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“That’s not what that was. He should be on the field with those kids, not flirting with a reporter.” He’s so casual about it, and I want to slap him. Hard.
But I also want him to rail me. Hard.
“But it’s fine for you?” I ask.
“I’m not flirting with you.”
“Bullshit.”
“There are children around, Ms. Bailey. You should watch your language.”
“I hate you,” I mutter.
“That’s the thing. I don’t really believe you when you say that.”
I huff. “What are you even doing here?”
“I heard you’d be here.”
A traitorous butterfly flaps wildly around my chest.
“Kidding. Graham and Marshall invited me to stop by and check out what they do for their kids camps. I had a free minute this morning and it’s a beautiful spring Vegas day, so I stopped by. But I have to be honest, Bailey. I didn’t like seeing him flirting with you.”
“What difference does it make to you?” I practically spit at him.
“Maybe you’re right,” he murmurs.
“About what?” I demand.
“I can’t have you, but nobody else can, either.” Those are the last words spoken between us before he runs out onto the field to jump into helping coach the boys in the camp.
And for some reason, when I see Lincoln talking to my son about a big play he just made, the hot threat of tears pinch behind my eyes.
That should’ve been our boy.
It should have worked between us.
But it didn’t, and now it can’t.
CHAPTER 6: LINCOLN
Voluntary minicamp starts Monday, so I spend the rest of my weekend working on my speech and doing some volunteer work in the community as arranged for me by my new publicist.
I was invited to give the commencement address at my alma mater, and I have a few ideas of what I want to say, but I haven’t written any of it out yet.
I get started on that so it’s ready to go since it’s coming up the weekend after the draft. Life is about to get real busy real fast.
Minicamp gets underway and it’s a whirlwind three days filled with meetings and playbook reviews and running drills and setting goals.
It’s fucking magic, and it’s my first look at what this season will look like.
And above all else, I’m having fun.
Sure, Bailey is here covering shit, but I’m too busy running drills to be distracted by her. We execute plays I’ve had in my back pocket for years. We make plans as I work hard to motivate these players. I make lists of strengths and lists of concerns.
It’s our first real look at what our team is going to be, and we’ll add a few more players with the draft at the end of the week.
There’s just one sore spot through minicamp, and it’s Austin Graham.
