Chapter 7
Waking up to Wyndi’s sleeping form got my day started on the right foot. I forgot to have Axel pick her truck up, so I’d dropped her off at it. Then I made my way to Victory Hall, which was the Coyotes’ headquarters. I pulled up at the same time as my homeboy Kew.
He waited for me to get out of my truck.
I took him in briefly. “What’s up?” We exchanged handshakes, then walked to the front door of the facility. “You look like shit.”
He chuckled lightly. “Dawg, I feel like shit.”
“Late night?” The days of late nights, hard partying, and coming to work with a hangover were long over for me. But I realized that some of my younger teammates were still in that era. I didn’t judge.
“Something like that. I flew out to South Carolina yesterday. My daughter had a father/daughter dance at school. I couldn’t miss that.”
“Nah, you definitely couldn’t miss that.” His comment made me think of the baby growing in Wyndi’s stomach. If it was a girl, and if we were still together, would I get the opportunity to attend father/daughter dances? The thought was mind-blowing, but not in a bad way.
“Damn sure couldn’t miss it.” He agreed. “It’s hard enough having her live so damn far away. I gotta be present for her when it counts.”
We moved down the corridor toward the cafeteria.
It wasn’t necessarily mandatory that players make it for the team breakfast that happened before every practice, but I rarely missed it.
Being there early and being able to casually shoot the shit with the players I fucked with helped set me up to have the best mindset for the day.
Kew and I hit the food line, then took our trays to the table where Travis Woodson, Jaxxon McKissick, and Cruz Scarboro were already seated. Along with Kew, these were the dudes on the team that I genuinely fucked with on and off the field.
While we were kicking it and eating, my thoughts kept drifting to Wyndi.
The baby was kicking her ass, and that thought made me want to smile.
She was growing an entire human. Of course I was an uncle.
My sister, Shiloh, had grown humans more than once.
But I was in the league. I wasn’t present to see all the changes or go through the experience with her.
If Wyndi and I worked out, I would have a front row seat of the wonder of pregnancy.
I shook my head. My ass had some kind of pregnancy kink or some shit.
Who sat up and considered the wonder of pregnancy?
I was a fucking simp for this girl already.
I didn’t get how she had gotten under my skin so quickly, but there she was, under my skin.
While I was thinking about her, a text came through.
Wyndi:
Hey Kaynaan, thanks for last night. The food. The sleep. I really needed that.
I had barely finished reading the text before they started in on me.
“Dawg, why is you cheesing like that?” Cruz questioned.
“That’s that getting pussy grin.” McKissick joked.
“That’s that pussy eating grin,” Kew corrected. “You been eating pussy, homie?”
Everybody at the table laughed, including me. “I’m doing something,” I responded vaguely before responding to the text.
Me:
You’re good, Brown Eyes. I liked having you in my space. Next to me. I’m trying to do it again tonight.
Wyndi:
Message received. Since you’ve fed me a few times, I’ll return the favor. Be at my place at 7:00 p.m. I won’t keep you out late.
Me:
What if I want you to keep me out late?
Wyndi:
Then bring your overnight bag.
Me:
Say less.
The conversation moved on around me. A short time later, the five of us headed toward the legacy room for the day’s team meeting. Kew and I brought up the rear of the group.
“So, who’s the woman that has you out here looking like a simp?”
I laughed my ass off because I had used that exact same word to describe my behavior in my own mind. I lowered my voice. “You know Wyndi Castle? She makes those . . . bedazzled footballs the front office gives players when they join the team—”
He cut me off. “Wyndi that Wilcox was fucking around with?”
I shrugged.
“Dawg.” Kew stopped walking, and other players moved around us.
“Fuck him. That wasn’t nothing,” I assured him.
“Dude already hates your guts, big homie. What? You want him to start plotting your death? What the fuck?”
“Fuck him,” I repeated. “He wasn’t on shit with her. They were playin’ around. They stopped kickin’ it because she wouldn’t give his ass a threesome. You saw the post, the one about what one won’t do another will.” He was right, because how his bitch ass wouldn’t be the man she deserved, I would.
“Yeah, but sometimes niggas move real funny behind their exes.”
I shook my head. “This ain’t that. And if he wants it with me behind her, he can get it.”
Kew twisted his face. “Oh, okay. You’re locked in.”
“I’m locked in.”
He nodded his head. “Got it.” He gave me a quick handshake. “That’s what’s up. She’s a good look.”
People watched football on television and thought that was the bulk of it.
They were wrong. The bulk of what we did on the field was preparation.
And preparation happened during the week, not on Sundays.
So, I left the team meeting and headed into a different conference room for my positional meeting.
In the River Room, I met up with the coaches, Cal LaStanza—the punter, and Stuart Robinski—the long snapper.
The positional meeting was followed by a weight-lifting session and conditioning. That morphed into on-field practice. That was where I had strategy sessions, skills training, and did a walk-through of different plays.
“Lunchtime!” one of the coaches called through a megaphone. We all broke and headed to the cafeteria to eat.
I stopped to take a piss, and by the time I made it to the cafeteria, most of the team was already there.
I walked past a small commotion in a corner by the window.
A group of dudes were filming what was probably a reel or a TikTok video.
When I noticed that Wilcox was in the middle of the crowd, I turned away.
But not before I heard somebody behind me mutter, “Such a fucking clown.”
I chuckled to myself, glad to know that I wasn’t the only person he annoyed.
The afternoon was filled with film study, more meetings, and extended recovery sessions that included ice baths, massages, and physical therapy.
Nine and a half hours after I’d arrived at Hickory Hall, I was finally headed out for the day.
Some players would be there for an additional hour or so, as they took advantage of the opportunity to eat dinner at the facility. I had other plans.
After a stop by the crib for a shower and a change of clothes, I showed up at Wyndi’s spot.
She answered the door dressed like we were going out.
“Oh shit, look at you. Are we going out?”
She looked good as hell in a leather skirt that hit her mid-thigh and a turtleneck that hugged her breasts. But it was the suede boots that went up her thigh, while still showing me the pink paint on her toes, that went straight to my dick.
She moved aside so that I could step into her home. “We’re staying in, but I figured I would look nice while I can still fit into these clothes.”
I pulled her into a hug, letting my hand slightly skirt her stomach as I released her. Her eyes flew to mine in surprise.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, feeling like I had unintentionally overstepped.
She blinked a few times. “No, you’re fine. I just wasn’t expecting you to do that.”
“You’re growing a whole life in there. It’s crazy. Right now, it’s probably no bigger than, I don’t know, a seed. But in a matter of months, it’ll be a little person. It’s . . . wild. It’s beautiful. Women’s bodies are fucking amazing.” I grinned at her.
She grinned back at me, although hesitantly. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Look at how I have you at the door. Excuse my manners. Come on in. Let me take your coat.”
I handed over my coat and watched as she hung it up in her hall closet. Then I followed her toward the kitchen, taking in the aroma of tomatoes and garlic.
Wyndi lived on a quiet and safe residential block in a small one-bedroom apartment. It was obvious to anybody familiar with the city that she’d chosen location over square footage.
She gestured toward her kitchen island. “Have a seat.”
“It smells good in here, girl.”
“Yeah. I’m not the best cook, but I do have my signature dishes. Besides, I love pasta. I can definitely do my thing with some spaghetti.”
I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. “I’m hungry. Feed me, lil mama.”
Wyndi brought a medium-sized glass bowl filled with green salad, a small basket of garlic bread, and a platter of aromatic spaghetti to the table. Before she took her seat, she set an ice bucket with a bottle inside on the table.
She caught my glance toward the ice bucket and grinned. “It’s sparkling cranberry-grape juice.”
Since she cooked, I fixed her plate. Once I handed it to her, I fixed my own plate. “Let’s pray.” She extended her hands to me, and I took them.
“You mind if I pray?”
Her eyes found mine. “Nah, not at all.”
“Heavenly Father, thank you for the gift of today and for the opportunities it brought. Thank You for Your goodness and that Your mercies are new each day. We need them. Bless this food and the hands that prepared it. May it nourish our bodies while You nourish and renew our strength and our souls. Amen.”
“Amen.”
I twirled meat sauce coated noodles around my fork and took a bite. I figured the food would be good based on the way it smelled. It didn’t disappoint. The seasonings, the sauce, and the noodles were delicious. I told her so. “This is good as hell, Wyndi.”
Her eyelashes batted. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We ate in silence for a little while. She broke it. “Kaynaan, do you really wanna date me?”