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Declan
By eleven-thirty Saturday morning, the special teams and the offense and defense walkthroughs have wrapped up, and we’re free to leave the practice facility. I’m shoving my phone in my pocket when my center, Jasper, walks around the corner.
This guy makes me feel small, and at six-foot-six, two hundred and forty pounds, very few people make me feel that way. Jasper sits down on the bench in front of me, drops his bag on the floor, and runs his hands through his damp blonde hair. “So, the game’s not ’til eight tomorrow night. What are you doing with your Saturday, Dec?”
“I’ve got to go to a fundraiser tonight. The Kings bought a table and told me to be there.” I’ve gotten less bitter about it as the week rolled to an end. I’ve decided to look at this as the kick in the ass I needed to finally make a move on Annabelle. We’ve seen each other a handful of times since I’ve moved to Philly, and every single time there’s been a magnetic energy attracting me to her. But we’re always surrounded by my family and their friends, not to mention Tommy. There’s never been a time that seemed like the right time to talk to her.
My family loves her. Nattie even said she was like a sister.
The feelings I have for Annabelle are far from sisterly.
I needed to make sure I had my job under control, that I wasn’t going to let my new team down before I could focus on anything besides football.
My gut’s telling me she’s worth it, splitting that focus. And it’s never steered me wrong before.
I just wish it didn’t have to be in the public eye.
I’d rather order takeout and stay in than parade us in front of a line of reporters.
Fucking reporters. “I had a meeting with Scarlet Kingston. It’s time to start getting my image out there.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, you have fun with that. Sounds like the seventh circle of Hell to me, but to each his own. Everyone wants a piece of the quarterback. They leave us linemen alone, man.”
Shutting my locker, I shoulder my bag. “Yeah, we’ll see.” I’m trying to be optimistic here.
The locker across from us slams shut, and Dean Watkins turns around. “Dude, if you don’t want the press, I’ll take it.”
“You may need to get to play more than a quarter of a game for the press to be interested, Watkins.” Jasper blows Dean off.
Watkins and I were both drafted last spring. But where I was brought on board specifically to be the starting quarterback, Dean was picked up at the end of the draft as a backup for the team’s starting tight end, Curt Kenny. Curt and I have a shit relationship. My junior year, I let the Heisman bullshit all get to me and it exploded one night at a bar. It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. It was a fucking shoving match. Fists were never even thrown, but that’s not how it got reported. One day, I was a shoo-in for the Heisman, and the next fucking day, I was a hotheaded athlete with no control.
Curt was a senior. He was predicted to go in the second or third round of the draft the following spring but was labeled a troublemaker after the incident. He didn’t go until late in the sixth round, potentially costing him millions.
As luck would have it, we’re back to playing on the same team. We coexist. We’re professionals. But we fucking hate each other.
Jasper and I manage to walk out of the building before anyone else can stop us. “You at least got a hot date for this thing tonight, Dec?”
I don’t answer but can’t hide my grin.
“Ooh-hoo! Who’s the lucky lady, and does she have a friend?” I side-eye him as we make it to the parking lot that has already started to clear out.
“She’s a family friend, and most of her friends are too young for you or they’re related to me, so that’s a no.” This fucker’s smile grows bigger. “Just no.”
Jasper veers off toward his car. “Well, don’t stay out too late. I don’t wanna hear you bitchin about being tired out there in the huddle tomorrow.”
“Fuck off, man.” I smile, shoot my middle finger over my shoulder, and get in my Bronco.
Afew hours later, I’ve showered, shaved, and I’m dressed in my custom tux. The guy at the shop I talked to earlier in the week was nice enough until I mentioned that Scarlet Kingston had sent me. Then, he looked like he was going to shit himself. After that, everything was “yes, sir,” “right away, sir,” “anything you need, sir.” She strikes me as the type to get off on making men scared of her.
Not gonna lie. It worked.
When my phone pings with a text telling me the driver I hired is here, I check myself one more time and then shoot off a text to Annabelle.
Declan:Hey, Belle. Leaving now. Should be at your house in twenty mins.
Annabelle:K. I’ll be the one with a dress on.
Declan:Oh good. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find you.
