Page 18 of Necessary Roughness

After what felt like ages of a slow-motion walking scene in a movie, Luke was before me.

The man was a mountain, and the difference in our size was even more noticeable with me sitting and him standing. Towering over me like a giant.

I was almost in awe. But I couldn’t let it show.

Luke opened his mouth to speak but paused, as if considering his words carefully.

In that moment, I could see his attempts at restraint. I could see that he was putting a great deal of effort into not telling me to go to hell.

Because that’s what professional NFL players were trained to do: never respond. Take the criticisms and stay quiet. Keep playing the game, don’t take it personally.

I had spent the past few months going hard at this man. And finally, with him standing in front of me, I felt a hint of empathy for what he must have felt.

The air around us was charged with tension, and I knew I needed to say something neutral to slice through it.

“Look who’s slumming it with us regular folks,” I said with a smirk. “I didn’t think millionaires even knew where coffee shops were.”

Immediately, I regretted it. My brain had intended for me to say something non-confrontational. Like maybe the wordhello.

Luke frowned at me.

“I’m retired from the game,” he said with a grimace. “Are you ever going to let up? You’ve got a huge podcast audience listening to you mock me.”

I wasn’t going to let him boss me around. That’s what famous, rich players did. They bossed people around. Their personal trainers, their personal assistants, their families. Everyone did whatever Mr. Famous Man said—right away!

I scoffed. “I didn’t know whining was part of your retirement plan. I thought you’d be too busy counting your millions to care what I say.”

Luke laughed, but I could tell he was pissed. “I guess tearing other people down is easier than building anything real, huh? Too bad all you’ve built is a bitter little soap box.”

Wow.

I… was not prepared for him to take it there.

Luke scowled as he added, “Must be hard watching someone live the life you’ll never have. Maybe that’s why you’re still doing podcasts from a house that’s not even yours.”

Fuck.

My heart raced as my fingers gripped the plastic cup containing my iced coffee. Suddenly, and much to my embarrassment, the lid popped off and fell in my lap.

Silence filled the atmosphere around us. It was obvious I was nervous. The lid to my fucking cup had just erupted off.

I wanted to be tough. I wanted to stand up for myself against this rich prick.

“Career advice from Luke Dalton?” I asked with a laugh. “That’s funny, coming from someone who’s biggest achievement was playing a game. I’d take my career—building something genuine andlasting—over being another washed-up athlete who can’t handle life off the field.”

Luke moved closer to my table, only inches separating us now.

“I can handle life off the field,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I have a hard time losing out on millions of dollars because someone else can’t stop running his mouth about me.”

“What?” I asked, reaching down and retrieving my lid from the floor.

Awkwardly, I didn’t know what to do with it. Place it back on my cup? Throw it away? I was flustered in every way possible.

“You heard me,” Luke said. “I was in the running for a sponsorship that would have paid ten million. When the CEO heard your constant barrage of insults about me, he called it off.”

For some reason, this news caught me by surprise. Which was odd, considering that I was normally plugged in to what was happening in the industry. Part of my job was to follow the player’s lives. Not just their performance on-the-field, but their personal lives and corporate affiliations as well.

Sure, I knew I had given Luke a hard time, but that was part of the business. They play, we criticize.

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