Page 2 of Bump and Run

Even my jaw sags a little. I grew up about a half a block from the bad part of town in a neighborhood that pretended to be nicer than it really was. My family got by just fine but never in a million years did I think I would ever step foot in a place as nice as this.

A man in a vest charges down the front steps and meets us at the end of the drive, signaling for Ty’s keys as we climb outside.

Ty passes them off, his grin stretching out even longer. “Valet parking,” he remarks, staring at me.

“It’s not Cary Pierce’s house, man,” I say, although I’m not even sure what to believe anymore. The valet drives off and I chuckle. “For all you know, that guy just stole your car.”

“Pfft,” Ty laughs. “Joke’s on him. Thing ain’t worth shit. He did me a favor.”

I chuckle and the front door opens before we even reach it.

“It’s about time, guys! The team is waiting on you!”

My jaw drops and I glance over at Ty as his mouth slides into a thin smirk.

Cary Pierce. The Cary Pierce. Four-time champion Cary Pierce, a man I’ve looked up to since I was ten years old, is standing in front of me. He looks exactly the way he did when I was a kid with the small exception of his black hair looking a little thin around the edges and the slight wrinkles taking hold of the skin around his eyes.

No fucking way.

He waves us in with a thick hand. “Well, don’t just stand there.”

We step forward and Ty takes the lead, shoving forward to shake hands with a legend. “It’s awesome to meet you, sir,” he says. “I’m Ty Fisher.”

“Fisher?” Pierce asks. “You know a Sal Fisher?”

“Sal’s my cousin.”

“Good man! He gave me a decent deal on this house.”

“And what a beautiful house it is!” Ty winks.

Pierce gestures him inside and his eyes fall on me. “And you must be Junior Morgan.”

I blink, taking his hand. “How did you know?”

“Process of elimination,” he shrugs. “You’re the only one I haven’t met yet — and you’re gonna have to work on that grip if you’re going to be my quarterback.”

My cheeks bleed red. I just gave the world’s daintiest handshake to Cary freakin’ Pierce.

“Sorry, sir!” I laugh, giving him a hard squeeze. The steel band of his championship ring presses into my skin.

“That’s much better! Maybe the tales of your legendary arm are true after all.”

He pats my shoulder and I feel like a little kid. He’s so much taller than I thought he was. I’m 6’2” myself, making him nearly 6’6” by my estimation and close to two-hundred and fifty pounds. He’s a damn truck.

“Well, I don’t know about that—”

“Never tone down your strengths, Junior,” he says, leaning in. “Even if you have to fake it.”

“Yes, sir.”

He shakes his head. “None of that sir stuff. Coach is fine.”

I beam like a damn jester in the presence of the king. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Come on out back,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to go over tonight.”

Ty and I follow him through the foyer towards the back, passing through a huge kitchen before stepping out onto the lawn. The air is thick with the scent of barbecue and burning charcoal. A perfectly landscaped garden rests in the center, along with a large pool and a pool house on the other side of it.

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