CHAPTER EIGHT
Wyatt drove carefully toward the Coyotes stadium as his sister’s chatter filled the cab of his truck, distracting him from worry over his first day with the team.
“I think it might be another week or two before I can come out and visit you,” Natalie said. “Mom and Dad mentioned coming out there in June and I might just wait until then. This semester is burying me in homework.”
“You guys should probably wait until I have a house anyway.” Wyatt slammed on his breaks as traffic suddenly halted.
“Get one with a pool, okay? I’ve been dying for a swim.”
Wyatt laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I never did ask you if you found anything promising the other day. I guess if you had, I would’ve heard about it.”
“Nothing worth putting an offer on,” Wyatt agreed. Although the time spent with Tamera definitely hadn’t been a waste.
“Hopefully something comes up ASAP. The sooner you can settle in and hunker down, the better. People are super suspicious about your trade.”
Tamera had said the same thing. Wyatt gripped the steering wheel. If Drew didn’t keep his mouth shut…
But he had no reason to go public now. It would raise too many questions, since the injury had been five months ago.
“The whole thing is just so stupid,” Natalie continued. “Becky is a snake and so is Drew.”
Wyatt wasn’t about to argue with her.
“How are classes going?” Wyatt asked, ready for a subject change.
Natalie prattled on about a professor she hated and one she had a crush on while Wyatt listened with half an ear. He turned into the stadium parking lot, nerves making his throat tighten.
His first day. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Being the new kid on the block was never fun.
“Are you listening?” Natalie asked.
“Sorry. I guess I’m a little distracted.”
“Nervous about your first day?” she guessed.
“I’m sure everything will be fine. Can I call you back later?”
A dramatic sigh filled the line. “Oh, I suppose. Scope out the hot guys for me, okay?”
“Uh, we don’t scope each other out. Especially not in the locker room.”
He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Whatever. I demand you introduce me to everyone when I come visit.”
“Let me meet them first, okay?”
“Just this once. Good luck!”
“Thanks.” He was going to need it.
Wyatt got out of his truck and stared up at the ancient stadium looming above him. Scaffolding lined one entire side and painters were changing the exterior from a scuffed brown to a dark gray. Looked like Luke was wasting no time updating the stadium. Maybe the Coyotes really would turn around under his ownership.
Two other players met each other on the opposite side of the parking lot and slapped hands. They ambled inside, their deep voices carrying on the still morning air. Wyatt took a deep breath and hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. He needed to go outside his comfort zone today and make friends so the others didn’t see him as an outsider. At least he wouldn’t be the only new face, although he was the only trade—the others were all new picks from the draft.
The concrete breezeways of the stadium echoed each of Wyatt’s steps. Laughter floated from the direction of the locker room, but Wyatt was alone in the hallway except for a few painters who were stenciling the team logo on one wall.
A door opened along the wall and Luke stepped out. He grinned when he saw Wyatt and held out a hand for a shake.
“Ready for your first day?” Luke asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“The guys are great. You’ll fit right in.” He walked backward down the hallway. “They’re doing the first shoot for the commercial after practice, right?”
Yeah, because meeting the team and having his first practice with the Coyotes wasn’t enough stress for one day. “Yup.”
“Can’t wait to see the footage. It’s going to be great.” Luke waved and then disappeared around a corner.
Wyatt shook his head and pushed open the door to the locker room. He just had to take today one step at a time. Right now, all he had to do was find his locker and say hello to whoever was nearby.
The Coyotes locker room had a low ceiling and peeling paint, with narrow lockers crammed next to each other—a definite step down from the sleek lines and open space he’d enjoyed with the Vigilantes. Men stood around the room in various states of dress, laughing and talking as they discussed what they’d done while on break.
Wyatt made his way around the periphery of the room until he found the locker where his new jersey hung proudly, the name James prominently displayed on the back alongside his number. The gold and blue looked out of place after three seasons of black and green.
You’re making the best of the situation, he reminded himself. He had his truck, his writing, and soon he’d have a new house. Things weren’t all bad.
A man dropped his duffel bag in the locker next to Wyatt’s. He was tall and muscular, with dark skin and a shaved head. Tattoos covered both arms. “You must be James.”
“That’s me,” Wyatt said.
“I’m Tyrone Miller.” He held out a hand and pulled Wyatt in for quick back clap. “Good to meet you.”
“You too.” The band squeezing Wyatt’s chest relaxed ever so slightly. He’d had his first introduction, which was always the hardest part of a new team.
“You’re gonna like California,” Tyrone said with confidence. “Don’t you be thinking ‘bout those Vigilantes for a minute. They may have more wins, but we got McKinley now and everything’s gonna change.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
A tall man with sun-bronzed skin, shaggy blond hair, and tightly coiled muscles paused just inside the locker room and held up his hands. “Schroeder in the house!” he yelled, then let out a hoot.
Half a dozen men hooted in response, and then started whipping each other with their shirts. Schroeder slapped their butts and made his way to the other side of the room.
Cortney Schroeder was one of the few exceptional players on the Coyotes and it looked like he knew it. Why were quarterbacks always so blasted arrogant? They acted like the sun rose and set on their command.
Tyrone rolled his eyes and pulled cleats out of his duffel bag. “Let me give you a piece of advice, James.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said easily.
“Whatever you do, don’t get on Schroeder’s bad side. He’ll make your life miserable in practice.”
Wyatt gave a sharp nod, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’d hoped to escape the Drews of the world in California, but it seemed he’d asked the universe for too much.
“Let me introduce you around,” Tyrone said. “We’ve got some good guys on the team.”
“Thanks.” Wyatt offered Tyrone a genuine smile. His locker mate’s friendliness went a long way to easing Wyatt’s anxieties.
As Tyrone made introductions, Wyatt felt himself loosening up. The other guys welcomed him with friendly smiles and seemed genuinely happy to have him on the team. But then Tyrone paused in front of Schroeder’s locker.
When Tyrone spoke, his tone was flat. “This is Schroeder.”
“Wyatt James, in the flesh. Never thought I’d be on a team with you.” Schroeder held out a fist and Wyatt reluctantly nudged it with his own. “Team party at my house this weekend. If you don’t show up, I’ll take it as a personal insult.”
“Sounds great,” Wyatt said with feigned enthusiasm. “Send me the deets and I’ll be there.”
“Awesome. Any lady friends are more than welcome to accompany you.” Schroeder backed away and pointed his fingers at Wyatt. “Saturday.”
“Saturday,” Wyatt agreed, the word souring in his mouth.
“If you don’t show up, he really will make your life miserable,” Tyrone muttered as they walked out of the locker room. “I’ll pick you up at the hotel and we can drive over together. His house is kind of hard to find in the dark.”
“Thanks,” Wyatt said. At least he’d made one friend today.
Conditioning with the team went well, and by the end of the practice, Wyatt felt as though he’d begun tentative friendships with a few of the guys, Tyrone included. Back in the locker room, he took his time showering. He didn’t want the other guys, especially the veterans of the team, to know he’d been chosen as the face of the up and coming marketing campaign. Telling them he was headed back to the field for his first shoot felt like an awkward way to end his first day.
The room was nearly empty when Wyatt made his way back to his locker, but Tyrone was still packing his bag.
“You leaving, James?” Tyrone asked.
“Not yet.” Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got a few things to do first.”
Tyrone raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”
Wyatt slowly zipped his bag closed. It would probably be more awkward now if he said nothing, because eventually Tyrone would find out. “Mr. Ryder asked me to help with the new marketing campaign. He’s running a few commercials and ads to try and up ticket sales. I’m meeting the crew on the field in ten minutes.”
Schroeder popped out of the showers, a towel slung around his waist. Wyatt tensed. How had he not realized Schroeder was still here?
“What’s that, James?” Schroeder demanded.
Wyatt eyed him warily. “It’s nothing.”
“Seems like TV spots should be reserved for the quarterback.”
“Just doing what I’m told.” Wyatt held up his hands. “Trust me, I didn’t ask for the screen time.”
Schroeder’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. But finally he grunted and walked away.
Tyrone clapped Wyatt on the shoulder and shook his head. “Is Mr. Ryder trying to paint a target on your back?”
“No kidding.”
Tyrone jerked his thumb toward where Schroeder had just stormed out. “Good luck with that.”
“Yeah.”
“See you tomorrow.” Tyrone saluted and left.
It took a few more minutes for Wyatt to convince himself to head out to the field. In had been totally transformed in the forty minutes since practice ended. Artificial lights were hoisted up on tall poles and cameras on dollies were positioned at various angles around the fifty yard line.
Wyatt swallowed hard, fighting the urge to run back into the locker room. He could throw a football all day, but talking to a camera felt like a herculean task.
A woman in a loose-fitting white blouse with trendy red glasses crossed the field. Wyatt winced as her spiky heels dug into the soft grass of the field. She didn’t seem to notice or care and latched onto his arm. “Come with me, Mr. James,” she said, her tone light and airy. “Hair and makeup is this way, then I’ll send you over to wardrobe.”
Wyatt reached up, running a hand across his closely cropped locks. What were they going to do, curl it?
The woman laughed, as though sensing the direction of his thoughts. “Don’t worry, you’ll still feel like yourself when we’re done.”
Like he’d ever feel comfortable in makeup.
Two hours later, Wyatt most definitely did not feel like himself. He was starting to sweat under the intense heat of the lights and the director was struggling to hid his growing frustration.
“You’re too tense, Wyatt.” The director rose from his chair and walked across the field. The man was probably in his mid-fifties, with a sole patch and shaved scalp. He rolled his shoulders. “Take a few deep breaths. Try to relax. It’s only a few lines.”
Relax. Yeah, right. But Wyatt took a deep breath, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s try again.”
The director took his chair. “Action!”
Wyatt gave a strained smile and began walking down the field, the football clutched in one arm. “Hi.” His tone sounded flat even to his own ears. “I’m Wyatt James, the newest offensive lineman for the Los Angeles Coyotes.” He finished reciting the memorized script, then paused as he’d been directed for the final frame.
“Cut.” The director rubbed his eyes, then sighed. “That’s a wrap for today, folks.”
Wyatt’s shoulders slumped. “I told Mr. Ryder I was no good at this.”
The director clapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “You’re doing great.”
Wyatt snorted.
“You’re doing okay,” the director amended. “I think we’ve got enough footage for this piece. We can start working on the next one tomorrow.”
Wyatt nodded. The evening had been a complete disaster and he’d totally failed Luke and Coach McKinley. Was there such a thing as an acting tutor? Because he definitely needed one.
Twenty minutes later, he slipped on his jacket and pulled his phone out of his duffel bag to check for messages.
Sent a few new listings to you, Landon texted. Julie’s still in the hospital, but Tamera is happy to take you to any of them. Really sorry to be so flaky.
Tamera. Just the sight of her name had Wyatt’s stomach doing roller coasters.
He tapped his phone against his leg and glanced around at the crew busily dismantling the equipment that had been used to shoot the worst TV commercial in the history of ever. Tamera had been flawless on Eye in the Sky. Maybe he should ask her for a few pointers. Seemed like he’d be seeing more of her than he’d planned.
He quickly texted Landon back. Don’t worry about it. I’ll let Tamera know if I want to see any of the listings.
It was probably a good idea to go check out the properties regardless of whether he wanted to make an offer. He needed to get an idea of what was available in his price range and what compromises he might have to make. The fact that Tamera would take him to the showings was beside the point.
Back at the hotel, he perused the five new listing and was pleasantly surprised. Landon had done well—Wyatt was very interested in at least two of them. He quickly texted Tamera before he could talk himself out of it.
Landon said you might be able to take me to a few properties.
Absolutely. :) Which ones did you want to see?
He sent her the listing numbers, along with his availability that week.
I’ll let you know when I’ve got them scheduled, Tamera responded.
Thanks.
Wyatt set his phone down on the small desk in his hotel room and raised his arms above his head. This was about seeing houses—nothing more, nothing less. If it happened to come up, he might ask Tamera for a few pointers on how to make the TV spots go better.
This was strictly professional. He’d make sure to keep it that way.