Page 25 of Most Likely to Score
That’s the point of these feet, this heart, this body that I try to keep finely-tuned every day. You don’t get a job as a wide receiver for one of the best NFL teams in the country if you can’t move your feet like Hermes.
I earned a 4.3 in the forty-yard dash at the combine. That’s the fastest on the team.
When I reach the goalpost, I slap it, then rest my elbow against it and adopt an oh-so-casualRoad Runner waiting for Wile E. Coyotepose until the guys catch up with me.
Cooper holds up his hand to high-five. “That’s what I want to see every goddamn Sunday on the field.”
“And that’s what you get.”
“I know it. I love it.”
Rick is the last one, joining us at an easy pace. “Nobody cares how fast I run. I save all my energy for my golden foot.”
“And it is golden indeed,” Cooper says, and we head for the first row in the stands, where I left a water bottle and a little good luck treat for my guys.
After I down half the bottle, since we’ve been working out for two hours this morning, I reach into a red mesh bag—a bag of pomelos. I bought a few more after I worked my way through the gift Jillian gave me. No lie. Jillian was right. Pomelos are delicious and now I have a new favorite fruit. The rind is thick though so I made a knife cut at home.
“Gentlemen, this may become our new good luckritual for the season. Turns out this fruit is mighty tasty, and a harbinger of all good things to come.”
Harlan grabs one, rips at the cut in the thick rind, and asks: “Does this mean the cherry pie worked?”
I shoot him a quizzical look. “What does one have to do with the other?”
Harlan chuckles. “Oh, right. You thought I wouldn’t notice that you’re suddenly eating pomelos. I am well aware that Jillian has these on her desk. I do pay attention to what goes on around us.”
Rick slaps the seat in front of him. “That’s fantastic. Jillian is giving you special gifts now. What other presents are you giving each other?” Rick wiggles his eyebrows.
I slice a hand through the air, cutting off this direction of conversation since I don’t want them thinking Jillian is doing favors of any sort for me. One, she’s not, and two, there’s her professional rep among the guys to think of. I need to scramble to protect her privacy. Just like I’d do on the field if a cornerback sneaked up on me, I hunt for a way to escape the secondary. “It was a thank-you gift for doing the calendar, guys. That’s all. Even if I wanted something more, there’s nothing happening, and I respect her choices.”
Cooper claps me on the back. “Good man, and there are plenty of other fish in the sea. But what I want to know is this.” He stops to scratch his chin as I wait for him to say more. “How the hell is your big ego handling the rejection?”
Harlan smiles faintly in faux sympathy. “It must bea brand-new feeling. Do we need to take you to therapy to process all this?”
I shake my head, amused and impressed at their bottomless appetite for giving me shit. “Yes, please schedule me an appointment right after yours.”
Harlan laughs, chewing on a slice of fruit. “I do have a long-standing appointment with a shrink, since it takes time each week to process how awesome I am.” He finishes the slice. “I’m as awesome as this fruit. Holy shit. This is good.”
And we’re back to safer ground. Grabbing another pre-cut pomelo from the bag, I hold it over my head. “Not only do pomelos bring good fortune, but they’re full of antioxidants that are so very healthy for you,” I say, adopting a TV-commercial-style tone.
“You can say that again.” My agent’s voice booms.
I snap my gaze to see Ford striding over to us as I peel one. “How’d you get in?”
“Magic,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Or maybe the equipment manager told me all my favorite clients were here, and look at all of you. But especially you,” he says, pointing at me. “You’re already sounding like a spokesman.”
Cooper claps my back and speaks to Ford. “See? I told you we could clean up our wild child.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Ford says, grabbing his shades and removing them with the kind of panache you only see from the coolest dudes on film. Still, I won’t let his slickness sway me. I’ve been burned, and I want to see what the man has to offer. He points two fingers at me. “Can you say Paleo Pet?”
“Uh. Yeah.Paleo Pet.”
He thrusts a fist in the air. “I love it. And I have a delivery of Paleo Pet Food for Small Breeds coming to your house this afternoon to see if your man Cletus likes it.”
I knit my brow. “Someone is sending me dog food? I know my last agent was a thief, but I do have enough dough to buy food for a ten-pound Chihuahua mix.”
Cooper slaps his thigh, laughing at me. “Dude, I think someone’s trying to tell you Paleo Pet is courting you and Cletus.”
And the switch goes on. The light flashes bright. “A dog food company?” I scratch my head. “I guess I didn’t make the connection because you said you were chasing down an organic quick-serve restaurant.”
