CHAPTER 9 Maverick Jennings
The Face Facing Forward
When my alarm wakes me at five thirty, I’m less than impressed.
I don’t need to get up this early, but I do it because regardless of whether I have practice or not, this is the time I wake up during the season.
But this morning, I’m dreading the task at hand.
I don’t want to meet with this woman in a conference room that’s too small for the two of us.
I don’t want my life dictated to me for the next year.
I don’t give a fuck about my image and what legacy I’m leaving behind.
I don’t want any of this, but somewhere along the line, the things I want went out the window.
I don’t even know what I want. I guess I just want to be left alone so I can focus on what’s important: the game.
I suppose that’s also why it’s what’s important.
When everything was taken from me, I turned back to football and vowed nothing would ever come between me and the game again.
And then fucking Dex Bradley broke my rib before I even got to start the regular season with a new team. The perfect storm to push into that wound just a little harder. A little deeper.
Today is game day. I should be heading to the stadium.
Instead, I’m sulking at home, dreading a meeting with a woman who’s too goddamn hot for her own good.
Never mind the fact that today would’ve been his birthday. Double digits. We should be together. We should be celebrating.
I’m not.
The last time I smiled, the last time I dreamed—the last time I laughed—was with his mother.
I get on the treadmill, and I remember that the brand lady heard me in here yesterday. I pull my earbuds out and blast the music as loud as I can, and then I get started on a morning run.
Light cardio, my ass. I take it harder than I should, but my rib’s feeling okay today. Each day of rest has helped, and after this workout, I’ll take it easy. Or easier, anyway.
I take a shower after my cooldown, and then I grab a protein bar to eat while I meet with her. I head down to the conference room, surprised I didn’t run into her on the way.
But of course I didn’t. She’s already in there, wearing business casual when I’m in trainers and a tee, but just because she wants to be formal doesn’t mean I need to be.
“Make this quick. I have film to review,” I say, bypassing the usual morning salutations.
“Good morning to you, too,” she says sweetly, and her voice has this little tone to it that grates on my last nerve.
She pulls out some paperwork and her tablet, and she nods to one of the chairs next to her. I don’t want to slide into the chair beside her. I don’t want to work closely with her.
Why am I pushing back so hard on this?
Because I’ve learned my lesson.
I’m attracted to her, and that’s a real problem.
Because she’s the enemy—not just because she’s been put in charge of me for the next year, but because she’s Dex Bradley’s sister.
She’s demanding and independent, two major turn-ons, and the last time I gave into chemistry, I ended up… well, like this. What you see today.
My marriage changed me, and I didn’t come out better because of it. Instead, I came out of it too skittish to allow anyone in.
I pick a chair across the table. I put physical distance between us so she gets the hint. I’m not sure it works.
“What do you value, Maverick?” she asks. “What’s important to you?”
“Football,” I answer immediately.
“Aside from your sport.” She tilts her head as she studies me.
“Freedom. Control. Money.” I meet her gaze.
“Those make you sound cold. Detached. What else?”
I blow out a breath as I try to come up with an answer that doesn’t seem to be readily available to me.
“What about the offseason? What do you do then?” she asks after giving me a long enough pause where I don’t answer the previous question.
“Travel.”
“Where?”
“Wherever the fuck I want. How exactly is this helping my brand?” I ask.
“I need to get to know you a bit more. I can’t target a rebrand if I don’t understand what the current brand is,” she says.
“There is no current brand. What you see is what you get. I don’t brand myself. I just live my life.”
“And fuck the consequences?” she guesses. I don’t answer, and she shakes her head with a little chuckle. “You’re more like Dex than either of you probably realizes. But that’s beside the point. How would you describe what people perceive as your identity?”
“I don’t care,” I say, enunciating each word for her. “This is stupid.”
She glares at me. “I’ll thank you up front not to insult my life’s work again.
Regardless of your opinion of this, you’re now the starting quarterback here in Vegas.
You know that simply because of the position you chose to play, you’re going to be considered the face of the entire franchise this season.
The public’s perception of your persona will affect every aspect of your life here in Vegas, and it’ll also affect the rest of your career and the rest of your life after the game.
I have the heavy task here of not just rebuilding your reputation but also training you to be the face of the Aces.
And the face you have now is not the face they want facing forward. ”
“Say face again,” I mutter. A childish insult seems better than responding to any of that.
“Tell me about your childhood,” she says.
“No. We’re done here.” I move to stand.
She shakes her head. “Sit,” she barks at me as if I’m some sort of dog.
I don’t follow the command. I remain standing, and we face off as she slowly rises to a stand, her hands balled into fists that she’s now balancing forward on as she snarls at me.
“I get it, Jennings. You hate me. You hate the whole idea of this. And that’s fine.
Hate it all you want, but we’re stuck together for the next year.
I will teach you to value yourself and your future since clearly that’s a training piece you missed somewhere along the way.
I will be here by your side fighting for you while you fight against me.
I don’t really care how you feel about that.
So sit your ass down unless you want me to tattle to your boss, and cooperate with me unless you’re pleased to spend more time standing on the sidelines watching instead of being the one making the plays.
” Her eyes glow at me with anger, and I find myself lowering back into the chair.
I’m quite sure no one has ever put me in my place like that before.
It’s—dare I say—hot as all fuck.
I wonder what her cunt tastes like.
Shit.
She has me pegged, and I’ve barely told her one single goddamn thing about myself.
I hate that she has me pegged. Nobody has ever seen through me the way she can. Nobody has ever talked to me like that before, either.
Everyone’s careful around me. They’re either scared I’ll go off on them, or they fall over themselves to get to me.
It’s pathetic. Men don’t have backbones anymore, and the women I seem to interact with don’t know how to handle me.
They’re just warm bodies that give me what I want for a night, and then I’m done.
I don’t want anything beyond that. I just want to be left alone, to crawl back into my hole where it’s dark and quiet. Where I don’t have to have human connection since all I’m left with when I do is pure disappointment.