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“Red, you, of all people, know how fickle lady luck can be.”
“Hmm,” I grunted. The reason not playing pros had hurt so much was because as cocky as it made me sound, I had known how good I was. How great I could have been. But Andres Montoya? He’d been an okay player, but he would have never lasted in the pros had he been drafted.
“Crank is healthy. He’s fucking fast and big, and the way he can read the field is uncanny.”
“He does have a good eye,” I agreed.
“The Rams want him. I want him to go pro. I think we can draft him in the third, maybe second round.” By the tone in Montoya’s voice, I knew he was sharing privileged information.
If they could talk him into entering the draft, he would have a spot on the team. The kid would not only go pro but start his rookie year. It was what every college football coach wanted for his player.
But Crank Dominguez was different.
He might look like your typical meathead jock, but the kid was brighter than anyone gave him credit for.
“He has big plans for his future, Andres.”
“Dr. Crank? You think people are going to go see a doctor named Crank? This isn’t the Emperor’s New Groove.” I sighed.
“That was Kronk.”
“The NFL has had one of those, too,” he argued. I looked out the window. I hated that I could see what Montoya was saying.
“He’s a good kid,” I said before returning my attention to him. “Like you said, it’s within your right to go talk to him. Which, seeing as you know about the fact he’s decided to double major, I have a feeling you already have.”
“The kid likes school.” Andres said with distaste, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I get it. I loved playing football, but classes?” I shrugged. “It wasn’t my thing.” He nodded, and then his head tilted.
“Yet you became a high school teacher,” he pointed out, and I chuckled. Becoming a teacher had not been on my bingo card of accomplishments, but Kaitlyn had helped me find purpose and something to do that could help me use my college degree.
“It wasn’t that bad,” I mumbled. If I thought back to my teaching career, I could do it with a smile on my face. There was something pretty exhilarating about the moment you saw a student understand a concept. You could practically see the lightbulb turn on in their heads. That had all been thanks to Kaitlyn.
“Maybe,” he muttered. “Either way, I think Crank would be a great addition to—" My hand rose, and I shook my head.
“Gotta tell you, if you’re here trying to talk me into somehow convincing him to enter the draft and put his education on hold, I’m sorry to tell you, you’re wasting your breath,” I let him down gently.
“But—"
“I get it. Time isn’t always on our side. Shit could happen. But out of all my players, Crank Dominguez is not one I am worried about. The guy is good. On and off the field. Not just physically"—my fingers pointed at my chest then moved to my temple— “but mentally.”
“Red—"
“Now, I gotta get home.”
“To the little woman?” he guessed, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant toddler about to throw a temper tantrum. He opened the bottle of water and chugged it down.
“You know, I don’t know what you have against relationships—" I started to say, but stopped when he opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, I kept talking, “But maybe finding someone would help.”
“Help?” He scowled. “Help with what? I’m a fucking ray of sunshine.” To this, I chuckled. Loud and carefree. I noticed I’d been doing a lot more of that shit since claiming my ladybug.
“Right. Well, they do say admitting you have a problem is the first step. Denial is a bitch.”
“Hmm.” He rolled his eyes. “You really don’t think I could convince you into talking to him?” I shook my head.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Fine,” he groaned and stood up, dropping a business card on my desk.
