Chapter Seventeen
MILLER
The team dinner went about as good as any team dinner could go. We ordered an insane amount of alcohol—and didn’t even drink most of it since we had a grueling practice the next day, and the same went for food.
All in all, the final bill was around eight grand, small by most standards for the rookie meal.
Justin Ranz, our newest rookie, offensive line, took one look at it and paled.
“Chill, man.” Sanchez hit him in the back. “You get your bonus in, what, a few days?”
“A week.” His voice was disgusted.
“Right.” Sanchez nodded. “And you got a three-million signing bonus. This is chump change.” He frowned. “Well, I mean technically, after taxes you only get, what, that would be around half, considering you’re in a whole new bracket, and then you’re going to want to buy a car, because who doesn’t need a nice vehicle to transport them in?”
“Don’t forget a house,” I piped up, knowing exactly what he was doing.
I’d heard of it before, the mentors making sure the rookies didn’t shit away all their money just because they were suddenly professional athletes. I snapped my fingers.
“And all those family members. Friends. Cousins that come out of the woodwork and need a favor.” I whistled. “Wow, guys, what does that really leave our rookies with?”
The game was simple. Make the rookies think twice before they start swiping their credit cards. The rookie dinners sucked for a lot of reasons, and mine last year had been pure hell since I hadn’t gotten my bonus yet. I’d had to fucking beg the owner of the restaurant to let me hit him up once I had my money. I even went as far as to write a check for the money I didn’t even have yet, with my agent’s number on it so the owner knew I was good for it.
Hell, it had been demeaning, especially since I thought I was the shit. I mean I’d gotten over eighteen million for five years. As a rookie. That didn’t happen to tight ends, even the good ones. It had been a humbling experience, and one that I’d never forget. I hoped to do the same thing to the guys on our team, the ones who were currently looking at us like we were complete monsters.
“To answer your question, that leaves you with jack shit.” Jax grinned, his voice commanding as ever. I wouldn’t put it past the guy to have the majority of his money in investments and Roth IRAs. He just screamed responsibility.
Justin looked ready to puke. “I don’t have this kind of money now.”
We all stood.
Except for the rookies.
There were around seventeen of them and not all of them would even make it past the first game.
“Well . . .” I shrugged. “That’s not really our problem, is it?”
“Let’s go.” Sanchez chuckled as we all walked out of The Cheesecake Factory into the brisk Bellevue air.
I took a deep inhale while Sanchez slapped me on the back. “What was the damage for you last year?”
I shrugged. “Over three grand. You?”
“Seven.”
“Please tell me you mean hugs,” I joked.
“Hah!” he barked. “Bullshit. I would have hugged every damn person in the restaurant if that were the case. Those little shits got off lucky, and you know it. If they split between the seventeen of them, they’ll still be skipping through rainbows and screwing unicorns come tomorrow morning.”
“Does one actually screw a unicorn?” Jax wondered aloud.
“I’d do one,” Thomas offered.
“On that note . . .” I shook my head at the guys as a sense of belonging washed over me. My last team had been friends. These guys were quickly turning into brothers.
Something I’d always wanted.
But never had.
Sanchez had been the only guy to give me shit, and the more I got to know him, the more I wondered if he’d done it to see if I would flip my shit or ignore him.
He seemed like that kind of guy. Always gauging other people’s reactions to see if they could control themselves. Clearly, there was more than met the eye with that guy.
Damn it.
And now I was thinking about Emerson again.
The legitimate like I felt for Sanchez pissed me off because the guy was already texting on his phone, his grin huge like he was about ready to get laid.
Meanwhile, I wanted to punch a brick wall and imagined his face.
And he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.
“Practice!” Jax called out to everyone as he opened the door to his sleek Mercedes. His green eyes flashed. “You guys all need to head to bed. I heard conditioning’s going to be complete hell tomorrow, just a heads up.”
We all groaned.
All of us but Sanchez.
Who was still grinning at his phone like an idiot.
“Sanchez,” Jax barked. “You hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved him off without once looking up from his screen. “Practice, hell, early, bed.”
“Sometimes I wonder if he just remembers keywords and repeats them back to me.” Jax rolled his eyes. “Later.” With a wave, he was in his car, and I was still staring at Sanchez, my body tense with that creepy stalker feeling you get when you know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping but wonder if it’s totally inappropriate to ask to see his phone and lie about forgetting yours.
“So, I’ll just see you later then.” Maybe my voice was a little too loud, my stance rigid as hell. “Yeah, Sanchez?”
He finally glanced up, a smirk marring his features. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be in bed on time. I just have something I gotta do first.”
Please let that something not be Emerson.
“Right.” I scratched my head as fury pumped through my veins. “Have a good night.”
“You too, brother.” He waved me off with his phone and kept texting.
My legs may as well have been filled with cement as I made my way back to my car and numbly opened the door. What the hell was I doing?
Nothing.
I was doing nothing.
Because I didn’t know what to do.
And a part of me was still angry.
Hurt.
Pissed.
And the other part?
Was longing for the same relationship that had slipped through my fingers so many years ago.
The one that Sanchez and Emerson now had.
Bastard.
I had a bad feeling that he was texting her.
And an even worse feeling that she was texting him back.
Texting should burn in hell.
And I probably should too, since during Sanchez’s bathroom break, I had taken full opportunity to find her number on his phone.
And store it in mine.