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Three
No, Hud wasn’t going to just drop Iris off at the airport, but she didn’t need to know that.
Right?
Hudson threw that thought around his brain as he fiddled with the garbage bins around back of the courtyard. He’d tried the ones by the entrance, but they were locked, so he’d spotted more down the street.
Then he’d rounded back to the front of the apartment to wait for Iris.
Sync their watches.
Okay, that was funny, and the thought of leaving her at Charles de Gaulle to go back to Milan, where someone could be waiting to poison her, sat like a fist in his gut.
Nope.
Although, he didn’t exactly know what to do with Coach Max’s words either.
A shot at the NFL. It seemed like something he’d dreamed of only to have it wisp away in his grasp.
The sun had fallen behind the horizon and, from where he stood, cast shadows onto the street. Cars honked as they entered the circle around the park down the street, and the café smells caused his stomach to growl. The cold macaroni and cheese, along with a ham sandwich, had done nothing to soothe the beast inside.
He could go for a pizza. And a heaping bowl of spaghetti. Maybe some hot French bread—
He checked his watch. Five minutes, for sure.
Bicyclist sped by in the bike lane—Saved your life just then.
He smiled. No, he wasn’t ready to let her go quite yet.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. He’d texted Coach Max his number earlier while Iris had been chatting up her future with her crew boss.
Unknown number.
He answered. “Hudson Bly.”
“Hud! How’s Paris?”
The Texas drawl of his agent poured through the phone. “Waylen?”
“Where have you been, kid? I’ve been searching for you for a week. Living large in the Greek isles, according to Instagram.”
“Yeah, on my oh-so-massive three thousand euros a month salary. If I re-sign with the Vikings, you gotta negotiate for more. Did you see the sacrifice I made for the team in the game against the Panthers?”
“I did, and I’ve got you slotted for a walk-on tryout with the Minnesota Vikings in the spring, if you want it.”
“The Minnesota Vikings?”
“They just lost their starting receiver—high ankle break—and are shallow on the bench. And they’re not the only ones. Seattle is looking lean too. I think we could get you a number of tryouts. Too bad the trade deadline just passed, but your showing in the ELF Super Bowl put you back on the radar here in the States. Stay in shape, and don’t get hurt in these exhibition games, and I’ll see if I can’t wrestle you up a deal.”
He was nodding before he realized he hadn’t said anything.
“Hud, you there?”
“Yeah. You got it, Waylen.”
“You got grit, kid. I always liked that.”
“Thanks—”
