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Chapter 21
James
It takes an agonizingly long amount of time to get to Bex and my family. First the media crew at ABC, which televised the game, wants to interview me, so I put on the headset and try to answer the reporter’s questions with charm, even though I’m still out of breath and my teammates keep coming over to congratulate me. Then there’s the locker room celebration, where Coach Gomez makes me give a speech. I’m terrible at these big speeches, so I say something to the effect of, “Good game, boys,” which gets everyone laughing. Then I finally get into the showers, where I make quick work of getting off the dirt and sweat, but as soon as I’m dressed, Coach pulls me over for a private talk. He finally lets me go, slapping my back hard, and only then do I manage to scoop up my duffle and make a beeline for the lobby.
I see my father; he’s talking to someone away from the rest of the crowd. My stomach drops down low as I realize I’m staring at Pete Thomas, the most respected scout in the NFL. He was a player for the Dolphins for years before getting into coaching and finally scouting, and although we’ve met before, I’m still intimidated by him. He pays attention to every little thing with eyes better than a hawk’s. In his reports, he strips a player down to his most basic skills. Fancy stats don’t mean anything when there are fundamentals to work on. I’m sure that however well I playedtonight—and I know I did, interception in the second quarter aside—he has plenty to critique.
He’s the sort of man who is whispering in the ears of my future potential bosses, telling them who is worth their time and who won’t make the cut in the NFL. The fact he’s friends with my father doesn’t mean shit.
“Sir,” I say as I walk over to them. “Didn’t realize you’d be here.”
My father has a hard expression on his face, which is weird—shouldn’t he be happy I pulled off the win? But then he smiles, reaching out with one arm to pull me into a half-hug.
It’s just not the sort of smile that reaches his eyes. I’ve seen enough of the two to know the difference.
“James,” Pete says, reaching out his hand to shake mine. There’s genuine respect in his deep brown eyes, which makes me relax somewhat. “I’ve just been talking to your father about the game. It was a pleasure to watch you perform, son. Pleased you got out with the W.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“We’ve no doubt that if you continue to put together wins like this, you’ll end up the Heisman winner. Keep it between us, but I have it on good authority that you’re going to be nominated for the award.”
The back of my neck burns. Hopefully they can’t see any evidence of my blush on my face. Winning the award would be incredible, which is exactly why I’ve tried not to think about it.
“It would be an honor, but this was a team win. This whole season has come together because the guys are playing up to their true potentials.”
“Spoken like a team player,” Pete says approvingly. “Rich, you did a good job with him.”
I duck my head, pride swelling in my chest, as my father murmurs in agreement.
“Of course, that misread on third down in the second quarter was a big misstep,” Pete continues.
I snap my head up. “Yes, sir. I looked over the tape during halftime.” I’m still kicking myself for that one. Interceptions suck under any circumstances, but especially when I know for a fact it’s my own fault. Ball security is the number one priority, always.
He nods. “Being willing to acknowledge your mistakes is big, too. I look forward to seeing more from you, James.”
He shakes my father’s hand, then mine again, and walks off, cutting through the crowd easily because of his broad frame.
I turn to my father, expecting him to have something to say about that interception, but before he can talk, Bex appears at my side. She grabs my arm, leaning up to kiss my cheek. “Hey.”
“Hey, princess,” I say automatically. I give my dad a quick glance; he’s frowning in a way I don’t like. Shit. “Did you enjoy the game?”
She turns my face with her finger and kisses me on the lips. It’s clear why the moment I see Darryl walking by. He glowers at me, but doesn’t come over, thank fuck.
“You were amazing,” she says, her pretty brown eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s glitter in her hair and scattered over her cheeks, and the jersey I sent over this morning looks amazing on her. My stomach tightens pleasantly at the thought of her wearing my name and number on her back. “I had a lot of fun. Plus, your sister is hilarious.”
“Beckett,” my father says, “would you mind if you gave us a moment alone?”
Bex looks between us with a frown. “Sure. Sorry.”
I don’t want her to go, but I don’t protest when she does, either.
My father is pissed.
He walks away from the crowd, heading further into the stadium, and I follow without a word. I knew asking Bex to watch the game from the box was a risk, but I expected to have a chance to explain everything first. I don’t blame her for kissing me—that’s the deal, after all, we act like a couple, especially in front of Darryl—but that doesn’t mean the timing doesn’t suck.
When we’re alone, he turns around, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “When were you going to mention the fact you’re screwing your tutor?”
His tone is clipped, impatient. I take a deep breath. My father is wonderful, but ever since Sara, he’s been wary every time I evenlookat a girl for more than half a second. Seeing me kiss someone who is wearing my jersey probably raised alarm bells in his head. But it’s not what he thinks.
