“He’d be an idiot not to gun for your position.” Nick laughed and shook his head. “He admires you whether you hate him or not. He wants to be just like you when he grows up.”
They both laughed over that. “Kid walks around with a shiny halo hanging over his head. It’s annoying as fuck.”
“The media loves him and he plays up that saintly attitude to the hilt.”
“They want me to be like that,” Jared said, his laughter fading, his smile vanishing. Was Foley the new ideal? If that was the case, they were all screwed.
“Shit. They want me to be like that, too. Price has been hounding me. Says I need to soften up.” Nick pointed at himself. “Please. The ladies love me just as I am.”
Harvey Price and his ridiculous ideas—though really he was merely a spokesman for the owner. Charlie Monroe was trying to turn his football team into an elite bunch of pansies.
It irritated the ever-living shit out of Jared.
The first half over, they all paraded back into the locker room, receiving the typical get pumped up and kill them speech, coupled with the don’t get too cocky with the point lead speech—which was a good one because hey, it had happened before. The who cares that we’re out of town speech was thrown out there, too. Jared had heard them all. And he was distracted. His thoughts suddenly consumed with his desirable, untouchable wife.
He’d instituted the untouchable rule so he wouldn’t break that shitty clause. No way would he ruin this marriage and have it bite him in the ass with the media and his team. Ownership had good enough reason to send him packing what with his shoulder. He still wasn’t 100 percent.
But, Lord help him, Sheridan was temptation personified. She smiled, he wanted her. She laughed, his dick got hard. He’d caught her in the new studio she’d created at his house a few days ago, recreating the scenery right outside the window. He’d stood behind her in silent awe, watching her paintbrush dash across the canvas, creating the gorgeous view of the ocean out of nothing but paint.
She was amazing. Beautiful. A pain in his ass. Flighty, stubborn, irritating, persistent. He wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever wanted in his life.
“The doc cleared you for the second half. I’m guessing that shot did the trick,” Walsh informed him when they returned to the field. “But the minute I see you wince or stretch out your arm, I’m pulling you for good. I’m not letting you get re-injured by a piece of shit team when the game’s already basically in hand. The doc would never let me hear the end of it.”
Sounded logical, yet it still pissed Jared off. “They can’t hurt me.”
“They can and they will. They have a hard-on for you today, Quinn. They virtually ignored Foley when he was playing.”
“He was out there all of a minute, and it was just a few running plays,” Jared pointed out.
“That minute was technically five. And trust me, they didn’t even bother looking his way.” Walsh poked him in the center of his chest. “They got a taste of your blood and now they want you. They love nothing more than watching a superstar fail. Besides, it’s like they know you’re vulnerable. You baby that shoulder and it shows. Doesn’t help that wifey is watching up in the stands.”
Is that why they were after him? To humiliate him by kicking the shit out of him while Sheridan watched? That was all sorts of fucked up.
And probably true.
Ignoring his coach’s words, he ran out onto the field. The energy from the crowd was palpable, like a living, breathing thing, its magic weaving a spell over the players on both sides. The Dolphins were pumped.
“Watch out for that one.” Nick cocked his head, indicating a Dolphin player who sounded like he was growling. “He wants you. Any way he can get you.”
Jesus. “You watch out for me and we’re good,” he said to Nick, slapping him on the back.
“Yeah, well. You know I always have your back when I can, but I can only do so much. And that guy is bat shit crazy.” Nick stepped closer, lowering his voice. “He’s growling. He sounds like a rabid dog.”
Ignoring the growler, Jared went into position, as did the rest of his team. Glancing to his left, then his right, he made the call, his gaze lifting to meet the growling Dolphin, who sent a feral smile in his direction. A shiver moved through him, that familiar, low ache starting in his bad shoulder, and an ominous feeling settled over him, making him cold even in the Florida heat.
His team ran and Jared aimed the ball, glancing to and fro, making sure no one was coming after him. He had it figured out, knew exactly who he wanted to throw it to but the hit came out of nowhere, from his left, taking him to the ground. His head jarred against the sides of the helmet as he fell on his right side, blinking up at the glorious, clear blue sky. Three Dolphins piled on top of him in a show of overkill, one of them slamming their elbow into his now wildly throbbing shoulder and he groaned in agony, and cursed like a pissed off trucker.
Great. The fuckin’ Dolphins got exactly what they wanted with their dirty pile up. His utter humilia
tion on the field, all while Sheridan watched.
Chapter Eleven
Sheridan had stood the second Jared was hit, a gasp escaping her when he was slammed to the ground. Covering her mouth with shaky fingers, she had watched, breathless, as a pack of Dolphins dog piled her husband until all she could see were his legs sticking out from the bottom.
“Omigod.” She was stuck up in a fancy skybox, sitting with the elite few who had the privilege to join Charlie Monroe and his entourage. Harvey had been hovering around her for most of the game, probably afraid she’d make one wrong move and blurt out something that might blow everyone’s cover.
It was best she didn’t say much. She pretended to be completely engrossed in the game, though that had been hard during half-time, when there’d been nothing to watch but a bad lineup of cheerleaders shaking their moneymakers in their über-revealing costumes.