Chapter 17 #2
“Ralph has all the answers. Talk to him. Since when do you guys care so much where I get dressed?” He shouldn’t be so hard on Jamie Jones.
He’d been Trent’s best bud since he’d joined the team eight years ago.
They’d both been on the same trajectory for stellar careers.
Only Jamie, playing slot receiver, had a much shorter trip and was likely to crash and burn within the next two years.
If the man’s damn body could last that long. He took way too much punishment.
Trent planned on outlasting him. Especially now that he had this serum. The hardest person to keep this secret from had been Jamie. He wanted to tell his friend all about the EM-HGH-1-JD. Wanted to pay Charlie another ten mil so Jamie could get some too, participate as John Doe Junior.
But that was a pipe dream. Impossible. He’d never bother asking her. She too often seemed on the edge, her nerves frayed to breaking.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Lockheed? You need to get out—without the ball and chain. There’s something crazy about that shit—getting engaged behind my back to a woman I never even heard of?”
“I told you, James. You have Ralph to blame. He fixed us up and I couldn’t resist her.
For real.” It was real. All too real as far as physical lust went.
Damn compelling. He shrugged and smiled, his genuine cat-with-a-canary smile.
Because—on his good days—that’s how he felt.
He wasn’t sure this would be a good day with Tammy’s arrival, but he was an optimist at heart.
Jamie smirked back at him. “If she’s that special, then I hope you’re happy, man.” He thumped Trent on the back as they made for the door to exit the locker room.
Trent saluted his friend, but before they parted ways, Jamie leaned in and said, “Just make sure you keep focus where it should be going down the stretch. Football. Playoffs. Super Bowl. You know I only got one more shot at it.” He paused and gave Trent a good stare down. “I’m counting on you.”
“I know, Jamie. I’m there. Focused like never before. No worries.” They fist bumped and Trent turned to find Tammy and Charlie, hoping they hadn’t somehow exchanged enough notes to decide to desert him.
When he spotted Charlie standing there, waiting, looking like a librarian’s version of Snow White, all pristine classic beauty and seriousness, his gut clenched and a zap of heat went through him as if he were anticipating mind-blowing sex with Miss Universe. Maybe he was.
Maybe he’d spoken too soon to Jamie about his focus.
Hell, this was postgame celebration time.
He was entitled to at least dream about mind-blowing sex.
It was an open question whether he’d get any, but there was no question that he would try like hell.
Tammy stood with Charlie, arms folded. Walking toward them, Charlie looked up at him.
One of those glory-hallelujah smiles broke out on his face while his heart picked up and he felt his temperature rise.
“If it isn’t the devil himself.” His sister threw her arms around him in a generous hug before he reached Charlie, before he spoke.
“I have to take a turn at the podium with the press. Wait for me and we’ll all go out for a steak dinner. How about it?”
“Sounds perfect,” Tammy said and he believed her. He waited for Charlie’s reply.
“Sounds good.” She was less convincing. Something wasn’t right and now he’d have to wait until after dinner to find out what.
“How’s your shoulder? How do you feel?” Her eyes said more than her mouth. They told him she was out of sorts because she hadn’t been able to see him and take his measurements as usual. He slid a quick glance at his sister.
Then he leaned in and whispered for Charlie’s ears only, “I’m good.
Feeling great. No problems with the shoulder or anything else.
You can take the measurements and tests later.
In the morning, back at my place.” He held his breath while she took in what he’d suggested, saw her shiver, watched her face.
A touch of pink in her cheeks told him he had a chance.
“Go do your press conference. Make it fast. I’m starving.” She smiled at him. She was happy, satisfied for the moment that he was intact and doing well. Later he’d make sure she knew exactly how well he was doing.
Leaving his sister and Charlie alone again, he pushed through the door to the press room and waited in the anteroom while Coach finished up his Q&A.
“Let me go next, I have people waiting,” he said. The Media Relations man looked at him as if he were an alien—or as if an alien had taken over his body. He’d never worried about getting to the podium fast before, never had someone special waiting for him.
Right now, he felt the anticipation, the pull of Charlie and his borderline obsession with her eat away his patience until he felt like a teenager again, with no self-discipline and no care for the consequences.
He only knew he wanted to get Charlie away from his sister and back to his place as fast as he could, and this press conference was one more thing standing in his way.
Stepping up to the podium, he shook himself loose from the lust-grip and tried to act like himself, like he had before all this started, to remember to be gracious and funny, to exude his special brand of charm, the southern gentleman poise that his father had ingrained in him.
“What a game. Did you all enjoy the spectacle from the comfort of your seats?” He grinned into the audience as he heard the usual laughs and saw the dozens of raised hands.
The crowd of reporters grew each week as the season marched to the playoffs.
Zeroing in on his friend Mike Foley, he pointed at the man, who stood.
“It looks like your new engagement hasn’t interfered with your game.” Mike paused a beat for the guffaws and chuckles at that. Trent struggled to keep his grin in place. “How about the shoulder? Is it back to normal? Are you playing pain-free or just sucking it up?”
“First of all, thank you for your congratulations on my engagement. It’s nice to know you wish me well.
” This got a shower of laughter as he arched his brow at Foley who took the barb good-naturedly.
“Second, let me assure you that there is no such thing as playing football pain-free. For the record. Never happens. But as for my shoulder, it’s feeling good and I think we saw the results today—not mistake-free ball, also a myth—but the rocket was there when I needed it.
I had no hesitation in throwing that last bomb for the win. ”
From that point on, the reporters asked about the game, had him going through the play-by-play as if he were watching himself play.
He swore these guys remembered each play, each move better than he did.
His worst nightmare was always to be asked about a play he couldn’t remember.
So far it had always come back to him with a prompt or two.
While he was playing, he was in a zone and the game sometimes felt like a blur of action when it was over.
Until he started thinking about it and his teammates and the reporters talked about it.
Then it all came back as if he were rewinding his memory reels in slow motion so he could capture the details, the moments of what happened.
After fifteen minutes and a dozen questions, he was ready to wrap it up. Glancing at his watch with pointed exaggeration, he said, “One more question.” Then he pointed to a young man he didn’t recognize, always happy to help out a reporter starting out.
“Great game.” The young man cleared his throat. “I’ve been to practices for the past two weeks and I’ve noticed that your fiancée is there every day and that she accompanies you to the training room. She’s always carrying her medical bag. That doesn’t seem to be normal. Care to explain?”
For a white-hot tick of time, Trent felt the stun as if the question were a shot from a gun. But he’d had his lines ready, anticipating this kind of question.
He flashed his most competitive smile, the one that southern gentlemen saved for their enemies though, in this case, he doubted the kid was an enemy.
In fact, he’d bet someone had put him up to asking the question.
Trent flicked a glance at Foley, who watched him with undisguised curiosity and fingers poised on his tablet.
“I don’t want to belittle your two weeks of observations, uh—what was your name?”
“Vincent—”
“Vincent, but I doubt you have a clue what normal is or isn’t.
Heck, I don’t even know. So I don’t know how to answer your question except to say that my fiancée—Dr. Charline Morneau—takes a great interest in my health.
” That got some big laughs. “And who am I to argue with having my own personal—very personal—physician on call?” Trent paused, then returned to his more gracious self.
“I don’t know about you all, but I’m looking forward to kicking butt next week and clinching our playoff spot.
Y’all have a great night. It’s time for me to eat some steak. ”
He stepped off the podium even as a few more questions were shouted at him. But before he went through the door to find Tammy and Charlie, he slid a glance at Mike Foley.
Boom. Sometimes Trent hated it when he was right. Mike stood, head bent with the kid—Vincent—talking serious shit. Trent didn’t even want to guess. All he knew was that it wouldn’t be the last of the questions about Charlie and her medical bag. Damn. From his so-called friend.