Be Mine (Jackson Boys 2)

I nod at Zupp, pretending that I’m taking his advice, but there’s no way in hell I’m laying down in the backfield to avoid Williams. Yes, he’s the best defensive end in the league, but you don’t win any kind of respect in this league unless you pass on that sucker’s ass.

On Sunday, we have the opportunity to show that we’re the same bad-ass Championship team we were last year.

The quarterbacks’ meeting goes on for another two hours as we run over the new plays. Later today, we’ll run through them on the field with the wide receivers and running backs. But this morning, it’s all textbook stuff.

The one thing no one tells you in college about the pros is how many goddamned plays the NFL coaches think up. The playbook is enormous and every week, they try to think up something new to foil the other side.

I appreciate the distraction, though, otherwise I’d be brooding about Lainey. Or thinking about the next time I’ll have the privilege of being between her legs.

“Hey, your ticket for the Golds’ game, you still have that?” Chip asks as we exit the meeting room. It’s mid-morning, and I need a snack.

“No, gave it to a friend. Why?”

He makes a weird face. “Got an Insta-model on the line for the game, and I already gave my game tickets to Shanna and her mom.”

“Dude, that’s a dangerous game.” Shanna is a girl he’s been seeing the last couple of months. “How’re you going to handle both women?”

Chip laughs. “One at a time. I’d prefer both”—he waggles his eyebrows up and down—”but Shanna’s a little uptight. But fuck, what do you expect from a Junior Leaguer, right? Girl’s legs are fused together until you pop the question.”

That’s info I don’t really need about his girlfriend. “Good luck, dude. Maybe try Moxy? He doesn’t have any family out in Cali as far as I know.”

“Who you got going to the game? Chick?”

“Left a ticket for my bro.” I’m not bringing Lainey up to him given how he treated her at dinner.

“Oh right, Navy SEAL dude.” Chip winks. “Awesome. I bet he gets so much pussy, huh?”

It’d probably blow Chip’s mind to find out that Nathan has had only one woman in his life. Although, I wonder if he’d even believe me if I told him.

I settle for, “I haven’t heard him complain.”

“Between you and him, who do you think gets more play? NFL quarterback, right? Like I would’ve beat your brother in that department.”

I start walking because this is such a fucking ridiculous discussion. Chip follows right along, still flapping his jaw. “We should go out Friday, you, me, and your brother. We can hit some of his places. See what kind of talent there is. Is he drawing nines and tens? Let me show you this chick on Instagram. Look at this.” He holds his phone an inch away from nose.

“Not interested,” I say and push his hand away. See, if I could be open about Lainey, I’d tell him that I was taken and that would be that.

“Not interested? She’s at least a nine, other than her nose. Maybe her nose drops her down to an eight or so. After I hit that, I might leave some extra cash for her to get her nose done. Anyway, I’m meeting with her Saturday night. Good thing for me, I don’t need the extra sleep for Sunday. Sure you don’t have someone else? I can’t imagine a single guy not being interested in this chick.”

An alarm dings in the back of my head. Chip suddenly seems way too interested in my love life. Not keen on carrying on this dumbass conversation, I stop at the training room. “I’m going to get my hand re-taped before the throwing drills. I’ll see you out on the field.”

“I thought you wanted to get something to eat?”

“Nah, lost my appetite.” I push open the door and leave him behind.

The most damning aspect of the Insta-model isn’t her nose but that she has any interest in Chip at all. Any chick that’d let that asshole stick his dick in her has a screw, or ten, loose in her head.

“Nick, how is everything going?” The Mustangs’ owner, Owen Trask, stops me in the hall. He’s seventy but looks about sixty due to some good plastic surgery. His fourth wife hangs on his arm like an expensive decoration. The women get younger every time I see him.

“Great. Team looks real sharp,” I tell him.

We shake hands, and he slaps me on the back. “I’m real happy you’re leading the Mustang family this year. Looks like we’re in for a good season. It’s hard to believe we got you in the third round two years ago. You’re turning out to be a real steal.”

“You picked Leroy Woodley first round. He makes my life easier.” Woodley is a monster defensive end and went number two in the draft to the Mustangs the same year I was drafted. He eats quarterbacks for breakfast and snacks on tight ends after lunch. I’m glad he’s on my team.