Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
The rest of the coaches lined the wall behind him, giving him our full attention.
“I know I’ve already met a few of you during my tours here, but I’m excited to finally get real time with each and every one of you. I won’t pretend like I’m blind to how uncomfortable and uneasy this all must be for you. I’m not just a new player, I’m a new coach — and I know how that can shake things up more than anything else.”
I swallowed.
“But I want you to know, I’m not here to change everything. Obviously, a lot of what you have going here has been working. It’s an honor to be walking onto this team.” He paused, hanging his hands on his hips. “It’ll be even more of an honor to give you the last push to the finish line, to be there when they crown us champs at the end of the season.”
That made several players exchange looks of determination and delight, that fire that I’d stoked at the end of last season just one good poke away from roaring again. We’d played in bowl games the last two seasons, pulling NBU back from an embarrassing ten years of lackluster performance. But while we’d won two years ago, we’d lost our most recent one — costing us our shot at the Championship Title.
And this was my last year to get there, to win it all, to seal my spot as a first-round draft pick into the NFL.
“It’s the first day of spring training,” Coach said. “And I don’t want to use this precious time babbling on about myself. We’ll get to know each other as the season progresses. For now, I want to introduce you to Coach Hoover,” he said, gesturing for the man who’d walked in next to him to come up. “Hoover is my right-hand man and will probably become your favorite person in the world because if anyone can talk me out of making a team run laps, it’s him.”
Coach Hoover smirked as Coach Lee clapped him on the back.
“And this,” he said, waving a hand behind him. “Is my daughter — Julep.”
A knot formed in my throat, too thick to swallow past as all eyes shot to the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl.
Hesitantly, she stepped up to his side, though she didn’t smile or show any ounce of emotion other than a slight raise of two fingers from where she’d folded her arms across her chest.
“Julep is rounding out her junior year, and for some reason, loves me enough to transfer from our last university and finish out her degree here. She’s majoring in sports medicine, and she’ll be interning under the training staff on the team.”
My heart rate spiked at the thought of her being around all the time, at the mere inference that she might be the one to stretch or massage me before a game.
Coach paused, something more severe washing over his expression as his jaw hardened, eyes narrowing.
“And let me be extremely clear,” he said, scanning the room. “If any of you even so much as thinks about flirting with Julep, let alone having the balls to ask her on a date, you will have me to answer to. She’s not here for you to ogle over. She’s here to work — just like you. I imagine since you have Riley Novo as a teammate, I don’t need to lecture any further than this about respecting females in the athletic industry.”
Riley smiled a little at that, obviously impressed, and Julep rolled her eyes like she hated that this was a conversation that even needed to happen at all.
All the while, I was burning from the inside out.
Because all my life, football had been my one and only focus. It was all I cared about. It was my reason for waking up in the morning, and the only thought that consumed me when I laid my head down at night. It was my lifeline, my muse, the center of my attention.
But in one fatal moment, that focus shifted.
Julep Lee was the coach’s daughter. She was completely off limits.
And yet, I knew right then and there that I had to have her.
Five months later...
Julep
“I am not helping you put a stripper pole in the middle of your living room.”
My dad folded his arms sternly across his chest, caterpillar eyebrows furrowed the way they always were when he was yelling at one of his players.
“Help me or don’t help me, it’s going up,” I told him, fitting the chrome extension to the pole before tightening the screws.
“There’s a giant window that faces the street.”
I just shrugged, indifferent. “Then I guess the neighbors will get a free show.”
Dad scowled more, and I wish I still had the human emotion of joy left inside me so I could smile and put him at ease. Instead, I put the pole aside long enough to climb to my feet and wrap him in a hug — massive arms across his chest and all.