Page 11 of Who's Playing You
I realize she was a little spooked though, and that was entirely my fault.
She’d sensed me this morning.
I felt it.
So when she searched for me, I let her finally see me.
It made me so fucking happy when her eyes zapped to mine. And she couldn’t look away - our connection is just that strong. But then those fucking kids walked by her and it distracted her.
They broke our connection.
Fucking cockblockers.
But alas, I guess that was ok for our first time. I doubt she’d be ready to meet me in person quite yet. Besides I had more work to do before I made contact with her.
I knew she’d finished her summer course and she now spent her days at her studio on campus painting and drawing, or she’d sit at that ridiculous coffee shop with her laptop and write. If she wasn’t at those two places, she was out on one of the many trails in the region, walking, hiking, immersed in nature or some shit, her sketch pad in hand.
I’d already checked the security footage from her apartment, so I knew she wasn’t home. So like I said, she was probably still at the Caffeinated Cock, with all of its rooster paraphernalia all over the place. Like I just sated: ridiculous. But it was so ridiculous and stupid, it was borderline genius.
Things were starting to really ramp up for me with The Rage. Training camps were in full swing, and our first game was just around the corner.
I almost resented that fact too, because it’d take me away from her.
But at the same time, this was the closest I’d ever been to her. And this was the most I’d ever seen of her, consistently.
It was bliss.
My house - our house - was all done. The pool was finished. The construction crew was now working on the barns for me. I’d left the house sparsely furnished though, just the bare necessities. I’d leave that to Scottie when she was ready.
But I had a lot of instructions for Bob when it came to one of the barns in particular. The barn closest to the house was going to be Scottie’s studio. I knew what my girl wanted and needed. So Bob was under specific instructions on how to renovate the barn to my exact specs to give her the most beautiful studio space.
I couldn’t wait to see her face when I’d show it to her.
I sat outside on my deck, overlooking the town below where I knew Scottie was most likely still at that coffee shop, sipping my ice water and formulating my next move.
Sure, maybe I should spend a little more of my time and effort on how to win over my teammates instead of planning mine and Scottie’s future, but frankly… I let out a heavy sigh. I just didn’t give a fuck. If those dumbasses were going to be skeptics, let them. The only thing that would change their minds would be my actions.
Actions speak louder than words.
So let them keep their distance. Let them ignore me. Let them give me sideways glances and try to figure me out.
I guess it also kind of threw them for a loop that The Diva hadn’t made an appearance… yet. I’d been nothing but quiet, friendly (ish), and reserved thus far. A far cry from my reputation, I was well aware.
All I’d done thus far since arriving at The Rage was to show up at least an hour before every practice, put in twice the amount of work that everyone else was putting in, followed by all of the meetings and conditionings and whatever else we needed to do. The only thing missing was bonding with my team.
One might think that would be a problem. And for most, they’d be correct.
For me, however, this wasn’t a problem. I’d let my work speak for itself.
And so far, the offense was starting to come around ever so slightly. When they saw throw after throw landing with damn near perfect accuracy, well, you can’t but admire that.
And I knew it. They knew it too.
Before long, all those guys would be kissing my ass. They’d be begging for a play that would put a throw from my fingers to their hands in the end zone. All they needed to do wasget themselves into position, and I would get them the ball - perfectly spiraled into their hands.
But of course it would be perfect!
My blockers just needed to do their fucking job and give me a few seconds to drop back into the pocket, while my receivers got themselves open downfield.
