Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
This was a reoccurring thought while he speed-walked after my longer strides, scribbling on a notepad as I told him what I expected from him for the day.
His second problem was thinking I was going to readjust my expectations because he’d been late. The look on his face when I’d corrected that assumption would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so pathetic. Noah had a tendency to flush when he was angry, and I enjoyed watching the rosy color spread across his face and beneath his collar.
I left him to figure out a grocery list. Judging by the fact that he was barely a hundred and eighty pounds soaking wet, I was willing to bet he had no clue how to feed a guy whose career depended on keeping his muscle mass and weight up. I pounded three or four servings of chicken or fish per meal. And he was so flustered that he hadn’t even asked about ordering groceries online.
Being petty wasn’t usually my style, but I didn’t mind when it came to showing a stuck-up fuckboy a thing or two. Even if that thing or two amounted to nothing more than how many times his ass would have to run to the store before he had me stocked up for a solid week.
I synced my phone with the surround-sound system, and showered with music blasting loud enough to drown out the noise in my head. Training camp started today, and I wasn’t there. I’d tried to ignore the date and tune out the knowledge, but it was an impossibility. All forms of media were in a lather, gushing about warriors preparing for a season of battles. I loved the game, but the coverage killed me every season.
If it wasn’t for every news outlet making out like football players were untouchable heroes, the veterans would be a lot less insufferable. It was always the long-time pros who wrapped themselves in the bullshit cloak of that honor—not backup players or a few of the special teams guys who were just thrilled to have a job.
The whole media circus was why guys like Noah scorned me. I was sure it didn’t help that athletes were often hyper-as-fuck homophobic and toxic.
I pressed my forehead against the tiled wall and let the jets of multiple showerheads pound into my back. The cold water felt good on my sore muscles. I’d worked out too hard without a proper warm-up, and now I’d suffer. And turn into an even bigger asshole than usual. If there was anything worse than not being able to mow down guys while hauling ass to the end zone, it was not being able to work out. The combination would be killer for my pent-up frustration.
I followed the shower with an ice-cold soak in the tub, and was pissed that I was in so much pain. Taking care of myself should have come naturally, but in high school, college, and the NFL, I’d always had coaches ushering me off to trainers as soon as I so much as winced. They couldn’t cope with the idea of their material getting even a little damaged. My body got them wins and championships, and they couldn’t afford to have it fall apart until I was past thirty. Because in the NFL, being in your midthirties practically makes you a fucking dinosaur.
I fell asleep in the tub and woke up feeling like my nuts had crawled up into my sac, which wasn’t conducive to a cheerful mood.
Climbing out left me feeling about a hundred years old, and my thoughts went right back to the doom of my career in the next decade or so. Getting drafted by the NFL should have been my ticket to freedom, but every year that passed was a reminder that my number would come up soon. If I kept spending the way I had when I’d first signed, all my cash would be spent on stupid-ass cars I didn’t drive and a huge house that I didn’t like living in. I felt the burn of regret every time I walked through the empty rooms, but I’d invested in the damn monstrosity after signing my last contract. Having grown up poor as dirt and in the foster system, I’d gone on a serious YOLO binge after getting my bonus. But I was no fucking Peyton Manning, so the Barons weren’t about to let me limp around the field just because fans were enamored with me.
And now I was being a dick about poor Peyton Manning.
Fuck me. Time for food.
Noah’s glacial ass should have returned by now.
After wrapping a towel around my hips, I took a step out of my bathroom. The security system went wild about two seconds later. It was more my fault than Noah’s for forgetting to tell him it automatically armed once the door locked, but it still royally pissed me off. I stormed downstairs with every intention of reaming him, but his panicked expression almost convinced me to cut him some slack.