Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Charm, baby…” he says, staring down at me, those blue eyes dark with heat. “I brought rope. You got any high-heeled boots?”
I grin. “Already picked out and ready.”
He laughs and leads me to my bedroom.
28
“We both know who’s gonna look good today for that scout,” Archer says, squaring his shoulders, nose to nose with me. “Me.”
We’re standing in the middle of the field while Cedrick Clemmons, the New York Giants scout, watches from the sidelines. I feel the weight of his scrutiny, his assessing gaze on us. Gone is the affable fellow I met in the gym a few weeks ago, and in his place is a hard-nosed businessman looking for talent.
It’s a fucking gift.
An NFL scout has asked to see you and Archer run drills before the Combine.
That’s what Coach Sanders told us yesterday—and here he is today, watching.
Ryker gives me a thumbs-up from the sideline as he talks with the coaches and a few other players who are hoping they get the chance to hop in. He’s not going to throw to us—doesn’t want to risk an injury—so Coach Sanders is standing in.
I reach out my hand to give Archer a quick fist bump before we start.
He pounds down on my outstretched hand like a boxer before a fight.
“Going to destroy you,” he says under his breath.
I grin, but it’s tight, controlled. “Try. I’m faster.”
“Hike!” yells Coach.
I fire off the line, getting my arms under Archer’s ribs right away, and he stumbles back, giving me a crucial second to twist away and run. He recovers and sprints after me, but I stop on a dime and spin around right as Coach throws the ball. Archer flies past me, and I catch the pass twelve yards downfield.
Blaze one, Archer zero.
I flip the ball back to our coach as we both walk back to the line and set up for the next drill. As I pass Archer, I bump him with my shoulder. Beat you, my eyes say.
He sends a grin to Cedrick but then looks back at me. “Pussy move.”
“Ah, you want a pity play now?” I say. “I just saw a wannabe defensive back who doesn’t like contact. Cedrick saw that too. He just wrote down the word soft next to your name.”
Archer rolls his shoulders. “If that’s the way you wanna play it, let’s dance.”
“Hike!” Coach holds the ball and waits for us to run.
My body darts forward, and I swing in Archer’s direction, acting like I’m going to jam him again, but I do a fake and fly past him at full speed.
He runs to catch me, but I’m faster, my feet eating up the yards. Twenty yards down field, I look for the ball, which is already in the air. In a split second, I realize I’ve beaten Archer on the route, but Coach has underthrown. I dash back, get behind Archer just in time, and leap. I snatch the ball down, and we both fall to the ground. Yes!
Blaze two, Archer zero.
I walk back toward the line and hear Archer breathing, snorting like a bull. “You trying to show off for your girl? What’s the deal with that one? She leading you around on a leash?”
I glance up into the stadium. Charisma and Dillon sit low in the stands. I didn’t see her come in, although I knew she wanted to come. I agreed when she asked, though grudgingly. Part of me wants her here, but the other part is terrified I’ll fuck it up and disappoint her.
“Hike!” yells Coach, yanking me back to the present.
I’m one second late getting off the line, and as I get up to full speed, Archer is right on my hip. I stop and turn for the ball. Coach throws a shitty pass and I twist to grab it, but Archer shoves me in my back. The ball falls to the field.
Blaze two, Archer one.
My fists clench. Focus!
Keep your eyes off her and on him. Right.
“Bitch move, Archer,” I tell him as we line up.
He stares at me, eyes hard. “Your girl reminds me of that stripper at the Furry Kitty Kat, you know the one, big tits and a juicy ass. When she’s done with you, I’m going to fuck that real good.” He leans in until I feel his breath through the cage of my helmet. “What’s her name? Charm? She remind you of the trash you come from?”
I flick my eyes up. She’s got her hands clasped tight in front of her, eyes on me.
“You ready, Blaze?” asks Coach, and I realize I’m distracted.
“Yes, sir,” I bite out as Archer glares at me across the line.
“Hike!”
I blow past him as Coach overthrows the ball, and I put every ounce of effort into driving my body forward.
I dive and reach out to get my fingertips on it just as Archer’s feet tangle with mine. His cleat jams on my ankle hard and the ball ends up just out of my grasp, hitting the ground.