Elkins grabs at his beard. “Never,” he says with a shudder. “Especially if we’re winning.”
Jason points at him. “You keep not shaving. I’ll keep shaving.”
“Deal,” Elkins says with a fist bump, then moves over to the rowing machine on the other side of the room.
It’s early and there are only a few other guys here. Most have earbuds in as they lift, so Jason and I nod at a few, then set up camp at the bench press.
“I had the meeting with Qwench. They’re crazy about you, so I’ve been looking into the company a little more. To see if it’s a good fit,” he says as I adjust the weights.
“What’s the verdict, Mr. Monopoly?”
He pats the silver bar. “Not sure yet. I need to dig a little deeper.”
I peer at him as I lie back on the bench and wrap my palms around the bar. His expression is serious. His eyes intense. “That sounds . . . ominous.”
“Just doing my research. That’s all,” he says and flashes a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry. You know I won’t let you take a deal that isn’t fucking amazing.”
I lift the bar as he spots me. “I know that.”
“They like your squeaky-clean image,” he continues as he spots me. He winks. “Good thing you didn’t go to Piccolo’s with us a few weeks ago. Man, the chicks were everywhere.”
I scowl. “Pretty sure women are not explicitly forbidden in my contract.”
He lowers his voice. “No, but it’s good to be cautious when you’re trying to rehab a public image.”
Something about the comment bristles me. “Hey, it’s not my image. I’ve always been good.”
“The team’s image, man, the team’s,” he says as I push up the weights again. “And now you and the team are one and the same. Anyway, I like the sound of the deal. I want it to work out, that’s why I’m going to spend some more time on it. Because if we can make it work, it can give you some financial security, and protect you if things don’t work out in LA.”
I arch an eyebrow as I set the weights in the holder. “Are you trying to say you don’t think I’ll last here?”
I sit up straight and Jason shoots me a withering stare. “You know I do, man,” he says, his brow furrowed. “What’s with you this morning? You’re coming at me all guns blazing. Do you need to get laid?”
I grit my teeth and draw a sharp inhale. Do I ever need to get laid. With one woman. Only, it feels a lot more than that already with Dani. Which is crazy, since I’ve only seen her a handful of times. But it feels like there could be something more between us. The chemistry is sizzling, but we also get each other. We like the same things, we fall into an easy rhythm, we connect.
“Don’t we all man, don’t we all,” I say with a forced laugh, trying to make light of the comment. Maybe even to deflect it.
He doesn’t let go. Glancing around first, he drops his voice so I’m the only one who can hear. “Is there something up with you and the lawyer?”
I lower to the bench again, my eyes focused on the ceiling. I don’t look at Jason. I don’t like lying to him. “Nope.”
Meanwhile, I wonder how the fuck he could tell during the movies, especially when he was all about Ally. “But there sure seemed to be something up with you and her sister.”
Jason grins, and he’s never a big smiler, so I know that means he’s into her. As one of the other guys grunts while lifting some heavy weights, Jason says, “She was cool. I’m going to text her today. Maybe see about getting coffee or a drink.”
He can see her easily. He doesn’t have to worry about unwritten rules, or playing fast and loose with the team’s public image. “Sounds like a plan.”
“And back to you now,” he says, surveying the weight room once more. Coast is clear. “The one we were talking about a minute ago. You’re into her, aren’t you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Just seemed kind of obvious. I guess the same way you could tell I was into her sister.”
There’s no point denying it now. He’s already sniffed out the truth. Besides, he’s my best bud. Keeping my voice low, I say, “We hooked up before the season started. Before I was traded. But we cooled it when we realized we were playing for the same team, and that it could complicate things.”
He nods, pats the weight bar again. “Smart move. Best to just keep focused on the game.”
“You think so?”
He taps his fingers to his temples, our sign for blinders. “Absolutely. No time for distractions. It’s much better to wake up to a photo of you and the taco truck owner than some piece about how the quarterback is fucking the management,” he says, and the stark but realistic way he puts it reminds me once again to keep my eye on the prize. The field. Only the field.
That’s what I do.
My first and most important love is football. It needs my full attention. My devotion. That’s what I give it.
When I step onto the field that weekend, I savor the smell of the grass, the thunder of the crowd, the rush of the adrenaline pumping through my blood. In the huddle, I’m all business, and the Knights are as crisp as crisp can be.
We win the game, and somehow we pull off that wonderful feat again the next Sunday too when we pummel Dallas on their field.
Four for four.
“Talk about a fucking streak,” Elkins shouts when I enter the locker room after the game. He high-fives me, and a bunch of the other guys do too.