And that’s when the buzzer to my phone rings and Trudy’s voice comes on.
“Ms. Heaton, Ethan Blake is here for your 11:45 meeting.”
Fuck.
I should have given the both of them more than 15 minutes each for their meetings.
Colt senses that the moment’s gone as well and he pulls away. He looks at me as he takes a few steps back and starts walking to the door. “I’ll be waiting for your decision, Ms. Heaton,” he says, and I wonder which decision he’s referring to. “I’m a patient man.”
“I’ll be watching you,” I say, my blood rushing to my brain. “Let’s hope you don’t disappoint me.”
He smirks and turns around. I look at his perfect ass as he opens the door and heads out.
I sigh. I need to cool myself down. I try to clear my head and look out the window towards the stadium. My stadium.
That’s when the doorway darkens and I turn to see dark brown hair on a ruggedly handsome, outdoorsman of a face. With slight dimples, deep brown, soulful eyes. And the most gorgeous frame I’ve ever seen.
Ethan Blake.
Fuck.
This decision is going to be hard.
Ethan
I thought I couldn’t hate him anymore than I already did. Boy, was I wrong. Only, this time, Colt Stackford got me kicked out from the Dallas Devils and shipped away to the New York Nailers. I had a clear path towards the Super Bowl before this, but now… Now we’re both headed for a team going through major changes.
Honestly, this whole thing feels a whole lot like losing. And if there’s anything that I hate more than losing, it’s losing because of Colt.
Sure, I ran my mouth more than I should have on that television show, back on the SportsNation studio, but what else could I do? Sit there in silence as if I was Colt’s goddamn sidekick? Yeah, I guess that’s what he would have liked me to do. Fuck that - I wasn’t going to let him take credit for what me and the rest of the team did. Sure, he might be the best QB in the whole league, but that doesn’t mean he wins games by himself. I’d like to see him try and take his foolish risks on offense if I wasn’t running the whole damn defense.
Well, fuck it. The Dallas Devils are part of the past now, anyway. There’s nothing else for me to do than to look forward and make the best of my situation now. The NY Nailers are the future and, if it’s up to me, they’re going to pull through. In fact, if I have anything to do about it, we’re still contenders for the Super Bowl. See that? It’s called staying positive You learn that growing up around the Stackford family. Especially Colt.
As far as I’m concerned, Colt should be shitting his pants now. There’s only space in the team for one of us, and he doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against me. He might be one of the best QBs I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean he’s the best player. That idiot cares more about women and booze than keeping his head on the game - talent will only take him so far. That’s the one constant about the Nationwide Football League that’s gotten me as far as it has so far. Hard work pays off. While he’s busy partying his life away and trying to score as much pussy as he can, I’m busy grinding away and improving my game.
See, for me, it’s all about the game. I don’t care about money, fame, women or whatever. Those things are nice, sure, but what I really care about is winning. Everything else is just a bonus. If the Nailers’ new owner has half a brain, she’ll make the right decision and keep me on the team.
It’s that mindset that makes me park my car inside the Nailers stadium - my new home - and make my way towards the main offices with a smile on my face. I take an elevator and stroll into the administrative floor, making a beeline towards the young secretary sitting behind a desk too large for her. She tucks a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, her eyes widening as she sees me enter the room.
I can almost hear the lewd thoughts cruising inside her head. Almost too shamelessly, she looks me up and down; licking her lips in an unconscious way, she straightens her back and smiles, desire making her pupils larger. It seems that I can’t walk inside a room without having every single woman there mentally undressing me.
I’m used to it by now, though. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I love women as much as Colt does - I just don’t need to make a goddamn fuss about it. I like to keep things quiet. It’s better for the girl too. So when she finds out that I’ll never love her like I love the game, it’s a lot easier for her to move on without making a scene. The last thing I need in my life is to become tabloid fodder.
“I’m here for the meeting with the owner,” I tell the receptionist, smiling as politely as I can.
“Uhm - yes, yes. The 11:45 meeting,” she mutters, her eyes never leaving mine. She picks up her desk phone and, pressing a button, talks into it. “Ms. Heaton, Ethan Blake is here for your 11:45 meeting.” Someone on the other side of the line replies and, with an exaggerated smile, she tells me that Ms. Heaton will see me in a moment.
“Thank you,” I nod slightly, adjusting the cuffs on my tailored Hugo Boss suit. Be sharp, look sharp - that’s my motto. I really don’t care about the office politics that happen behind the scenes, and I’m not dumb enough to get side-lined because of it. If making a good first impression helps, so be it.
I don’t have to wait long - only one minute after the secretary’s call, the door to Heaton’s office swings open. A sixth sense turns my head by instinct, and I realize that a particular someone had already met with the owner.
“Oh, you actually bothered to show up,” Colt tells me with a smirk. My hand curls into a first and I have to restrain myself so that I don’t knock him out again. “You don’t stand a chance here, buddy,” he scoffs at me, patting me on the chest. “You should start looking fo
r a new team, you know?”
I look at him with raw, seething hatred.
He smirks. “Hear water boy spot is still open though, if you want it,” he says.