Page 49 of Chasing the Rush
I shake my head woefully. “Actually, no, he won’t. Bellamy’s not a fan of analytics, unfortunately.”
Luca looks floored. “How is that possible?”
I explain the situation, and Luca expresses solidarity with me, along with deep disappointment that the general manager is such a “clueless dinosaur.”
“It’s okay,” I say on a sigh. “The top teams in the league have analytics departments nowadays, so all I have to do is get some official NFL experience on my résumé while I’m here, and then I’ll be able to leverage that into getting a better job with another team that might eventually let me do what I do best.”
All of a sudden, Luca looks deeply disappointed again. Even more so than earlier when I told him why I’m not in the market for a boyfriend. “So, you’re saying you’re not planning to stick around here with the Mastodons for very long?”
I shake my head. “I adore my father, and I’m having a blast working with him. But next season, I’m hoping to be workingsomewhere else—with a team that won’t view me simply as Coach Parker’s nepo-baby daughter.” My heart is lodged in my throat. My chest is tight. “I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from on that better than anyone, right?”
Luca’s shoulders slump. But to his credit, he nods slowly and murmurs, “Yeah, no, I do. I totally get it.”
I lay my hand on Luca’s on the desk as a show of solidarity and comfort but then quickly pull back when I feel veritable sparks emanating from our simple touch.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper, trying my best to sound casual. Like I’m not feeling the urge to throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. “I promise I’m not going anywhere till I’ve done everything in my power to get you onto that active roster. My plan has always been to find a new team in the offseason.”
Luca flexes his hand, letting me know he felt those insane sparks, too. “I’m surprised you don’t want to be Coach Martinez somewhere else. Or even your father. You’re an incredible coach, Chelsea. The sky’s the limit for you.”
“Thank you. I do love coaching, but it’s not where I want to end up in life. That’s why I want to work so badly for a new team. I worry if I stay here too long, I’ll naturally start rising up the coaching ranks, and that will only make it harder and harder to get where I really want to go. That’s the path of least resistance, you know? But I don’t want that. I want to be the captain of my own ship, even if it ultimately sinks.”
Luca’s dark eyes blaze as he blurts, “Roman finagled a spot for me at the Thunderbolts.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “But I decided to stay here, even if I go down with the ship, for that exact same reason.”
Luca looks so vulnerable and beautiful in this moment in the dim light of the quiet classroom, I’d grab his face and kiss him if we were anywhere else. In an ice cream parlor, for instance.
Shit.I don’t know what my face is doing right now, but whatever it is, it’s making Luca slowly lean in with his lips slightly parted, like he’s going to kiss me and do it well.
Fuck!“Security cameras,” I gasp out, leaning back sharply. “There are cameras in the classrooms, remember?”
Luca jerks back and clears his throat loudly, looking flushed and flustered. But apparently, his tongue is too tied—or his dick too hard—to speak. Probably both.
“You don’t want to be late for curfew,” I manage to choke out, feeling a bit flushed and flustered myself. “We’d better get you back to the hotel.”
CHAPTER 17
Luca
ICAN’T SLEEP.
Can’t concentrate on my playbook, either.
And I’ve already jerked off to fantasies of Chelsea.
What now?
It’s a half hour past curfew, but who cares about that? Here, they trust us to be professionals. We’re on the honors system, as they say—and that’s a damned good thing, considering I’m a guy with zero honor. At least, when it comes to Chelsea Parker and my raging, all-consuming, boner-inducing attraction to her. At this point, I’d do pretty much anything, take any risk, slay any dragon to get a crack at kissing her. Obviously, I’d like to do a whole lot more than kiss her, but first things first.
I’d swear on a stack of bibles that Chelsea wanted to kiss me too during our private film review this evening. I felt it in my bones. Also, in the boner that rose up underneath the desk. If we’d been anywhere else, maybe on the old side of the complex that hasn’t been remodeled and decked out with fancy technology yet, I’d bet dollars to donuts Chelsea would have said “fuck it” and crashed her mouth against mine in that same moment. The thought is torturing me. In fact, ever since I got back to my room, it’s all I can think about. Kissing Chelsea. Touching her. Tasting her. Fucking her. Picking upwhere we left off in Bloomington, only as two experienced adults.
Fuck it. I can’t take it anymore. I’m a madman at this point. Resolved to do whatever it takes to get what I want, even if that means blowing up my life or burning the world down.
My skin prickling with excitement, I pull up the Mastodons app and hastily swipe into the player room assignments. The staffers’ room numbers aren’t listed anywhere on the app, unfortunately. We can only message them through the app to reach them. When I first figured that out weeks ago one night, I asked Chelsea her room number during our one-on-one the next morning, but she only rolled her eyes at me and said, “Nice try, Montague. I’ve already been in a hotel room one too many times with you in my lifetime.” Clearly, she suspected I’d use her room number to do what I’m about to do now. Because she’s smart like that. But you know what? Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I find Greg Garrity’s room number on the players’ room assignment list, since he’s the guy who mentioned seeing Chelsea in her Buckeye pajamas way back when at an ice machine. According to the list, he’s in room 318. The third floor. So, that must be Chelsea’s floor, too, since there’s an ice machine on every floor, and it defies logic to think she’d go to another floor in her pajamas for ice. Unless her ice machine was broken. I suppose that’s a slim possibility.
I guess I’m about to find out.
My heart thudding in my ears, I throw on my sweats and shoes, grab my keycard, and stride toward my door. But as I’m reaching for the knob, a FaceTime notification rings out.Fuck.It’s all three of the boys calling me—my two actual brothers and my honorary one: our cousin, Marco. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, not even those three kings, now that I’ve decided to go for it with a certain mathlete/coach who’s got me all in a twist.
