by Tracey Ward
Hollis pulls my chair out for me, a show of manners that makes me cringe a little inside knowing the entire room saw it, but I let him do it because Coach Allen is old school. He doesn’t subscribe to the new thinking of men and women being equal. He thinks a man should be a gentleman and a woman should be a lady, so I remind myself to watch my fucking mouth.
“Coach Allen,” I greet him with a cordial smile.
He nods to me. “Ms. Ashford. Hollis. I’m not surprised to see you two. I hear I met with two of your guys already.”
Hollis smiles proudly. “Three if you count Larkin.”
“He’s a good player,” Allen replies vaguely. “Is he why you’re here or are we talking about one of the others?”
I turn to Hollis, waiting for him to take the lead. He’s the senior agent, and while I know Coach Allen socially, Hollis has worked with him before. It’s better if he’s the one to present the initial package.
He sits forward on the table, folding his hands together. “Actually, Coach, I’d like to talk to you about Kurtis Matthews.”
Coach Allen’s eyes show his excitement for all of .3 seconds. A blip on the screen is all it is, but it’s there. It’s exactly what we were looking for and it’s all we need.
“What about him?” he asks calmly.
“How would you like to get him back in California?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Come on, Coach,” Hollis scolds. “We both know you regret giving him up.”
“I regret that I had to give him up, but it had to happen.”
“He’s ready to come back.”
Coach Allen narrows his eyes at Hollis. “Do you know why he left?”
“I do. And he has it under control.”
“In Montana.”
“Where he’s unhappy and misused. He can control it here. He’s older now. Wiser. It’s been two years. He’s ready to come home.”
“You’ve talked to him about this?”
“Not what we’re proposing specifically, but I’ve talked to him about getting out of Montana almost every day for the last year. He says he’d go anywhere, and if I tell him he’s got a shot at playing for you again, he’d be on the next plane out.”
Allen ponders Hollis’ words, his eyes never leaving the younger man’s face. I sit motionless while they size each other up until finally the coach shoves his plate to the side, reaching for his coffee.
“Talk to me about what you’re thinking.”
“I want to get you Trey Domata,” I tell the coach confidently.
He chuckles dryly. “First you tell me I can have Matthews back, now you’re offering me Domata? What’s next? A first round Draft pick?”
“Yes.”
He quiets as it occurs to him that I’m serious. He takes a sobering sip of his coffee. “How?”
“Trade with Montana for their number four pick as well as Kurtis Matthews. You can take Trey in the first round and get the quarterback you need as well as the tight end you never should have been without.”
“And what would I have to give up to get all of this?”
“Duncan Walker.”
Coach sets his cup down heavily. “You want me to trade away a super star for a first round draft pick and a tight end who has barely touched toe to field in the last year?”
“Yes,” I reply, undaunted by his minimization of the benefits. It’s a tactic, not the truth, and we all know it. “With Matthews you know what you’re getting. A star almost as bright as Walker. He shined in your program, but the Miners don’t know how to use him. He’s dying in there, his talents completely wasted. He could be just as valuable to you as Walker once he’s up and running again. And the first round pick gets you Trey Domata, a quarterback with a cannon that we all know you desperately need. There’s no way he’ll still be around by the time your second round pick comes up. Your only shot at him is in the first, and all you have to give up is a thorn in your side and your program is flush again.”
“Except I’ll be short a running back.”
“Pick up a new one in the second round. You’ll still have your pick.”
He chews on that for a minute, leveling me in that startling blue stare of his. Finally he stands. Hollis and I stand with him.
“I’ll think about it,” he promises vaguely. “You get Kurtis on the horn and confirm for me that he wants to come back to California, and I’ll give it some real thought.”
Hollis offers him his hand. “I will. Thank you, Coach.”
“Thank you,” I echo, shaking his hand as well.
He picks up his orange baseball hat off the table, centers it on his shining dome, and exits the dining hall without another word.
I turn to Hollis nervously. “What do you think?”
He grins. “I think you did good.”
“Do you think he’ll go for it?”
“If Matthews agrees to come to California I think Coach Allen will make it happen.”
“Do you think he wants Trey?”
“I think he’d be an idiot not to. And Coach Allen isn’t an idiot. Unfortunately, it’s not entirely up to him. The GM has the final say on all trades and Draft picks for the Kodiaks.”
My shoulders slump, my enthusiasm deflating. “Keith Wilton.”
“Yep. And that guy is an idiot.”
NFL Combine Day #3
Lucas Oil Stadium
My brain is numb. I’m exhausted, but it’s the best I’ve felt in days.
Today has been nothing but brain work for me. The psych test, the IQ test, a small break where I stood by watching the other guys bench press, then it was into interviews with media and teams. I haven’t talked to Sloane since we got out of the elevator but I see her everywhere. I stopped to watch her for a second on my way to the head after the bench press was finished, and she was commanding a conversation with four men in different team colors. Two of them were staring at her tits, but the other two were listening. They were laughing and nodding. I don’t know if she’s got the skills to get me on the Kodiaks, but she’s definitely trying. That’s more than her dad is doing for me.
I got a very impersonal e-mail from him last night, along with a basket full of shit from Subway. I guess they’re talking with him about an endorsement deal. I couldn’t eat any of it though, not while I’m here in training. I ended up giving it all to the maid to share with the hotel staff.
“You sign with him but he’s not your agent,” Reed tells me during dinner. “Not really. He comes in and shakes your hand, shows up for the pictures, and then he’s gone.”
“Is that what’s happening to you too?”
“Hell no. I made sure I signed up with the guy who’s doing the work. I got the heads up from Kenny Myers after he signed with Ashford two years ago. Same thing happened to him. Old man Ashford wined and dined him, brought him into the agency, and signed him under his name. After that Kenny pretty much never heard from him again. Not until it was time to renegotiate his contract. Hollis is the one Ashford pushed Kenny on back then, making him do all the work while he collected the commission. That’s what he’s doing to your girl now.”
“Did you know she’s his daughter?”
Reed’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “No shit? That’s cold.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think that’s the kind of guy he is.”
“No doubt.” He shovels a forkful of salmon in his mouth, grinning. “Did I see her flip you off this morning?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. I think she was annoyed with me.”
“You didn’t fuck her, did you?”
“Nah, man, she’s my agent. I’ve gotta work with her.”
“She’s hot though.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“And technically she’s not your agent. Old man Ashford is. You just can’t fuck him.”
“There goes my weekend.”
I finish dinner with Reed, shoot the shit with some of the other guys, and head to the lobby. The place is full of people milling around
, voices rising up into the vaulted ceilings. The building used to be a train station and they left a lot of the architecture in place when they converted it to a hotel. The tall rolling ceilings, pillars made of bare steel or covered in subway tile. There’s even a set of rooms inside an old train. It’s a nice place full of rich people and heavy colognes. Piercing perfumes.
Suddenly the calm I’ve built from a day full of brain teasers is starting to wear off. The constant crowd is getting to be too much. I could go to my room where it’s quiet, but I’m not ready to go to bed yet. I need to move. I need to walk or run, something physical.
It only takes a minute to ask the receptionist how to get to the hotel gym. It takes another five to actually find it. I’m following the signs for it, heading down a long corridor, when I catch a whiff of chlorine. I follow the smell, detouring to the pool. It’s small, sitting in an open courtyard full of potted plants and trees, surrounded by chairs, but most importantly it’s empty. It’s silent.
I scan the area, checking the windows on the rooms looking down on me. No one is around. No one will see.
Quickly I strip down to my boxers. I leave my clothes in a heap on a chair as I step to the edge. At its deepest the water is only seven feet. I can’t dive so instead I turn around, spread my arms, and fall back onto the perfectly smooth surface.
It stings when the water slaps my back. When it connects with my hand still inside its massive, plastic splint. I let myself sink without fighting while the water fills my ears. It covers my eyes, invades my nose until it’s everywhere. Until it has me entirely and the outside world is only present in my lungs. In the air I release in a rush of bubbles up over my face. I let it all go. Everything I have in me as I fall deeper and deeper into the pool.
I’m an island kid. I’ve been in the water my entire life. I can hold my breath longer than should be natural, and when the burn starts in my lungs I don’t listen to it. I control it. I push myself to the edge, to the point where my chest is aching and my heart is screaming.
It’s screaming my name.
A splash erupts to my right. It sends a current crashing toward me, jostling me out of my stupor. I kick for the surface just as hands reach for me, taking hold of my arm and tugging hard. I open my eyes in surprise to find a small, blurry body attached to me.
We break the surface together. I gasp and sputter, blinking to clear my blurry vision. To find Sloane glaring at me.
“What are you doing?!” she screams angrily.
I run my hand over my eyes to clear them. “I’m swimming.”
“You were drowning.”
“I was a long way from drowning,” I laugh breathlessly.
“It’s not funny, you asshole! I thought you were dead.”
I pause to look at her, really look at her, and I’m stunned by the anger and hurt on her face. Her eyes are tight at the edges, her soft mouth drawn in a hard line, her blond hair plastered wet and heavy over her skin. Over her shoulders still covered by her black blouse. She jumped in the pool in her clothes. She honestly thought she’d found me dead.
“Sloane, I’m sorry,” I apologize earnestly. I reach for her to comfort her, but she jerks away. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What the hell were you doing?”
“Just chilling.”
“Chilling?” she parrots incredulously.
“I needed a break from everyone.”
“So you tried to drown yourself?”
“I told you, I wasn’t drowning,” I remind her bitingly. “I grew up in the ocean. I can handle myself in this kiddie pool.”
Sloane watches me for a long time. I stare back patiently as I wait for her to sort out whatever it is she needs to figure out here. We tread water as we assess each other, gently kicking and swirling with our hands. Slowly the anger, the fear, leaches out of her eyes until they’re the shining brown orbs I remember from the airport, full of intelligence and warmth.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asks gently.
I nod my head decisively. “I’m solid. I promise.”
“Because you can talk to me if you need to.”
“About what?”
“Whatever is eating at you.”
“It’s the same shit as before. I’m handling it.”
“That powerless feeling?”
“It’s the waiting game,” I confirm. I briskly run my hand over my hair, down my face, swiping the dripping water away. “I get like this when I have to sit back and wait for life to happen. I like being in the driver’s seat. I don’t passenger very well.”
“I told you I have it under control. You can trust me to take care of it.”
“I don’t passenger well,” I reiterate clearly.
She nods her head, accepting that truth. “How do you usually deal with it? What can I do to help?”
My head goes where it shouldn’t; both of them do. She’s inches away from me, wet to the bone. She’s hot as hell and the content of every fleeting fantasy I’ve had for the last three days. I know how I want to get right. I know exactly what would calm my nerves, but it’s the easy way out and this time it wouldn’t be just a quick fix. I can’t fuck her and walk away to go on with my day. She’s here with me to work and who knows how much we’ll be working together in the future. Not to mention she has my career in her hands, and I can’t mess with that. I can’t let myself get that stupid.
“Music,” I tell her evasively but honestly. “I listen to music to get in the right headspace before a game.”
“Where’s your music?” She peers down into the undulating water between us. “Please tell me it’s not on the bottom of the pool.”
“It’s in my room in my bag.”
“Why aren’t you listening to it instead of swimming in… are you in your underwear?”
“I didn’t pack my trunks. My headphones either.”
“Oh my God,” she groans.
“’Oh my God’ the headphones or the underwear?”
“The underwear, Trey! Of course the underwear.”
“You’re really getting squeamish about this?” I chuckle.
“No, I’m really thinking of the mess I’ll have to clean up when one of the many members of the media in this hotel finds you in this family establishment swimming in your underwear. Do you want me to see if I can find a kid to bring down here? Make it really scandalous?”
“Depends. A little boy or a little girl?”
She glares at me for exactly three seconds before turning away in disgust.
I launch myself after her, finding footing on the bottom of the pool long before she can. I’m able to take hold of her arm before she can get away. “Calm down! I’m only kidding.”
She lets me pull her around to face me, but she’s still glaring at me when I do.
“Keep your voice down,” she hisses.
“You’re the one who was screaming before.”
“Because I thought you were dead.”
“Don’t go. Stay and swim with me.”
“Some of us are in our clothes here. We didn’t all have time to strip down to nothing.”
“You’re already wet. You might as well stay.”
“And do what? Swim laps?”
“We could play Marco Polo.”
“No thanks.”
“Come on, Sloane,” I plead softly. “Play with me.”
Her lips part slightly, a surprised rush of air escaping them. It smells like mint and chocolate. So sweet I want to taste it, to taste her.
I pull her in close, because as smart as I want to be, I can’t help myself.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I tell her, my voice quiet and deep.
“I thought you were tired of everyone.”
“You’re not everyone.”
She blinks, her lids dropping languidly as her hands rise to my chest, hesitant and hot. They slip over my skin, so small. So uncertain. I wait for her to push against me, to push me away, but she doesn’t. My h
and is firm on her arm, my other hand wrapping around her waist.
“I should go,” she whispers.
“Not yet.”
“Trey,”
“Not yet,” I repeat gruffly.
I watch her swallow. Watch her thin neck constrict under her perfect skin that leads down over her collar bone. Over her breastplate. That disappears in the round, wet swell of her breasts inside her shirt.
I’m immediately hard. She does this to me so easily it’s sick. It’s almost too much to handle, but I use it. I take control of it. I can’t fuck her but I can do this. I can feel her, taste her, and drive myself to the point of screaming the way my lungs screamed for air. But I won’t let them have it because I’m in control. Because I’m bigger than all of this, stronger than my need. My want.
I kiss her. I lick bitter water from her lips, dip my tongue inside her mouth and savor that sweet chocolate taste. The clean minty gasp that escapes her lips and runs down my throat is like warm honey. Her hands clench on my chest. They grip at my me, looking for purchase but all they find is smooth, wet skin. Still she pulls at me. She reaches for me until she’s gripping my neck and pulling my mouth hard against hers.
I kiss her until she’s breathless. Until we’re both desperate for more. I find my brink in her body against mine, the soft push of her breasts against my chest, and I hit the brakes hard. I shut it down in an instant by pushing her gently away from me.
I feel strong. Proud and powerful. I’m in the driver’s seat as I distance myself from her, but the look on her face sends me into a skid. It’s conflicted, pinched like she was pained as she kissed me. As we took what we shouldn’t have.
Her hands fall lifeless from my neck. “I have to go.”
She’s not looking at me.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself whisper.
I have no idea why I feel it, but I do.
“Me too.”
I watch her go. I watch her walk out of the water, her dark shirt clinging to her narrow waist. Her cream colored pants plastered to the curve of her hips, over her ass. I won’t ever picture her naked again because this, Sloane shrouded in next to nothing, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
