Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
He continues. “Of course, if you run well at the Combine, you’ll rise up everyone’s boards. You know what they say—you can’t teach speed.” He chuckles.
I have speed. I fucking have it all, but no one’s going to see it. “I haven’t gotten an invitation.”
Cedrick pauses, surprise on his face. He looks uncomfortable as he straightens his tie, and I can feel him losing interest with every second that passes. “Oh, I didn’t realize that.”
“Yeah,” I say, crossing my arms.
Ryker gives me a brief frown, and there’s a long awkward pause—and I should probably say something right now, but for some reason I can’t.
I didn’t get invited.
Everyone knows, but he didn’t, because he doesn’t even know who I am.
He glances back at Ryker. “Well, I need to get to Jackson to catch my flight. Good talking to you, Ryker. I’ll see you at the Combine. Nice to meet you, Blaze.” He gives me a nod and a quick smile, but it doesn’t seem encouraging.
“Let me walk you to the door,” Ryker says and they head off to the front of the gym.
With a deep exhalation, I watch them leave for a few seconds then turn back to my workout.
A chuckle comes from Archer as he works a butterfly machine. “Smooth move, Blaze. An NFL scout in front of you and you went all pussy.”
My jaw tightens. He’s right. I should have been charming; I should have been on my knees begging him to watch me run.
Ryker comes back into the gym and stalks over to me. “What the hell was that? I just introduced you to the lead scout from the Giants, and you were off in la-la land. You need to be buttering these guys up, Blaze.”
I heave out a breath.
He frowns at me. “That was your shot.”
I settle the weight back down on the pole. “My shot for what? If they don’t see what I can do on the football field, that’s their loss. I don’t need you trying to get me pity-drafted.”
I don’t know where the words come from, only that I’m frustrated with myself.
His face goes red. “I’m just trying to help, dickhead.”
“I fucked it up. Fine,” I say tightly, anxiety churning inside me.
Ryker stands there for a moment, shakes his head, and walks off.
I finish my workout, pissed I didn’t say the right things. I never know what to say, not when it really matters. Give me a room full of fans and I’m the wittiest dude there, but put my future on the line and I hesitate.
Why do I do that?
Because deep down, no matter how hard I fight, part of me thinks I’m not worth it, that I’m not good enough to make it.
Later, Archer is in the locker room with two of the younger defensive players when I come in for a shower.
He eyeballs me. “Hey, wide receiver, maybe that scout wants to hire you to be Ryker’s water boy in New York.”
I roll my neck. “He clearly didn’t notice you.”
He stands from the bench he was sitting on, and his buddies follow. “You trying to piss me off, pretty boy?”
I turn to him, and he puts his face directly in front of mine, almost nose to nose. I take him in, assessing his height and muscle tone against mine. My hands curl. I can take him. We’ve been picking at each other for months now, and I can only take so much before I blow up. Normally, I’m not a hothead; I keep myself on a tight leash, keeping my goals front and center, but I’m sick of him. Schoolyard fights flash in my head, messy brawls I got tangled up in, usually over a comment about my parents and how they killed the mayor’s daughter. I learned how to use my fists then, how to stick up for myself.
He slaps his bare chest, where he has a tattoo of five huge stars, his high school recruiting ranking. “Don’t you know who I am? ESPN’s been talking about me since I was a sophomore in high school. Five, boy!” I was barely a three-star high school player.
I bark out a laugh. “It doesn’t matter what people thought when you were young. They’re looking at what you’ve done lately, and when it comes to you, I’d say not fucking much.” I give him a grin, but inside, my body is ready, coiled and tense.
He pushes my chest, but I immediately square back up and shove him until he stumbles over the bench behind him.
“Hold him!” he yells out to his posse as he scrambles to stand.
Hands grab each of my arms.
“Fuck that,” I say as I struggle to get out of their grip. I manage to shake one of his minions off and grab the other by the shirt just before Archer punches me in the stomach.