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“Berker Rennich. Transferred from the Panthers just this week. We’re giving him a tryout in this week’s game.” He motioned with his head toward the door. “Someone wants to talk to you.”
And right then, as he turned and spotted the blonde hair, something inside him just lurched. Blonde hair, petite, she stood with her back to him, wearing a pair of jeans and boots, a black wool coat.
Iris?
No, how—
And then the woman turned, and he tried to ignore the terrible clattering of his heart. Not Iris.
“Who is she?”
“Reporter with theRed Zonemagazine. They want to do a feature on you and some of the other American players for the game against Lauchtenland.”
He sighed, set his back teeth, and headed over to the woman.
“Hudson Bly. Glad to meet you.” She stuck out her hand. “Brette Remington. I’m working on an article for theRed Zonemagazine about the growing interest in the ELF as an alternative for players post-college, and I was hoping I could follow you around for a few days.”
A few days? “Are you going to Germany for the game?”
“And the charity event.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t…this isn’t—”
“Oh! No. My husband is with me. We travel a lot for my job, and he doesn’t like me to travel alone. And it’s not just you—I’m going to interview Tobias West and your quarterback too. But when I googled you, your name came up the most.”
Perfect. “Because of the TBI.”
“And the lawsuit. And I’m from Montana, so of course I had to look into it.”
“Whatever. For the record, I’m not allowed to talk about it with reporters.”
She smiled. “I see that you’re working out, but I was wondering if you could meet me afterwards, maybe for coffee?”
He sighed. “Sure. Why not?” See, Waylen, look how he was cooperating.
Heading back to the box jumps, he did three sets, ten jumps on each leg, then angled jumps, and had worked himself into a sopping mess by the time he finished.
Then he set up some cones and worked on his double move, changing directions in a second on the inside arch of his feet. He did five sets of thirty seconds, both legs, then switched to a longer pattern, working on keeping his hips straight as he turned his upper body, keeping his toes in.
“You look like a duck,” said Toby, coming over with a towel around his neck.
“It helps me change directions, stay explosive,” Hud said. “Wanna run a couple routes with me? See if you can interfere without a penalty?”
“I’m not safety, but I got this. Let’s call Jack over,” Toby said. “Make it interesting.”
Hud grinned and whistled, motioned for Jack, who was working on handoffs with the running backs.
Jack came running over. “Yeah?”
“Coach, okay if Jack throws me a few?” Hudson shouted over to Coach Clay, who stood on the field, supervising the linebacker coach.
He waved and Hud lined up across from Toby.
“I stop that catch, I get the girl.”
Hud stared at him. What?
Jack snapped the ball.
