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EIGHTEEN
SLATER
I hang out with Amber the day after the Grammy’s and then fly back to New York to film a commercial. It turns out that athletes who look like me can make a ton of money endorsing things even if they don’t win on the field.
“How was California?” Cam asks as I settle into one of the plush chairs in his home office.
“It was nice. Warm.”
“And how are you feeling?” He’s probably asking about my mental state, but I’d prefer to discuss my physical state.
“I’ve gained five pounds of pure muscle in the last month. I’m going to be in the best physical shape of my life when training camp starts.”
“Not what I meant.”
I should have known I couldn’t distract him. “I’m fine.”
He pauses, like he’s deciding whether he believes me. “Did you do any throwing?”
Usually he’d already know, but while I was gone our conversations revolved around the cheating allegations—which thankfully don’t seem to be gaining any traction. The interview might have been enough to squelch them. “I met up with a couple of receivers I played with in college.”
“And?” He raises his brow.
“I’ve still got it.”
He laughs. “I wasn’t suggesting you didn’t. It’s my job to confirm you’re where you want to be. I know you don’t just want to pass your physical—you want to ace it. No questions. No doubts.”
“I know. I will,” I respond, grateful that he always has my back. “I’ve been training every day, and I’ve been watching tape.”
Cam grimaces. “Reliving your mistakes is not a healthy way to regroup.”
“I’m not watching those tapes.” Not anymore, at least. “I spent the morning watching footage and studying my fundamentals. I want to find and fix my weaknesses before I sit down with a new team.”
In March, I’m going to be an unrestricted free agent. It’s the first time in my professional career that I get to choose. When I was under contract, the team decided my future. Now I get to decide. With limits of course.
The biggest limitation is that I have no control over who is interested. Cam can try to sell me to whoever I prefer, but it won’t work unless they need me. The teams I’ve already played for would probably only take me if they’re desperate, but we can’t ignore them. We can’t even rule out teams who have solid starters, because there’s no guarantee I’ll find a starting job.
It’ll be depressing if I’m forced to become a backup, but every season at least a few backups start a handful of games—and some even end up starting more than the top guy.
I think I’d rather be the backup to a good team than the expected savior of a bad team.
My savior abilities are nonexistent.
Voices in the hallway distract Cam from replying.
His face breaks into a huge grin when Kelsey struts into the room. I don’t know her very well, but by any standard, she looks too glamorous for five p.m. on a weekday. The dress she’s wearing fits like a second skin and sparkles with every step, and she’s wearing four-inch stilettos. I feel like I’ve stepped into a scripted reality television show.
I do a double take when I notice Ellie—wearing jeans and a hoodie—behind her sister.
Her eyes pass over me and then dart back. They widen with surprise for a split second before her face settles into a bland smile. I didn’t assume she was pining for me, but I’d hoped she was missing me a little. Instead, she doesn’t look particularly excited to see me.
Which is unfortunate, because I’m thrilled to see her.
I’ve almost called her a dozen times. I’ve typed out text messages I haven’t sent. And I’ve thought about the unexpectedly hot sex more times than I can count. I wouldn’t mind a repeat, but if she doesn’t want to have sex, maybe she would consider just hanging out?
I wince internally. I feel like a teenager.
“You shaved,” she says.
