Chapter 22 Chelsea #2
“Ten?” Luca looks equal parts aroused and dismissive, and I’m sure that’s a byproduct of my word choice being so raunchy and my number being preposterously stratospheric.
The record for the most sacks ever in one game is seven.
Derrick Thomas, 1990. And that was in a full four quarters of playing time.
These days, even the best Pro Bowlers in the game, guys who get a whole lot more minutes than Luca will get tomorrow, average only about a sack per game.
And even then, that’s just an average, not a guarantee they’ll even get a single sack in any given matchup.
“Sweetheart,” Luca coos, taking a step forward. “Be reasonable now. You know I’m not gonna get nearly enough reps to pull off more than one sack tomorrow, if that. They’ve still got three guys to rotate in and out.”
I bite my lower lip. “Losers make excuses, sweetheart. Winners make it happen.”
His dark eyes blaze. “I’ll get you two sacks, baby. I promise I’ll move heaven and earth to make that happen for you.”
“You should move heaven and earth regardless. And like I said, my price is ten.”
He steps forward again, a smile curling his gorgeous lips.
“Ten isn’t your price, and you know it. And two is fair because it’s a stretch.
Come on, Chelsea. Yes, I’ll be moving heaven and earth regardless, but the mind is a complicated place.
If I knew two sacks would mean finishing what we started the other day before Raul cockblocked me, I know I’d have superhuman strength and focus.
It’ll be like how a mother can suddenly lift a car to free her pinned child. ”
I’m a very bad girl for giggling at his metaphor, and an even worse girl for wanting so desperately to say yes, yes, yes to this bet.
I mean, what would be the downside, really?
He’s right that I’m no longer his coach.
Also, that motivation is a complicated thing.
Hence, the booming “life coach” industry.
And if Luca somehow miraculously pulls off multiple sacks in the few minutes of playing time he’ll get, then, glory be, I’d be so horny and hot for him after a performance like that, I’m sure I’d be thrilled to throw every caution to the wind and every rule out the window.
“Get me three sacks tomorrow, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Three?” Luca bellows. “Have mercy on me, woman. The number has to at least be within the realm of possibility to motivate me.”
“Three is very doable, or I wouldn’t suggest it. You can do this, Luca. I know you can.” I shrug. “Either way, that’s my best and final offer.”
Luca lets out a huff. “For that price, you’d not only have to ride my baloney pony, you’d have to be my plus-one at a party, too. That’s my final offer.”
He’s piqued my interest. “What party?”
“At Roman’s. At his new house in LA.”
“Oh, hell no.”
“Just hear me out.”
“No.”
“My brother’s throwing a housewarming party, and he specifically planned it for my day off so I can make it.”
“No.”
“Chelsea, he’s even sending a private jet for me. I mean, assuming I’m not cut by then. If I am, I’m sure I’ll fly commercial. But the point is since it’s your day off, too, it’d be the easiest thing in the world for you to come with me.”
“Whether you get three sacks or thirty, you’ll be attending Satan’s housewarming party on your own.”
“But you coming with me would give us time to work together again! Think about it. We could study film on the plane, both ways, and Roman’s got a state-of-the-art gym at his house and a huge backyard, so we could get in at least a couple hardcore training sessions while we’re out there together, too. ”
“You’re insane to even suggest this. I’m not going to a party hosted by the devil.”
“Chelsea, please. He’s not the devil to me. He’s my big brother, and I’m asking you to come with me so you can help me train, if I’m lucky enough to still be in the hunt by then.”
Crap. When he looks at me so earnestly like that, like a cute little puppy, I melt into a puddle.
“I’m going to the party either way,” he adds.
Apparently, he senses he’s making progress with me.
“So this would be the only chance we’d have to train together again.
Don’t you miss working together? I sure do.
” He frowns. “Unless, of course, you’re working with Moriarty on our day off. Is that it?”
“No, Jacob’s filming a commercial that day.”
Luca fist-pumps. “It’s fate!”
Damn him. He’s flashing his dimples now. “Is the guest list for Satan’s housewarming party family only?”
“Nope. A bunch of Roman’s new teammates are coming, some with plus-ones, so you’d fit right in. I mean, don’t wear Buckeyes gear or anything. You wouldn’t fit in if you did that. You’d get a ration of shit. But otherwise, I promise you’ll feel right at home.”
I bite my lip. “Does your brother often send private jets for you to come to his little parties?”
“This is a first. Roman’s generous with his money when it comes to family vacations and stuff like that.
He just took all of us to Hawaii for my cousin Marco’s wedding, for example.
But he’s never once sent a private plane for me or anyone else, as far as I know.
I’m guessing he thinks his new girlfriend is wifey material, so he’s sparing no expense to introduce her to everyone all at once, before the regular season kicks off and everyone scatters. ”
“Do you like Roman’s new girlfriend?”
“She’s awesome. I haven’t met her in person yet, but we’ve chatted several times on FaceTime, and she’s super sweet.” He pokes my arm. “Unlike you.”
I dryly flip him off, and Luca grins broadly like I’ve just kissed him square on the mouth.
“So stubborn,” he mutters, still smiling.
“You want to see stubborn, look in the mirror.”
“It’s my job to be stubborn, though.”
“Yeah, and it’s my calling.”
He chuckles. “So, do we have a deal, Miss Stubborn? If I get those three sacks tomorrow, you’ll rip your clothes off and jump my bones and come with me on a quick trip to LA?”
I’m severely annoyed with myself for wanting to say yes to this nonsense. But in my defense, what are the chances he’ll pull off his end of the bargain?
“Fine. Yes.” As Luca whoops, I add, “Now get back to your room and get some good sleep. You’ll need to be extremely well rested to get a single sack tomorrow, let alone three.”
His dark eyes are blazing like a pyre. “Yes, Coach.” With a noticeable spring in his step, Luca bounds toward the sliding glass door, apparently intending to exit the same way he entered.
“Luca, no! Use the door, you maniac, so you won’t break your neck.”
Luca looks genuinely perplexed. “But you made me promise not to—”
“That was before I found out you’re willing to recklessly endanger life and limb as a freaking loophole.”
With a cackle of glee, Luca turns in the other direction and practically floats across the room. “Nighty night, mathlete.”
“Goodnight, Montague. Sweet dreams.”
He stops at the door and rakes his dark eyes over me in a way that feels insanely lascivious. “All my dreams will be extra sweet because they’ll be sex dreams about you.”
“Go.”
With another whoop, Luca opens the door, peeks to make sure the coast is clear, and heads out, leaving me standing alone in my room with hard nipples, a certain kind of pulsing between my legs, and the near-desperate hope that Number Ninety-Five will somehow pull off the impossible in tomorrow’s game and get three sacks.