Page 37 of Personal Foul

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Before he knew it, training camp had arrived. This would be the first time they’d be parted for more than a few days, and for some reason, this made him uneasy. Although he didn’t know why. Just that something nagged at him.

He pulled her into his arms and laid his head on the top of hers. “Are you going to text me?”

“Every night,” she promised.

“Even video calls?”

“If you want.”

“I do want,” he murmured. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Find me a house.”

She pulled back and looked up at him, blinking. “What?”

“A house,” he repeated. “I’m going to ask my mom to help put my house in California on the market, so I thought I couldhave you look for one here.”

“Oh,” she said, pulling away. “Of course. But you have to let me know what you want.”

“I was thinking about four bedrooms. At least two bathrooms. A finished basement. A pool would be nice.”

“Okay. Sounds reasonable. I’ll start looking for you.”

He kissed her forehead. “Thanks, baby. Call Crew’s friend, Paul. He can help narrow things down. Make sure you pick homes that would appeal to you. I like your style.”

She frowned. “Okay. Nothing cold and sterile?”

“No. I want a home, not a mausoleum.”

“I think I can do that.”

He smiled down at her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He leaned down and gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth, then picked up his duffle bag and left her apartment. When the door closed behind him, he hesitated for a moment, before forcing himself to walk away.

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Training camp was held at a university, and the players would sleep in the dorms attached to campus. Usually, the rookies would arrive first, and have a few days of intense training before the vets appeared. But, since the Archers were made up of misfits and undrafted men, they all started together.

Ninety players came together to live, eat, and breathe football for the next two to three weeks. By the end of camp, only fifty-three would remain standing. Even though his contract had been snapped up by the Archers, that didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck up and get benched.

“Your number one priority on offense should be execution,” Coach Sigworth said, pacing back and forth. “We’re going to focus on small, careful plays, again and again. Until you’re dreaming them. Until you can run them blindfolded.Until all of you connect with one another. Those other teams out there have already written us off. They think you’re the castoffs. The derelicts of the NFL. Nobody wants you and everyone is laughing at you.”

A disgruntled murmur swept through the players.

“So, while you’re here, keep those words in your head. Let them fuel you on, because thirty-seven of you will not be joining us for the upcoming season.” Coach Sigworth clapped his hands. “Now, get out there and start sweating.”

They broke to start warming up.

Crew nudged him. “Our life for the next couple of weeks.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, brother.”

“Yep.”

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