Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“You too, Cafferty.” He stands, stretching his arms overhead.
No fucking fair.
His navy-blue T-shirt sneaks up an inch, revealing a sliver of toned, muscular abs.
I look away.
“I guess this is the new gin joint,” he adds, gesturing to indicate the tiny green room. “Funny thing . . . I learned just this morning that you were doing the show with me. My publicist called me an hour ago to tell me I had a co-star.”
Shit. Fuck. Hell.
Why did I bother with meditation? I’m already screwed. He’s going to think I’m stalking him. Well, if he knew what I did last night, he’d be pretty much right.
But I have the truth on my side. “Wilder Blaine corralled me after the game last night and asked me to do it. I couldn’t say no to the owner,” I say, handling this encounter more smoothly than the gym one. Maybe I’m getting used to Jason and this cloud of lust he kicks up in me.
“It’s all good. I couldn’t say no to Nadia either.” Then he nods toward the interior door to the tiny studio. A window in the door gives a view of Megan, the host, setting up headphones.
“This should be fun,” Jason adds.
I don’t know if fun is the word I’d use. More like a challenge. But I echo, “Yup. Fun.”
He smiles, warm and easy. He seems different this morning. That doesn’t quite seem like his Mister Glad Hand grin.
I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he almost seems . . . more real.
Like he was at his house, maybe.
But there’s no time to parse out his state of mind, or heart, since Megan pushes open the door, then tucks her black hair behind her ears.
“I asked for a two-for-one quarterback deal, and I got it. I’m so excited to have you both here this morning. Come in, come in,” she says, ushering us inside.
Jason goes in first, and I follow, looking at anything besides the shape of his big body in front of me.
Now, if I can just get through the next twenty minutes without thinking about his hands.
Or his mouth.
Or my fantasies.
10
QUARTERBACK SNEAK
Beck
Eighteen minutes later, I’m doing a little bit better than surviving.
Dare I say it? I’m holding my own. This meditation shit works. “Beck, break down for us what you were thinking in that play in the third quarter . . .” Megan says, diving into a pivotal moment in yesterday’s game.
I meet her gaze and focus solely on answering her question. “We knew going into the game that Dallas has a tough defense. They try to wear you down, so we had to get out hard and fast.”
Shit. That sounds dirty.
Don’t think about hard and fast sex.
I clear my throat and finish. “And we just tried to play that way.”
Thankfully, Megan throws the next volley to Jason. “Jason, was that your approach against New York?”
“You know, Megan, you can never go wrong with hard or fast,” he says.
I dip my head, a little embarrassed I said those words. But coming from Jason’s mouth, they’re fun.
Still, I might need to allot an hour for guided meditation next week, so I don’t talk about penetration in the end zone.
Megan rubs her palms, her smile turning sneaky. “All right, guys. It’s the two-minute warning. I’d like to finish the show by having the two of you Monday Morning Quarterback each other.”
Whoa. That’s a play I didn’t see coming. Megan obviously left this out of her memo to Ian to get a natural reaction.
“Beck, what tips would you give Jason for his game play?”
Think on your feet, buddy. Like you’re in the pocket. “Well, I was playing against Dallas yesterday, so I didn’t watch his game,” I say. That’s half true.
“In general,” Megan adds, undeterred. “Surely, you know his style of play.”
“Yes, Beck. Tell me how to improve my style,” Jason says with a playful grin. The guy is so damn good at talking.
But with his blue eyes pinning me, it’s hard to think strategy. It’s hard to . . . think.
I draw a blank as I tug at my shirt. I’m starting to sweat. I steal a glance at the time, hoping I can just let the clock run down.
When a few seconds pass without me saying a word, Jason clears his throat. “I believe Beck was telling me in the green room that he thought my passer rating was his dream, and he hopes to come within spitting distance of it,” Jason says with too much glee.
I roll my eyes, but the jab knocks my brain back into gear. “Ah, I remember now. My advice to Jason McKay is don’t get too cocky in the pocket or you’ll get sacked.”
Megan’s face lights up like bantering guest hosts are a gift from the podcast fairy. “And on that note, join us again next Monday when the city’s two signal-callers break down the game and each other’s performance.”