Rescuing the Receiver by Rachel Goodman

Author:Rachel Goodman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Chris

“Hey, Lalonde, bench press is free now,” Tony hollered, hauling himself up into a sitting position and wiping his forehead with a towel. “Maybe if you spent a little more time at the training facility, you wouldn’t have to use cheap ploys and sixty-foot billboards to score women.”

Except the only woman I wanted to score with wasn’t so easily swayed by my antics—though I could tell my efforts were wearing Hazel down. The evidence was in the way she leaned into my touch, or how sometimes I felt her watching me when she thought I didn’t notice, or the way she had to work to suppress a smile every time I strolled into a room. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to make an entrance, but that showing up would be enough.

“No one wants that kind of close-up view of your moobs, Chris. Are you trying to make Blizzards fans vomit on their way to the office?” Austin called from his position at the Smith machine, squatting enough weight to crush a bodybuilder. He was leaner and shorter than the majority of NFL tight ends, but his size allowed him more agility and finesse on the field that other players at his position lacked.

“Thompson, you’re the one who needs to wear a bra,” I said through gritted teeth, inhaling and exhaling as I skated from side to side on the balance board. My glutes and hips were screaming at me to give them a rest, but I refused to quit. The more fluid my mobility, the more lethal a wide receiver I became. “Y’all are just jealous that I’m Denver’s hottest wet dream.”

“Is that what we’re calling bed-wetting these days?” Austin asked, finishing his final set of reps. He pulled the forty-five-pound plates off the bar and stacked them on a nearby rack.

“Maybe Chris should be a spokesman for Pampers.” Tony laughed at his own stupid joke, stretching his legs before tackling hamstring curls.

Ever since our back-to-back wins against Houston and New Orleans, the guys had been warmer to me, almost friendly. And with game twelve against the Raiders on Sunday, we needed to work together as a cohesive unit now more than ever. We had to win our five remaining games if the Blizzards had a chance in hell of making the playoffs as a wild card, and even then a 9–7 overall season record wasn’t a guarantee of earning a spot.

“Lalonde, your agent’s on line three.” Offensive Coordinator Ashley’s voice echoed around the space so loud it threatened to crack the powder-blue-and-silver paint on the walls. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he retreated down the hallway that led to the offices.

Slowing my movements, I stepped off the balance board, squirted water into my mouth, and walked over to the phone fastened outside the locker room, wondering why Scott hadn’t dialed my cell.

“Did you lose my number?” I asked, propping the receiver between my shoulder and ear.

“I was on a conference call with Wallace, so he transferred me over.

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