CHAPTER 3
GRAYDON
My leg bounces as I wait outside my coach’s office.
We’re not in season yet, given that it’s July, but we are about to start training camp soon, which means I don’t have time to dedicate two to three days a week to fucking flamingos. There has to have been a mistake, because this won’t work for me, and my coach is about to hear about it.
A pair of heels clicks across the hall, pulling my attention, and when I see Gretchen head in my direction in a red power suit, I groan out loud.
Jesus.
Christ.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Well, if it isn’t my least favorite player. So glad I was called into your stadium on a day that I should be working in my office.”
“I didn’t call you in here,” I say.
“Yes, but I apparently have to be present for whatever you’re about to whine to your coach about.”
The door flies open, and Coach Keenan gives me a disgusted once-over before offering a smile to Gretchen. “Shall we?”
“I think we shall.” She walks in, and I lift from my chair with a grunt before entering the large room covered in accolades…from when he was coaching other teams.
Gretchen sits in one of the chairs across from his desk while I choose to stand and lean against the far wall, crossing my arms indignantly.
Coach Keenan’s bald head reflects the light from the window behind him as he leans back in his chair and picks up a pen.
Whenever you have a conversation with him, the man always needs to fidget with something.
A pen, pieces of paper…his underwear. Yeah, I was present once when he picked a wedgie from the depths of his ass.
Incredibly unpleasant experience.
“Care to explain why you called this emergency meeting about your new assignment?” he asks.
“How do you know it’s about the assignment?” I ask.
“Because you were just assigned it yesterday, and you immediately asked for a meeting. I’m intelligent, Saint. I can put two and two together.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say through a clenched jaw.
He fucking knows not to call me that.
That there is only one person on this earth who is allowed to call me that.
And yet, he likes to push my goddamn buttons the minute I get into his office.
He shrugs. “Oops.”
The smile that tugs at his lips shows me that he’s nothing but an indignant fuck who doesn’t want the best for his players but rather plays politics to keep his job. It’s one of the top reasons I hate him.
Not wanting to stay here any longer than I have to, I say, “I can’t dedicate the time they need for me to be there at the zoo with training camp coming up soon.”
“Training camp isn’t for three weeks,” Coach Keenan counters. “That gives you plenty of time to help out at the zoo.”
I attempt not to crack my teeth from how irritated I am. “You know I have a training schedule I follow to get ready for camp. I’m not going to show up not in top physical form and let my boys down.”
“Pretty sure your training sessions aren’t all day, and if they are, I need to speak to the training staff because maybe your fatigue is one of the reasons we can’t win a game.”
This…mother…fucker.
The only reason we’re not annihilated out on the field is because of my defensive line and the pressure we apply on the opposing team’s quarterback.
Then again, he’s always been a cocksure asshole who thinks his game play is the only way to play the game. Seems like our record has a different opinion.
Sensing the tension, Gretchen steps in. “It’s only a few hours a week, Graydon. I’m sure you can swing it.”
I shoot a glare in her direction. “And was it your idea to pair me with the fucking flamingos?”
“No, that was your coach’s and Phil’s,” she answers. “I asked him what animal he thought would best boost the team’s image, and he and Phil picked the flamingo.”
Coach Keenan clicks his pen. “They’re something that just stuck out to me. Seeing you care for such…delicate birds. It would really put a smile on my face.”
My anger roaring to life, I shoot my arm out to the side.
“This is bullshit, and you know it. I shouldn’t be the one parading out there in the public eye.
It should be Marshall or Trivet…or how about Bateman, who can’t seem to get the public on his side since he gets sacked every other play?
Someone from offense to gain the public’s trust.”
Coach Keenan straightens up. “Please inform me, Saint, when you became the coach of this team. Because it seems that you’re under the impression that you’re the one who makes the decisions.”
“Someone needs to be fucking smart about this,” I shoot back, unable to rein in my temper.
It’s true though, there seems to be a lack of intelligence in this organization. Why would they choose me to try to gather some “team spirit” when I’m not only one of the least personable players on the team but also the one that doesn’t need to prove himself to the fans?
The offensive line should be the ones going on some sort of “apology/please like us” tour. Not me.
I make no sense as the chosen one.
Sure, I might not want to do this, and when it comes down to it, do I really have a hatred for flamingos?
Honestly, I’m indifferent, but take away my time and force me to hang out at a zoo doing God knows what…
yeah, I’m going to be a cranky ass about it, because I have better things to do with my life.
This is not a job for me, this is a job for someone who has a personality like…like OC.
Coach Keenan slowly nods. He’s calculating.
I can see him plotting, and honestly, I don’t give a shit what he might be thinking in that pea-sized brain of his.
I don’t have many years left in the game.
Retirement is around the corner for me. I won’t be traded because we made it clear in my contract that this is where I will rot.
San Francisco is where I end my career. I banked my money, saved it, and when I do retire, I won’t have to worry about one goddamn thing.
I can tuck away into an abyss and block myself off from the rest of the world.
Just the way I fucking want it.
“I suggest you leave my office before I ask the front office to leave you on permanent assignment with the damn flamingos throughout the season.” His eyes latch onto me. “And if I hear one more complaint about this, consider your sentence doubled.”
And there he goes, solidifying my thoughts on the intelligence in this organization. He’s running this team with his ego, not what little brain he has.
And his ego has been attempting to tear me down since the moment he got here.
Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it.
Growling, I tear the door open, ready to slam it shut when Gretchen calls out, “I touched base with Maple. She said she’d be sending you a schedule. I asked her to send it to me as well so I have an idea about your visits. We want to make sure you put in the time we promised the zoo.”
Irritated, I slam the door and start heading down the hallway just as there’s a ding on my phone.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see that it’s a text from a strange number. Attached to it is a picture of a schedule that says I’m due to be at the zoo today at three.
Fucking perfect.
I slam my truck door and work my way to the green gate with the letter B. The sounds of birds chirping mixed with humans and what I want to believe are monkeys fill the air while the smell of manure engulfs me.
Unsure of what the day would entail, I chose an old pair of jeans and a gray Foghorns shirt because I received a text from Gretchen reminding me to dress the part.
I snidely replied, asking her if that meant my jersey, pads, and helmet. And she said if I wanted to look like a jackass, then I should go ahead.
Hands stuffed in my pockets, I close the space between me and the gate just as it cracks open. Expecting to see Maple, I instead find OC on the other side with a stupid fucking smile on his face.
Jesus.
Christ.
“Dude, why the scowl?”
“Don’t call me ‘dude,’” I say as I move past him, only to see Bennett standing on the other side of the gate as well.
Not sure what his deal is, but he seems like a goody-two-shoes. Someone who will do what he’s told without a complaint. I hate that kind of person.
“You know, I was thinking,” OC says, clearly not reading the room. “Since we’re all going to be in this together, don’t you think we should start a group chat?”
“No,” I answer as I look around. “What are we doing just standing here?”
“We were told to wait. Our zookeepers are coming to grab us,” Bennett says while he leans against the fence.
Huh, so he does have a voice.
“Back to the group chat,” OC answers. “I think it would be beneficial—”
“What is your deal?” I ask, turning toward him. “Read the fucking room, man. We don’t want to be here. Don’t make it worse by wanting to start a group chat.”
“Bennett was into it.”
I glance over at Bennett, who just shrugs.
“Well, then keep it a duo,” I reply just as Maple and two other zookeepers step out of the building.
There she is.
My chest constricts as she heads in my direction, my eyes betraying me as they slowly work their way up her legs, over the curve of her hips, and right to her stunning face, where they remain.
And just like the first time I met her, the back of my neck heats up as I’m greeted with a soft, unsure smile.
She’s…gorgeous.
Breathtaking.
Not at all what I expected when I was told I would be working at the zoo. I had pictured in my head that I would be working with an old crotch of a man who was a fan but had an opinion on how I could improve my defensive line.
Since the moment I met her, I’ve wished she would transform into an older man with nose hair, but instead, I get her…beautifully stunning her.
The other two zookeepers flank her sides; one is a tall man in khaki shorts, a sun-stained green polo, and a safari hat with the strings closed in tight under his chin. The other zookeeper is younger like Maple, but with a short pixie haircut, brown hair, and a fanny pack around her waist.