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He was smiling and signing autographs while taking selfies with a few kids who were smiling like they’d just won the lottery.
“Only question is, not how, but why. The how is right there.” Jessa jerked her head at Ty Simmons. “But, the guy must still have an arm if we signed him. The attitude, though? I don’t know if that’s worth all the trouble. And he’s trouble, Mads.”
I didn’t answer her as I took another sip of my drink. I knew all about trouble. But Sebastian Lockwood looked like the kind of trouble a girl could get lost in, and never want to leave.
CHAPTER 7
SEBASTIAN
When the new owners bought the team, they did an extensive renovation on the facilities, including renovating a warehouse just outside of the small ish seaside town with the best equipment a new influx money could buy.
Carolina made Cleveland look like a run down summer camp.
Along with training staff, PT’s, and a former Olympic Gold Medalist in swimming turned kinesiology and somatic healing expert.
“Fuck, hot yoga? I’m in heaven.”
I snorted as Simmons dropped his bag on the bench next to where I was lacing up. “You would like hot yoga.”
“Somatic exercises would release all that damn tension you hold onto, QB. And you’d probably be less of an asshole.”
“No chance of that happening any time soon,” I muttered. The locker room at the training facility was bigger than any other NFL locker room I had been in during my career. Off one end was a room with various rehab equipment, ice bath set ups as well as a sauna.
It was like a goddamn spa for football players. The weight room was spacious enough that I could workout and not be bothered by anyone else, which was how I liked it.
Ty, however, couldn't take a hint.
The fucking guy was starting to grow one me. Not that I’d tell him.
“Staying over after your run?”
I nodded. Kellan Horne had it written into my contract that I had after hours access to one of the training areas so I could continue the practices I ran post practice three days a week in Cleveland. And he made it so only the coach and a few trainers knew.
Of course, fucking Simmons still showed up. But, when we ran plays with the practice squad, it would show.
We read each other better than any other receiver I had ever worked with.
“Cool. I have to make a quick phone call, then I’ll see you on the field after. Have a good run.”
Forty minutes later, the bright light filled the practice field, the green turf laid out like a welcoming mat.
Simmons went long, and I passed the ball. He caught it easily. We did a few plays we had been working on, and an hour later, dripping with sweat we sat on the bench off to the side.
Taking a long swig from his water bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That last one? Two-point conversion written all over it. Easily.”
“I know.”
“Are you smiling, QB?”
“This?” I pointed at my face. “Involuntary reaction to being stuck with you all the time.”
Ty grinned, and stood up. He held out his hand, and pulled me. “Come on, old man. It’s taco night.”
And just like that, the fantasy running through my headall week played like a song you can’t get out of your head. I didn’t know her name. I knew where she worked, and drove past every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
The way her hair fell in front of her face when she smiled and looked down, like she was used to hiding it from the world. Or the one time she had been laughing so hard, her nose was wrinkled up and her head was thrown back. Six days. Four smiles.
But the laugh? Fuck, I needed to hear it in person.
