Chapter 27 Luca
Luca
I’M SUITED UP with my helmet off and stretching on the field before the third and final preseason game kicks off.
I was a beast in our second game last week, even more so than the prior week.
And now, I’m determined to extend my ass-kicking spree to three preseason games—and then into the regular season the week after that.
Now that Moriarty’s suited up for the first time this preseason, I admit it’s going to be a tall order to exceed my stats from my past two outings.
But I’m sure I’ll at least match them, since veterans and superstars like Moriarty only play a few reps in their short preseason appearances.
They always play just enough to get the cobwebs and jitters out, just enough to give the fans a sneak peek of their favorites.
But that’s it. And thank God for that, because my life, unlike Moriarty’s, is on the line tonight.
As the pregame clock continues winding down, I switch up my position to stretch my hamstrings at an angle that allows me to covertly observe my rival across the field.
He’s still running warm-up drills with Chelsea, and it’s taking every drop of my self-restraint not to go over there and tell him to stop being so fucking chatty and flirtatious with her.
I’ve wanted to wrap my hands around that man’s neck and squeeze the life out of him at least a thousand times since he rejoined the team three weeks ago.
But then I remember what Chelsea always says to calm me down, and I manage to hang on to my self-control by the barest of threads: You’re the one who’s been fucking me every night for the past two weeks, Luca. Not Jacob Moriarty.
I switch legs in my stretch, just in time to see Moriarty finish his drill and make a comment to Chelsea with a wide smile on his face.
His body language is extra flirty, but thankfully, whatever he said to her, it only made Chelsea shake her head and put her hand on her hip.
I’m only seeing the back of Chelsea’s head, but based on her body l language, I can perfectly imagine the eye roll and frown she just flashed him.
I take a deep breath and tell myself to focus on my pregame routine and ignore Chelsea and Moriarty. You can’t afford to get distracted or amped up, dumbass. You need to have your best game yet, not only for yourself but for Chelsea—to get her that job in operations she wants so much.
I can’t wait for tomorrow and the elation and relief it will bring.
Once I’m past all this constant make-or-break stress, once I’ve made it onto that active roster and Chelsea’s got the operations job, my life will be a dream come true in all ways.
I’ll finally be able to shut up my critics—all the assholes online who call me the “defective Maguire.” And I’ll have my girl by my side, too.
Out in the open. I haven’t talked to Chelsea about that second thing yet because I don’t want to jinx it, but why would we need to keep things a secret anymore?
People date in workplaces all the time. As long as one person isn’t the boss of the other, nobody cares.
And in our case, since Chelsea will be in operations instead of coaching, why would anyone care about us?
Even her father wouldn’t care, I’d bet. Why would he?
She’s an adult now. Not some teenager he’s got to protect.
And I’d be a full-fledged member of the team with a contract.
Surely, if I make it clear to Coach Parker that I’m in love with his daughter and not just messing around with her for kicks, he wouldn’t care.
True, I’ll still be a Maguire tomorrow and Chelsea will still be a Parker, but I can’t fathom Chelsea genuinely cares about that rivalry anymore.
At least, not enough to insist on continued secrecy with me once my spot is secured.
Which is why, when we’re celebrating our mutual good news tomorrow, I’m not only going to tell her I want her to be my girlfriend, officially.
Out in the open. I’m going to admit I love her, too.
A commotion in my peripheral vision draws my attention.
It’s our opponent for tonight’s game, the Raptors, taking the field for their pregame warm-up without any fanfare or introduction.
I glance toward Chelsea, since her brother Nate just walked onto the field with his teammates, and she’s already taking off running toward him, her arms flailing and her squealing energy apparent even from here.
Like Moriarty and all the other veterans across the league today, Nate Parker, the veteran middle linebacker for the Raptors, is suited up for the first time this preseason. Will he actually play? Who knows. But he’s here and in full pads and ready for anything.
When Chelsea reaches her brother about thirty yards from where I’m sitting on the ground, she takes a flying leap into his muscular arms, and he bear-hugs her and swings her around like a rag doll.
Reflexively, I glance at my rival to see if he’s followed his personal coach, but to my relief, Moriarty has just launched into a string of warm-up lunges that takes him in the opposite direction. Perfect. Chelsea’s met my entire family; it’s only fitting for me to meet one of her brothers.
I get up and stride toward the pair. As I close in on them, I’m intercepted by my good buddy, Jeremy Calhoun, who’s suited up in Raptors white and green and wearing a huge smile on his gregarious face.
“Maguire!” he booms gleefully, and we embrace and back slap each other.
We chat for a bit, but I’m distracted the whole time by Chelsea talking to her brother over there. So, I quickly congratulate Jeremy on getting picked up by the Raptors, wish him well in his continued pursuit of a roster spot, and tell him I’ll catch up with him some more after the game.
Finally, I make my way over to Chelsea again.
And when I get close to her and her brother, it’s just in time to hear my mathlete saying, “… and when I found out he’s got a state-of-the-art gym at his house, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to fit in a workout with Luca while I was out there visiting Daisy, anyway. ”
Nate’s the one facing me as Chelsea’s saying that, and when his gaze drifts over her head and lands on me, he says, “Speak of the devil. Luca Maguire. Hey, Ninety-Five. It’s great to meet you.”
I’m surprised by the warmth of his greeting.
Based on the way Chelsea always talks about the name Maguire being a “slur” to her “people,” I thought he’d at least razz me in greeting.
But then again, Nate isn’t the brother who got decimated by Roman twice—that was Lincoln—so perhaps that makes Nate far more capable of separating real life from football, unlike his stubborn little sister.
“Hey, Nate.” I shake his extended hand. “It’s great to meet you, too.”
“I was just telling my sister I know her big, bad secret.”
As my eyebrows jerk up, Chelsea blurts, “About me going to Roman’s party with you.” Clearly, she’s worried I’ll stupidly reveal an even bigger secret. Namely, the one where I’ve been secretly fucking Nate’s little sister to within an inch of her life every night for the past two weeks.
“Yeah, I forced her to come to the party with me so we could work out in Roman’s gym while she was in LA visiting her bestie.”
Chelsea’s shoulders visibly relax. To her brother, she says, “I wish you hadn’t told Dad and Lincoln about that.” She punches Nate’s shoulder pad. “They gave me a ration of shit about it till I explained everything.”
Nate looks confused. “I didn’t tell them. Someone else must have.”
“Who?”
“How should I know? Were there other players at the party?”
“Yeah, lots.”
“Well, there you go. In this league, everyone knows someone who knows someone. You know that, Pop-Tart.”
Chelsea looks at me pointedly as if to say, “See? I told you so.”
“Pop-Tart?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes.
“Speaking of Dad and Lincoln,” Nate says.
“They might have believed your horseshit story about Daisy’s birthday, but I know for a fact her birthday’s the same week as Mom’s.
” He waggles his eyebrows. “Now, why would you lie to Dad and Lincoln about the reason you were in LA at the same time as Luca Maguire? Only one reason comes to mind.”
Nate looks at me knowingly, and I quickly look at Chelsea for help, feeling cornered and trapped. Immediately, it’s clear Chelsea’s not going to be able to save me. That, in fact, she’s feeling every bit as cornered as me.
“Please, don’t tell anyone what you’ve figured out,” she gasps out, shocking the hell out of me. “Please, Nate.”
“So, you two are …?”
“Yes, but it’s got to remain a secret. Dad would one thousand percent cut Luca if he found out.”
I shudder. “Don’t remind me.”
Nate looks at me sympathetically. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.” He narrows his eyes. “Unless, of course, you do something to my sister that makes me regret my silence, and then all bets are off.”
“I won’t. You’ve got my word on that. Thank you.”
Nate nods with satisfaction. “I’ve seen film from your last two games, Maguire. Keep playing like that and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again during the regular season.”
“Man, I sure hope so.”
I’m reeling. Feeling downright giddy. Now that one of Chelsea’s family members knows about us and the sky isn’t falling, hopefully that will embolden her that much more to return the declaration of love I’m planning for tomorrow.
“Hey, a good buddy of mine is your new teammate,” I say. “Calhoun. Take good care of him for me, would you? He’s a great guy.”
“Yeah, he is,” Nate agrees. “Everyone loves him. And he’s been doing great, so—” His blue eyes light up at something happening behind me. “Jacob!” Nate bellows. And sure enough, when I turn to look, it’s Moriarty who’s coming to a stop on the other side of Chelsea.
I breathe deeply as the two linebackers embrace and back-slap each other like old friends, not knowing if I should stay or go.
“Congrats on resetting the market, man,” Nate says to Moriarty with a laugh.
“Hey, a rising tide lifts all boats. The holdout was brutal, though. I was dying to get to camp.”
“Oh, I bet.”
Moriarty grins down at Chelsea, who suddenly looks the approximate size of a garden gnome standing among the three of us linebackers. “Lucky for me, they assigned Parkette to whip my rusty ass back into shape when I finally got to camp.”
“Parkette?” Nate says with a chuckle as I’m thinking the exact same thing. Except without the chuckle. On the contrary, the word sends my blood instantly boiling.
“He keeps calling me that,” Chelsea murmurs. “Even though I keep telling him I don’t like it.”
“Parkette suits you, though,” Moriarty retorts. “You’re a small, female Parker.”
As Chelsea shakes her head, I clench my fists so I won’t murder my future team’s star player, thereby ending not only my own dreams, but Chelsea’s, too.
Suddenly, I feel like the odd man out, so I silently stalk away to continue my warm-up.
“Luca, hang on!” Chelsea shouts at my back. “I’ve got some last-minute scouting on their two rookie QBs for you!”
“Let him go,” Moriarty commands. “I need your help with my warm-up.”
“I’ll be right back, Jacob.”
“No, Chelsea, let him go. You’re assigned to me now, remember?” His dark eyes flicker. “That means you’re all mine.”