Chapter 9 Chelsea
Chelsea
I TAKE A bite of my breakfast and stare intently at the game-time video clip on my laptop.
I’m in the cafeteria nibbling at oatmeal and fruit while preparing my sales pitch to Luca, aka my newly assigned ward.
One way or another, I have to convince Luca to let me coach him for however long he manages to remain at camp.
And considering the likely short duration of his tenure here, I have to do it quickly.
After my father’s opening remarks earlier, the players went off to get their assigned iPads and equipment, so I’ve had some uninterrupted time to sit here and watch Luca’s beastly college highlights and compare those with his more recent NFL appearances.
What I could find of them, anyway. Luca sat on the bench quite a bit last season.
And before that, even when he played, it was clear he lacked the focus, attention to detail, and fierce fire of his earlier college days.
Looking at these clips, I know I could do amazing things with Luca, things that might earn me Bellamy’s respect, if only Luca will give me a chance and follow my instructions.
Luca Maguire is ridiculously athletic and innately talented.
The Maguire DNA is strong in that one. But unfortunately, he relies way too much on his God-given talents at the expense of his technique and strategizing, and those flaws in his game have become increasingly problematic over time.
Now that he’s butting up against middle age by professional football standards, he’s got to shift gears or there’s no doubt in my mind this season in the NFL will be his last.
I pause the current video to input some information into the color-coded spreadsheet I’ve been building to keep track of all things Luca Maguire. But midway through my entry, a commotion at the entrance to the cafeteria attracts my attention.
Luca.
He’s entered the room among a large pack of players, and all of them are enthusiastically laughing and ribbing each other.
Déjà vu.
Exactly like Luca did in Bloomington years ago, he now barrels straight to the buffet line alongside his teammates and begins enthusiastically piling food onto his plate.
As Luca works his way through the bountiful offerings, I place an elbow on the table and my chin in my hand and study him, thoroughly enjoying this chance to stare at him without being discovered. My goodness, that boy’s grown into quite the specimen of a man since we first met.
When I first beheld Luca Maguire as a fresh-faced, wide-eyed, inexperienced teenager, I thought he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. With his jaw-dropping smile and dimples, and his big ol’ booty and strong arms, he was too beautiful to resist. So I didn’t.
But now, he’s retained all of his former beauty, but it’s amplified.
Bigger and better. And so much hotter. Now, he looks like a man.
No, a demigod. Hercules. He’s the sort of guy who makes people stop and stare brazenly as he passes by.
The physical type I’d order from the Man Store, if that were a thing.
Frankly, if it were, I’d pay extra for rush shipping.
Suddenly, Luca’s eyes lock with mine. Crap. And when he discovers I’ve been watching him, a cocky smile breaks out across his rugged face, one that makes his dimples pop and goose bumps erupt over every inch of my flesh.
Angry with myself for getting caught looking, I immediately whip my attention to my laptop screen and pretend to be extremely busy with my spreadsheet. But only a few moments later, Luca is here at my table, plopping his tray down and sliding his muscular ass into the chair across from mine.
“Hi, babysitter. Déjà vu, right?”
I’m too tongue-tied by the adrenaline coursing through me to speak, so I simply nod and try to look highly engrossed in what’s on my computer screen.
After waiting a beat for me to say something, Luca motions to my opened laptop and says, “Are you compiling a long list of all the reasons you desperately wanted to get away from me in Bloomington?”
“I didn’t want to get away from you, Luca, desperately or otherwise. I just realized it was time to go. My team got into the next day’s final in our math competition, remember?”
“How’d you do the next day? I’ve always wondered that.”
“We came in second.”
“Right on.”
“No, it was a massive disappointment. I cried the whole way back to school.”
He laughs. “Aw, poor little Chelsea. So competitive.”
“And you’re not? Because if that’s the case, you should hang up your cleats right now.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course I’m competitive. Why do you think I’m still here letting three-hundred-thirty-pound offensive linemen beat me up year after year?”
Football is war, baby.
Remembering that’s what Luca said to me years ago sends a shiver coursing through me.
At the time, it was the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me.
Hands down. It still is, actually. But looking at Luca now, I can tell the teenager who initially made that cocky, flippant proclamation has been worn down, slowly but surely, through some soul-crushing, bloody battles that have left him robbed of quite a bit of that early, uncontained self-confidence.
I lay my forearm on the table. “So, Luca. I’ve been watching film on you, and I’ve already started a spreadsheet on you that’s going help me maximize your chances here, if you’ll only give me a chance to prove myself to you as your personal coach.”
Luca takes a bite of bacon and shakes his head while chewing it. “You can babysit me all you like. In fact, please do. Sounds like fun, come to think of it. But that’s it.”
“Listen, I understand it’s going to take a leap of faith for you to put your trust in me. But I promise I know the linebacker position backward and forward. Add to that skill set my math and statistics background, and I know I can offer you—”
“Is a kid who’s taken a chemistry class but never worked in a lab a professional chemist?”
I sigh. “I can see why you’d make that comparison, but it’s not applicable here. I assure you, I’m far more qualified than most professional assistant coaches, even though it doesn’t look like it on paper. Please, give me one chance to prove myself to you, and—”
“Even if all that was true, which I highly doubt, it wouldn’t matter anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because trust is crucial to the player–coach relationship, Chelsea, and the stark fact remains that I don’t trust you.”
“Because I didn’t tell you I’m Coach Parker’s daughter?”
“Because every word out of your mouth was a lie.”
I scoff. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. You acted like you didn’t know jack shit about football, and yet you come from a hugely famous football family.
You’re football royalty, Chelsea, with two NFL linebackers for brothers—and one of them is even an edge rusher, like me!
And yet, you pretended you’d never even heard of any position except quarterback. ”
I snicker. “Yeah, that part was actually kind of fun to act out.”
“Glad making a fool out of me amused you so damned much.”
“Oh, come on, Luca. I’m from a diehard Buckeye family, and your big brother is the poster child for the Wolverines. You’re a Hatfield and I’m a McCoy, and I didn’t want it getting back to my father or brothers or anyone else I’d flirted with a Hatfield.”
“You’re saying you lied like a rug to me because of a stupid football rivalry?”
“Of course. But putting that aside, why on earth would I bother telling you my whole life’s story when I knew I’d never see you again? I knew you went to Nebraska and I went to Northwestern, so—”
“Northwestern?” Luca whisper-shouts with a slap of his big palm onto the slick, laminate table. “You said you went to U of Chicago!”
Crap. I forgot about that. With heat in my cheeks, I look around the noisy cafeteria to make sure nobody is paying us any mind.
When it’s obvious the coast is clear, I lean into Luca and whisper-shout, “Yes, because I didn’t want you somehow tracking me down and/or bragging to someone you’d made out with Coach Parker’s daughter! ”
“Nice try, but you told me that lie before we made out.”
“Okay, but I told you that lie when I’d already started flirting with you, which only proves the point. Obviously, I thought merely flirting with a Maguire was a mortal sin. Something to keep under wraps.”
Luca shakes his head. “I can’t believe I stupidly got you a long-stemmed rose tied with ribbons in the colors of the University of Chicago.”
My heart squeezes at the memory. “That wasn’t stupid, Luca. It was adorable and sweet.”
His dark eyes are blazing. Clearly, the memory has triggered him. “No, it was dumb as fuck, because you weren’t the person you were pretending to be at all, and like a total idiot, I bought all your lies, hook, line, and sinker.”
I roll my eyes. “Would you stop being so goddamned dramatic? Jesus, Luca. Okay, I lied about a few minor things to make sure nobody in Buckeye Nation, including my family, ever found out I’d flirted with the enemy.
But otherwise, I was totally me the whole time.
Think about it. Who would ever fake being that big a dork? ”
Luca snort-laughs, and the anger in his expression from a moment ago is gone. “You flirted with the enemy? Who’s being dramatic now?”
“That’s not dramatic; it’s factual. It doesn’t matter that I went to Northwestern and you went to Nebraska. I’ve been raised as a Buckeye and you’ve been raised as a Wolverine, and you know it. Don’t even try to deny it.”
He pulls a snarky face. “Wow. Roman always says the loser in a rivalry takes it way more seriously than the winner, and you’ve just proved him right.”