Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Agnes Canestri (books like harry potter .TXT) đ
- Author: Agnes Canestri
Book online «Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Agnes Canestri (books like harry potter .TXT) đ». Author Agnes Canestri
âYou thought wrong,â I answer. âCoach Fielding ordered me to see an anger therapist before camp starts.â
âButter my butt and call me a biscuit!â Joe exclaims, but when he notices my somber expression, he adds, âWhat? Thatâs not so bad. If it were me, I wouldnât mind a quick chat with a cute shrink. White coats are hot.â
I lift my hand and count on my fingers. âFirst, the therapist might be male. Second, itâs not just a chat. Coach wants me to follow an intensive impulse management program with an end report stating, quote: âyour emotional state has been professionally evaluated and deemed fit.â ThirdâŠâ I wiggle my finger at him. âIâm not you.â
Joe grew up in a household full of gossipy girlsâheâs got six younger sistersâwho trained him to be forthcoming about his private life with almost anyone. While Iâm as comfortable sharing personal issues with strangers as a cat swimming.
Joe shrugs. âDonât do it, then. What can they possibly do if youââ
âIf I donât comply, Iâm not allowed to take part in the camp.â
Joe gasps. âYouâre royally screwed, dude. You must do it, then.â
Yeah. Joe sized up my situation perfectly.
Coach Fielding isnât only famous for his disregard of climate-adequate clothing but also for his strict rule that whoever skips the August training camp canât play for his team in the next season.
Itâs a retaliation he came up with after an offensive line veteran attempted to avoid the month of hell by orchestrating a bogus family emergency. As it turned out, his wife who was supposed to have gone into labor wasnât even pregnant.
I nod. âI know. I canât let Jamal push me under the coachesâ radar. Iâll become as meek as a sheep if I need to, but I wonât sit on a bench during the games.â
âThereâs a tree stump in Mommaâs swamp with a higher IQ than Jamalâs, but the boy sure throws well.â Joe scratches his thick black hair, producing a rustling sound. âYouâre right to be afraid of him.â
âThanks for pointing that out,â I grumble.
Unfortunately, itâs not just Jamalâs throwing skills that worry me. Itâs his youth and the effervescent zeal that comes with it. I used to have that, too, when I started, but the years have caused it to wear off somewhat.
âDidnât Coach Williams defend you?â Joe asks.
I swallow back the bile that rises at his question. âNo. The most absurd part is that Coach Fielding claimed Iâve got anger issues. In plural. Isnât that ridiculous? I only made one blunder. One.â
I expect Joe to agree with me. My friend crashes into defenders, throws violent stiff arms, and runs through people rather than around them on the field. He must surely see that I have no excess fury to shed.
To my surprise, Joe hisses through his teeth. âWell, I only witnessed it from a distance, but you seemed possessed when you jabbed Rodriguez. What were you even thinking?â
I shrug. âI donât know. Rodriguez made a bunch of idiotic remarks about my footwork and then a nasty joke.â
âAnd those are reasons for you to pitch a hissy fit? Since when?â Joe wrinkles his nose, flaring his large nostrils. âI admit Rodriguez could make a preacher cuss. But in our years together, Iâve never seen you lose your temper. Not like that. You looked like Gomez when you launched at the guy.â
Gomez played on our team before getting suspended for beating up his agent badly. The poor man had landed in the hospital with major concussions. Gomezâs motive? His agent missed out on closing a sponsorship Gomez desired.
I snort. âThanks for putting me into the same category with that psycho.â
Iâm nothing like that loony. Mine was a simple slip, a brief moment of irrationality. I was probably tired, like Coach Williams suggested.
Joe purses his lips. âA little burr in your saddle ainât a problem. It drives you to hit harder, run faster, and throw farther. But youâve got too much of it lately.â He pats my arm. âIs something going on youâre not telling? Perhaps a family issue?â
A throbbing spreads into my ear at his comment, and I suppress a growl. âNope. Family has nothing to do with it.â
Joe opens his mouth then shuts it. He adjusts the waistband of his shorts, then blinks at me. âHuh! Okay, then. But youâve got to figure out who licked the red off your candy. This upcoming season is my last, and I want you as happy as a dead pig in the sunshine when we claim that Vince Lombardi trophy together.â
I stare at Joeâs serene face and shake my head. âI donât get how you could decide to just quit.â
Though Joe is a year my junior, he told the coaches that after this season, he wouldnât get his contract renewed with the team.
Joe gives me his signature, lopsided grin. âWeâre living in high cotton here. Absolutely. But you can have that in your retirement too, with the right strategy.â
Joe would know all about that. Heâs attended every boot camp NFL has ever conceived: broadcasting, speakers bureau, leadership and advocacy. You name it, heâs done it. He even dragged me to a seminar once about how to become a coach.
Joe must read the doubt on my face because he adds, âDonât tell me youâre still as passionate about the league as you were when you got drafted? I know Iâm not. I prefer to retire of my own will. Iâve had my prime time, and Iâm happy to go down before losing all my grit for the game. Or before the coaches can kick me out.â
I believe Joeâs got more than one season in him, but itâs true that the owners and coaches cut players as they please, especially if theyâre in demanding team positions such as running back.
I shrug. âPerhaps youâre right. But I couldnât do that. I still feel like I belong here more than anywhere else.â
Though my career doesnât give me the
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