Chapter 17 Luca
Luca
I CAN’T SLEEP.
Can’t concentrate on my playbook, either.
And I’ve already jerked off to fantasies of Chelsea.
What now?
It’s a half hour past curfew, but who cares about that?
Here, they trust us to be professionals.
We’re on the honors system, as they say—and that’s a damned good thing, considering I’m a guy with zero honor.
At least, when it comes to Chelsea Parker and my raging, all-consuming, boner-inducing attraction to her.
At this point, I’d do pretty much anything, take any risk, slay any dragon to get a crack at kissing her.
Obviously, I’d like to do a whole lot more than kiss her, but first things first.
I’d swear on a stack of bibles that Chelsea wanted to kiss me too during our private film review this evening.
I felt it in my bones. Also, in the boner that rose up underneath the desk.
If we’d been anywhere else, maybe on the old side of the complex that hasn’t been remodeled and decked out with fancy technology yet, I’d bet dollars to donuts Chelsea would have said “fuck it” and crashed her mouth against mine in that same moment.
The thought is torturing me. In fact, ever since I got back to my room, it’s all I can think about.
Kissing Chelsea. Touching her. Tasting her.
Fucking her. Picking up where we left off in Bloomington, only as two experienced adults.
Fuck it. I can’t take it anymore. I’m a madman at this point. Resolved to do whatever it takes to get what I want, even if that means blowing up my life or burning the world down.
My skin prickling with excitement, I pull up the Mastodons app and hastily swipe into the player room assignments.
The staffers’ room numbers aren’t listed anywhere on the app, unfortunately.
We can only message them through the app to reach them.
When I first figured that out weeks ago one night, I asked Chelsea her room number during our one-on-one the next morning, but she only rolled her eyes at me and said, “Nice try, Montague. I’ve already been in a hotel room one too many times with you in my lifetime.
” Clearly, she suspected I’d use her room number to do what I’m about to do now.
Because she’s smart like that. But you know what? Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I find Greg Garrity’s room number on the players’ room assignment list, since he’s the guy who mentioned seeing Chelsea in her Buckeye pajamas way back when at an ice machine.
According to the list, he’s in room 318.
The third floor. So, that must be Chelsea’s floor, too, since there’s an ice machine on every floor, and it defies logic to think she’d go to another floor in her pajamas for ice.
Unless her ice machine was broken. I suppose that’s a slim possibility.
I guess I’m about to find out.
My heart thudding in my ears, I throw on my sweats and shoes, grab my keycard, and stride toward my door.
But as I’m reaching for the knob, a FaceTime notification rings out.
Fuck. It’s all three of the boys calling me—my two actual brothers and my honorary one: our cousin, Marco.
I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, not even those three kings, now that I’ve decided to go for it with a certain mathlete/coach who’s got me all in a twist.
But then again, it’s nearly impossible during training camp for our schedules to align for a four-way call. Shit.
After a split second of waffling, my loyalty to family wins out over my thumping, aching hard-on for Chelsea Parker, and I pick up on a sigh. “Hey, guys.”
Everyone greets me, and all three faces on my screen look happy to see me. Make that two. My twin brother looks concerned.
“What’s wrong?” Levi asks, his brow creased as he studies me intently.
“Nothing at all. Why?”
“You look flushed and anxious.”
“No, I’m good.”
“Did we interrupt you whacking off?”
“No, I finished a few minutes ago.” Everyone groans and tells me that was TMI, while I flop down onto the edge of my bed. “So, how’s camp going for everyone?”
Marco updates everyone on his training camp so far with the Knights.
And then about how much he loves married life with Nicola.
From there, Levi updates the group on the latest with his team, the Rebels.
And since he’s got zero love life to speak of these days, same as me—I mean, other than Chelsea turning my world upside-down—that’s the sum total of Levi’s update.
Next up, Roman gushes about his brand-new team.
And from there, about his new live-in girlfriend, Iris, and his preschooler, Maverick.
And you know what? As happy as I am for everyone’s happiness and success, I can’t be bothered with any of it right now.
Not when I’ve made up my mind to find Chelsea Parker and do whatever it takes to make her kiss me like she would have done in that quiet classroom, if only there was zero chance of us getting found out.
“So, the reason I wanted to get you all on the phone,” Roman says, “is I’m planning to throw a housewarming party to introduce everyone to Iris. I’m thinking I’ll set the date during preseason but on a weeknight day off so everyone can make it.”
I’m annoyed. For Roman and the other two other NFL players on this call, the preseason is a big nothingburger.
Relaxed and easy, since they’ve all got fat contracts and secured spots on their active rosters.
In fact, none of them will even be allowed to suit up till the third and final game of the preseason, if that.
But for me, every preseason game, if I even get that far, will be life or death.
“I mean, if I’m not cut by then,” I add in a mumble, “then I’d still have to tell you pretty last minute if I can make the party.
” My annoyance increases. “Honestly, flying across the whole damned country for a simple housewarming party would be pretty disruptive to my training schedule, Roman, and I can’t afford to fuck anything up this time. ”
Roman’s face drains of color. “Oh yeah. I’m sorry, Luca. I wasn’t thinking about how precarious your situation is.”
“Hey, precarious is my middle name, baby. I’m just saying I’ll have to let you know.”
“Sorry, I’m just so excited to introduce everyone to Iris before the regular season starts, I’m not thinking clearly.”
Well, that’s interesting. My big brother must be pretty damned serious about this new girlfriend to want to introduce her to everyone all at once.
Also, I’m surprised at how quickly and sincerely he’s apologized to me.
Normally, Roman would be a bit defensive at first before coming around and admitting he was wrong.
“No worries, Romie. I’m happy you’re so happy.”
My big brother’s face lights up. “I am. Iris is unlike anyone I’ve been with before.
She’s so real and genuine. You’re all gonna love her, if you’re able to come.
But no pressure, Lukie. I get the position you’re in.
” Roman’s dark eyes widen with an idea. “Hey, if it would help you get to the party, I’d be happy to book a private plane for you.
Flying private makes things so much easier and faster.
Your body will hardly even realize you’ve been traveling. ”
Holy shit. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but it’s now clear Roman’s head over heels in love with this Iris woman, because he’d otherwise never in a million years spend that kind of money on a simple plane ride for me.
“Um, I’ll keep you posted, okay?” I say slowly, studying his smiling face. “Like I said, I’ll need to see how things shake down for me here to know what’s possible.”
“Gotcha. Yep. Just let me know.”
“Will do.” I yawn dramatically and stretch an arm. “I should get to bed. My personal coach gave me a direct order to get some good sleep tonight, and I always listen to her wise words.”
“Her wise words?” Marco asks. “Your personal coach is a woman? That’s so cool.”
Fucking hell. I can’t believe I dangled an intriguing carrot like that when I was trying to get off the call. Female coaches in the NFL are like Waldo: extremely hard to find. They’re so rare, in fact, every time one gets hired, she always makes national news.
“Yeah, she’s a woman and she’s been kicking my ass. Night, fellas.”
“Hang on,” Marco says. “What’s her name? I want to google her.”
“Her name is Chelsea Parker,” Levi interjects smugly. “And she’s not just Luca’s personal coach. She’s also Jack Parker’s daughter and Luca’s ‘one that got away.’”
“Levi.”
“What?” Marco blurts. “Tell me everything, Evil Levi, and don’t leave a single thing out.”
“Can we not do this?” I ask weakly. “I really need to get some sleep, guys.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Marco commands. “Levi? Proceed.”
Levi looks giddy. “In college, Luca met her freshman year at a random hotel during an away game. I think you were playing the Hoosiers, right, Lukie?”
“Shut the fuck up, Evil Levi.”
“Yeah, it was Indiana. Anyway, Chelsea Parker was there for a math competition, but she didn’t tell him her last name back then.
To him, she was just Chelsea the Mathlete.
The girl Luca wound up dry humping in his hotel room after his game—clothes on the whole time, unfortunately—and the poor boy’s never been the same since.
Even fully clothed and only letting him get to second base, Chelsea the Mathlete ruined Luca forever. ”
No lies detected there.
“Do you already know about this, too, Romie?” Marco asks, since my big brother’s noticeably not reacting with the same astonishment as Marco.
Roman chuckles. “Yeah, but only because Luca wouldn’t shut up about Chelsea the Mathlete for the longest time afterward.”
Levi snickers. “The poor kid tried desperately to find her when he got back to Nebraska.”
“As one does,” Roman adds.
“But no such luck. She was a phantom.”
“Yeah, because she didn’t give me her last name,” I gripe. “Also, because she gave me a fake school. I didn’t know it at the time but finding her was never going to happen.”
“But, man, did you try,” Levi says. “He became an internet sleuth of the highest order. But no dice.”
“Poor Baby Luca,” Marco says with a laugh. “How long were you hung up on her?”
I still am. “Not too long.”
“Not too long?” Levi and Roman both bellow in unison.
“Don’t lie, Luca,” Roman shouts.
“It was two years, at least!” Levi adds.
“No, it was much longer than that,” Roman insists. And he’s not wrong, unfortunately.
Levi says, “All I know is every time Luca was dating someone new and I asked him how it was going, he’d say, ‘I mean, she’s okay, but she can’t hold a candle to Chelsea the Mathlete.’”
Roman chimes in with an embarrassing impression of me. “‘Why isn’t anybody as cool, hot, and funny as Chelsea the Mathlete? Why, why, why can’t anyone be as amazing as that unicorn of a girl?’”
Everyone else on the call laughs heartily, but the memory of the way I compared everyone to Chelsea for years—and then proceeded to feel empty and unfulfilled whenever they inevitably fell painfully short—makes me grimace.
Marco asks how Chelsea became my personal coach at camp, and I tell him the whole crazy story—my brothers, too, since I haven’t yet revealed this part—and everyone laughs their asses off all over again.
“She’s a fantastic coach,” I say proudly. “You wouldn’t believe how much she’s helped me, guys. She’s a football genius.”
“Why wouldn’t we believe it?” Marco asks. “Her father is Jack Parker and her brothers are two of the best linebackers in the game today.”
“Yeah, but she’s even better than you’re thinking.
” I explain further and talk in detail about her analytics background, about the bad habits she’s helped me break on the field and the new habits she’s helped me to form.
And by the time I’m finished babbling, I suddenly realize all three faces on my screen are looking at each other knowingly, like they’re sharing some kind of an inside joke.
“What?” I ask. “Why are you guys looking at each other like that?”
“Because you’re in love with her,” Marco says simply.
“Of course, he is,” Levi says. “She’s Chelsea the Mathlete. Nobody has ever or will ever compare.”
I rub my forehead. Damn. If they’re right about what I’m feeling, then I’m well and truly fucked, considering what Chelsea told me earlier tonight about her extreme lack of interest in having a boyfriend. “I’m not in love,” I insist. “I’m just feeling extreme lust while also liking her a lot.”
“Sure, Luca,” Levi says. “After all that pining you did, you could take her or leave her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Have you told this girl about how long and hard you’ve pined for her?” Marco asks.
I scoff. “I wouldn’t say I’ve pined. I’ve had my fun, Marco. You know that. Lots of it. Over the years, I’ve just wondered now and again where she might be and what might have been, if I’d ever found her.”
“Now and again?” Roman and Levi boom at the same time, just as Marco’s saying, “That sounds like pining to me.”
“Luca, you pined so hard for this girl,” Roman says, “we could have hung Christmas ornaments on your arms, legs, and ears, year-round, and topped you off with a shining star.”
Cracking up, Levi adds, “You pined so hard for this girl, I could have used you as my car’s pine-scented odorizer.”
“Call it whatever you want,” I spit out. “But either way, now’s not the time for confessions and distractions. My football life is hanging in the balance, guys. I need to remain focused.”
Roman snickers. “Look how disciplined and mature our boy is, all of a sudden.”
“Translation,” Levi says. “He’s scared shitless she’ll reject him if he tells her the truth, so he’s waiting till he’s positive he won’t get shut down.”
Levi is exactly right. I’m scared shitless I’ve read Chelsea’s signals wrong and she’s going to reject me.
In fact, there’s no doubt in my mind that if I told her everything now, that’s exactly what she’d do.
But since I’m not going to admit that to these three or anyone else, I decide to abruptly end the call instead.
“Nighty night, fellas,” I say. “Like I said, I’m wiped. Stay safe out there. Have fun.”
“Fun is fuel,” they all say in unison, and I have to admit, it’s a funny bit, even in my current state of agitation.
Finally, the call is done and I’m free to do the stupid thing I shouldn’t do.
The thing wild horses couldn’t keep me from at this point.
With my heart racing and my nerve endings tingling, I grab my keycard, barrel out of my hotel room, and stride straight to the stairwell to climb one story up to what I’m hoping and praying will turn out to be Chelsea Parker’s floor.
If not, if my deductions and logic have been faulty somehow, I’m going to be royally fucked.