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“Go get some more throws in.” He nods to the field.
We’re only doing OTAs right now. Easy stuff to try and get everyone into a rhythm. All the new guys like me, meeting some of the vets. But the tension here is already cranked up. Because I’m an outsider, an interloper from Pittsburgh, a rival division team, who almost nobody here wants. Add to the fact that my uncle and I are coming onto a team that a Westfield has played his whole career with, and it’s a recipe for disaster. I’m probably asking to be destroyed by wanting his sister to be my PR savior. When I look for her again, she’s gone, and I jog out to get some reps in.
I’mthe last one down to the locker room when we finish for the day, wandering in after I had a chat with the quarterback coach long after everyone else already hit the showers and went home. I’ve just rounded the corner when I see her standing there, arms crossed leaning against the cinderblock wall. She looks pissed—and she’s obviously lying in wait for me.
“Need something?” I ask, realizing too late that in all the times I hoped to see her again, I hadn’t prepared what I’d say to her when I had the chance.
“Why are you here?”
“Here?” I point to the door to the locker room. “Mostly planning to shower, get changed, and get some dinner.”
“Don’t be a smartass. I mean why are you in Cincinnati? Why did you come to the Chaos?”
“To play football.”
She’s not amused with the answer, and she pushes off the wall. She closes the distance between us, and her eyes lock on me, never wavering. The blue-green depths threatening to drown me already. In the heels she has on today, she’s only a few inches shorter than me, and when her chin tilts up and her eyes narrow, it feels like if I make the wrong move, she’ll tear my heart straight out of my chest.
“Leave Easton alone. You want to come for anyone else in this family, fair enough. But he’s never bothered you.”
“I’m not the one running my mouth about the front office.”
“Because you started shit. Everyone knows Easton is the fucking kindest guy out there.”
“I think you need to talk to your brother about that. Address your concerns with him.”
“I’m addressing my concerns with you. Leavemy familyalone.”
I take a step closer to her, smirking when I do it because as pissed off as she is with me, I see the slightest flutter of her lashes, a small bob of her throat when she swallows.
“Or what, Madness?”
“I’ll give you a reason to call me that name.” She brushes past me, and I turn to watch her walk away, the click of her heels on the concrete echoing in the empty hall as she leaves.
5
Madison
I’ve never been soclose to throttling someone as I am Quentin Undergrove right now. I’m used to clients who are pains in the ass. I’ve had my fair share of dustups with coaches, management, and players who can’t seem to handle easy-to-grasp concepts like “don’t be a dick to your teammates.” But when I have to balance defending my baby brother, a new job, and confronting an ex—it’s been a long day, and I’m ready for comfy clothes, a glass of wine, and some time curled up binge-reading my latest book series. As I grab my things out of the office, the head of the Chaos marketing department pops her head in, and I can tell from the look on her face, I’m not getting away just yet.
“Could we chat for a moment?”
“Sure.”
She closes the door behind her and motions for me to sit as she takes a seat in the chair on the other side of my desk.
“As you know there have been some pretty big changes since we initially brought you on. One of them being the quarterback position.”
“Yes.” I nod when she pauses.
“He’s as much of a risk as he is an asset to the organization. I don’t think I need to tell you that.”
In more ways than one, I know exactly how much of a balance between risk and asset Undergrove is. But we don’t need to be airing my dirty laundry here today.
“I’m aware he has some messy off-field history, and of course, Cincinnati fans aren’t thrilled to have what Pittsburgh thought would be their franchise quarterback playing here. It’s awkward at best.”
“Potentially threatening to the brand at worst. The reaction on social media has been worse than we predicted. His devil-may-care attitude isn’t playing well with fans who were excited for our drafted quarterback or those that were hoping for someone more like… well more like Bernard.” She gives me a tight-lipped, awkward smile, and I nod because we’re talking about my supposed boyfriend. I can’t say too much.
“A.J. did seem like he would have been a better fit, regarding temperament, for the team. But I assume management has good reasons for their decision.”
