Intercepted by Emma Hart

Author:Emma Hart [Hart, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Emma Hart
Published: 2015-04-11T04:00:00+00:00

“You made a kid. You got a pair. Fuckin’ use ’em,” Jack says over lunch. “She wants to be a pain in your ass, be a pain in hers.”

Corey turns to him. “Your relationship really works like that? Because the second I am a pain in Leah’s ass, she’s a pain in my penis.”

My lips twitch.

“Yeah, it works like that. I was a pain in Macey’s damn ass way before we had a real relationship.” Jack laughs. “Women, man. They don’t listen,” he says to me. “Always think they’re fuckin’ right, too, and we agree to keep our sanity.”

“Sounds dangerous,” I reply.

“It is. So go back to Everleigh, apologize, tell her she was right, and be done with it.”

Corey covers his face with his hand. “They’re both pains in the ass, Jack. They gotta apologize together. And you never ever tell a woman she’s right. You just agree with what she says and let her think it. That way, you can’t get in trouble later when she brings it up and says, ‘You said I was right then!’”

“Sounds like manipulation,” I note.

Corey nods. “Totally. But if I agree, I get laid, so you’ve gotta let some things go.”

Yeah, I won’t be taking relationship advice from these idiots any time soon. Neither of them has a fucked-up ex and a kid to think about.

I listen to them chat about the pros and cons of telling a chick she’s right while I finish my lunch. When I’m done, I head out of the café and back onto the training ground. A few of the guys are there, and when Ray Dudley, our offensive coach, teams up with the defensive coach, we’re all kicked into action.

Rolling my shoulders, ready for a round of resisted sprints, I line up in front of Dante Jones. This is the best exercise for me right now. I can force all of my frustration and anger into it.

We get into position, and when Dante pushes against me, I push back. Going against just over three hundred pounds of muscle isn’t easy. My anger helps though. It fuels the desire to beat him and get the yards I need—with or without the ball.

Every stamp of my feet against the field is a sweet release.

We go back, again and again, restarting every drill. We push relentlessly, muscle against muscle, power against power, every one of us on the field battling for dominance.

I get it. I break through and out of Dante’s hold and dart past him.

More drills, more sprints, more runs… We go against our own offense, but every tackle is lighter than it will be against the Cardinals on Saturday. Just a tap, a waist grab, a shoulder barge.

It’s the best stress release I’ve ever had.

Practice finishes the way it started. Tired, with all of us needing coffee, sex, and a long-ass fucking night of sleep. Despite the relief of needing to focus on the game and nothing but the game, the second I step out of the training ground, my mind is once against consumed with reality.

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