Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“Of course, I remember Castle.”
Hank Castle was LA’s QB1 when I came into the league. He was in the same position I find myself in right now. But Castle took me under his wing and, if I’m being honest, helped shape me into the quarterback I would become. It wasn’t easy at first. He was as threatened by me as I am by Ryder Simmons right now. As a competitor, it’s not easy when a younger, more athletic guy comes in and is gunning for your job. I get that now. But that doesn’t make this suck any less.
“Relax. It’s going to be fine,” he tells me. “I’ll talk to JB and get us all on the same page here. Just chill, man. You’re good.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
Steve chuckles and pats me on the shoulder. “Same old Carter. Always uptight, seeing the worst in everything, and predicting the sky is falling.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” I mutter.
He turns and walks off, still chuckling to himself. I stand on the sideline, watching the kid slinging balls all across the field. Throws he shouldn’t be able to make, he’s making. Steve is right about the kid’s talent. There’s no denying that. His problem is with his attitude. And maybe there’s a little truth to what Steve said about the parallels between us when I first came into the league. But it’s very little truth. My ego was nowhere near what this kid’s is.
I was never handed the keys to the kingdom like him. I wasn’t a highly touted or even a recruited prospect coming out of high school. I was a walk-on at UCLA for Christ’s sake. I had to fight, compete, and scrap for everything I got. I earned my way. This kid though, he’s been groomed for this. Told every fucking day just how special he is and had his ego stroked by anybody and everybody. It’s not surprising he turned out to be an entitled asshole.
The whistle blows, ending the throwing session, and the players break out and head for their respective position groups for individual drills. I watch as the rookie walks to the sideline and heads over to a younger woman from the training staff. I’ve noticed her before. No more than five-two and a hundred pounds soaking wet, she’s got golden, sun-kissed skin, ash-brown hair, and hazel-colored eyes. She’s got amazing curves and, for being so short, long, enticing legs. The girl is a stunner for sure.
They’re too far away for me to hear the conversation, but the rookie says something to her she obviously doesn’t like because her face darkens and a frown crosses her full, red lips. He’s giving her a smarmy smile that sets my teeth on edge. She walks away, but the rookie follows her, continuing to talk to her even though she’s pointedly ignoring him. It’s more than obvious he’s making her uncomfortable. She stops and kneels down to pack some things into her bag, and Ryder stands over her, continuing to talk. The girl looks like she wants to be anywhere but there.
Muttering under my breath, I walk over to where they are. She raises those wide hazel eyes to me, seeming to be silently begging me for help. Ryder turns and sneers at me.
“Do you mind, Pops?” he says. “We’re having a private conversation.”
“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk to you. Why don’t you just leave her be and let her do her job, kid,” I say.
“Walk away, old man. This isn’t your business.”
“I’m making it my business. I can see from across the field that you’re making her uncomfortable so turn around and walk the fuck away.”
He squares up to me, his dark brown eyes boring into mine. Gritting my teeth, I stand my ground and look back at him just as hard. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten into a fight so I might be a little rusty, but I figure it’s like riding a bike. It might not be a good look for me to punch the kid’s face in, but I’m ready for it. I’m not going to let him intimidate this girl.
Our gazes are locked. It’s a silent game of chicken, and the corner of my mouth curls upward when he flinches first. He takes a step back and, as if realizing he lost the battle of wills, tries to save face by putting an I don’t care expression on his face. He laughs to himself as he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair.
“Whatever,” he grumbles.
“You’ve got a lot to learn about how to treat people, kid.”
“Go fuck yourself, old man. I’m taking the QB1 job, just so you know. You’re way past your prime. But hey, if you play nice, I might let you wash my jock strap.”