he’s denying.”

“So no Hobbs yet? Then who exactly is putting that extra pep in your step?”

I meet her eyes and roll mine. “No one. I’m just in a good mood is all.”