Page 51 of Scored

I sat forward. “And I fucked it up with Jackson?”

“No, you were honest. A mentor isn’t someone who only tells you that you’re great. They tell you when you screw up or when you’re not ready. Complimenting him today meant more to him because you laid it on the line in game seventeen.”

“No one told me.”

“I thought maybe Vee mentioned it.”

Her name made me smile. “I won’t say we don’t talk shop, but not that much. Her plate has been overflowing since Mr. Hubbard…” I inhaled. “I know I’m getting old. I’m thankful to whoever is responsible for offering me a contract. I don’t have a lot of field time left in me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go out quietly. It’s hard to imagine not getting the adrenaline rush that comes with playing.”

He nodded. “There’s a rush when you coach, but it’s not the same.”

“I have two more years here. I’m satisfied being behind Dennison, but as long as my body lets me play, I want to be out there. Anytime you call my name, I’ll be ready.”

“I called you in here,” Coach said, “to tell you that we were right about you. Now put the damn sling back on and do what the trainers tell you to do.”

On my drive to Vee’s condo, our condo, my mind was filled with everything Pratt and Tilson were drilling into us about the Bills’ defense. Our throws would have to be quick and sharp. The way their defense dismantled the Jaguars was textbook. We couldn’t let the fact that they were a sixth seed give us a false sense of security.

My apartment was still mine. My lease wasn’t up until March. Over the last four months, most of my personal belongings made their way to Vee’s. The rest of the shit—furniture, cookware, and decorations weren’t mine. All I needed to do was make a few phone calls and get them all turned back into the rental company.

To my surprise, when I pulled into the parking garage under the Vine, Vee’s car was in her parking spot. Opening the door to the condo, I was met with the delicious aroma of something garlicky and the stunning emerald stare of my official roommate.

“Hey,” she said.

After taking off my coat, I walked straight to her, wrapped both arms around her, and tugged her close. “You left early.”

She craned her neck to maintain eye contact. “No,” she said with a smile. “I left on time. I’m usually there late.”

I brought my lips to hers. As our kiss deepened, I felt her body relax, as if I was sucking the tension out of her. Her contented hum filled the air. Stepping back, I cupped her cheek. “Tough day?”

“I think it was two days and we missed the night part.” Vee opened her eyes wide. “It was great to see you out on the field.”

“It felt fantastic. I have to be cleared for pads and to throw by Friday.”

“Lacy will do what’s best.”

“What are you cooking?”

“Vegetable lasagna. This recipe calls for marinara sauce instead of the Alfredo sauce in yours.”

“Do you not like mine?”

Her smile was back. “I like everything about you and yours, Mr. Graham. I was in the mood for Italian.”

Wrapping her again in my arms, I asked, “Are you in the mood for anything else?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“I could be persuaded. I don’t want to have any extracurricular activity hurt your shoulder.” She furrowed her brow. “Shouldn’t you be wearing the sling?”

“Probably.” I moved my left shoulder. “I spent the entire morning working with the trainers doing strengthening exercises. I know I’d enjoy working out with you more.”

“I hope so.” Vee turned to the counter. “Is wine prohibited a few days before a postseason game?”

“As long as it’s not to excess, I think I’m good.”

Vee pulled a bottle from the wine rack.

“Here,” I said, “I can get that. How long have you been home?”

“I left right after practice.”