Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
After my father’s opening remarks earlier, the players went off to get their assigned iPads and equipment, so I’ve had some uninterrupted time to sit here and watch Luca’s beastly college highlights and compare those with his more recent NFL appearances. What I could find of them, anyway. Luca sat on the bench quite a bit last season. And before that, even when he played, it was clear he lacked the focus, attention to detail, and fierce fire of his earlier college days.
Looking at these clips, I know I could do amazing things with Luca, things that might earn me Bellamy’s respect, if only Luca will give me a chance and follow my instructions. Luca Maguire is ridiculously athletic and innately talented. The Maguire DNA is strong in that one. But unfortunately, he relies way too much on his God-given talents at the expense of his technique and strategizing, and those flaws in his game have become increasingly problematic over time. Now that he’s butting up against middle age by professional football standards, he’s got to shift gears or there’s no doubt in my mind this season in the NFL will be his last.
I pause the current video to input some information into the color-coded spreadsheet I’ve been building to keep track of all things Luca Maguire. But midway through my entry, a commotion at the entrance to the cafeteria attracts my attention.
Luca.
He’s entered the room among a large pack of players, and all of them are enthusiastically laughing and ribbing each other.
Déjà vu.
Exactly like Luca did in Bloomington years ago, he now barrels straight to the buffet line alongside his teammates and begins enthusiastically piling food onto his plate.
As Luca works his way through the bountiful offerings, I place an elbow on the table and my chin in my hand and study him, thoroughly enjoying this chance to stare at him without being discovered. My goodness, that boy’s grown into quite the specimen of a man since we first met.
When I first beheld Luca Maguire as a fresh-faced, wide-eyed, inexperienced teenager, I thought he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. With his jaw-dropping smile and dimples, and his big ol’ booty and strong arms, he was too beautiful to resist. So I didn’t.
But now, he’s retained all of his former beauty, but it’s amplified. Bigger and better. And so much hotter. Now, he looks like a man. No, a demigod. Hercules. He’s the sort of guy who makes people stop and stare brazenly as he passes by. The physical type I’d order from the Man Store, if that were a thing. Frankly, if it were, I’d pay extra for rush shipping.
Suddenly, Luca’s eyes lock with mine. Crap. And when he discovers I’ve been watching him, a cocky smile breaks out across his rugged face, one that makes his dimples pop and goose bumps erupt over every inch of my flesh.
Angry with myself for getting caught looking, I immediately whip my attention to my laptop screen and pretend to be extremely busy with my spreadsheet. But only a few moments later, Luca is here at my table, plopping his tray down and sliding his muscular ass into the chair across from mine.
“Hi, babysitter. Déjà vu, right?”
I’m too tongue-tied by the adrenaline coursing through me to speak, so I simply nod and try to look highly engrossed in what’s on my computer screen.
After waiting a beat for me to say something, Luca motions to my opened laptop and says, “Are you compiling a long list of all the reasons you desperately wanted to get away from me in Bloomington?”
“I didn’t want to get away from you, Luca, desperately or otherwise. I just realized it was time to go. My team got into the next day’s final in our math competition, remember?”
“How’d you do the next day? I’ve always wondered that.”
“We came in second.”
“Right on.”
“No, it was a massive disappointment. I cried the whole way back to school.”
He laughs. “Aw, poor little Chelsea. So competitive.”
“And you’re not? Because if that’s the case, you should hang up your cleats right now.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course I’m competitive. Why do you think I’m still here letting three-hundred-thirty-pound offensive linemen beat me up year after year?”
Football is war, baby.
Remembering that’s what Luca said to me years ago sends a shiver coursing through me. At the time, it was the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me. Hands down. It still is, actually. But looking at Luca now, I can tell the teenager who initially made that cocky, flippant proclamation has been worn down, slowly but surely, through some soul-crushing, bloody battles that have left him robbed of quite a bit of that early, uncontained self-confidence.
I lay my forearm on the table. “So, Luca. I’ve been watching film on you, and I’ve already started a spreadsheet on you that’s going help me maximize your chances here, if you’ll only give me a chance to prove myself to you as your personal coach.”