Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 40420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
One thing’s bothering me, though. The way I spoke to her yesterday was… odd.
I don’t know why. Maybe because she’s a beautiful girl kneeling between my legs, touching my bare skin so close to my cock. I want her hands to slide up my thigh, massage my shaft, get me fucking hard.
I just started talking. I told her something I don’t think I’ve ever said out loud before. I’ve always known it, deep inside the quiet parts of my mind. But admitting that to someone is dangerous.
It’s the sort of thing that can make me look bad in the NFL. Nobody wants to play for a coach that delights in torturing his players.
Which isn’t even what I was saying. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to make them work for what they have, because some of us can’t anymore.
I stand at the door of my office, looking down the hall. I can see people moving around, the inner workings of this team buzzing like an anthill. Leah’s somewhere nearby, probably in the locker room or in the training room, taking care of someone.
Making sure they aren’t hurt.
I respect that in a person. If I didn’t go into football at all, I think I would’ve tried to become a doctor.
I don’t know what it is about her, but I need to try and keep myself together.
I stretch a little, rubbing at my leg again before stopping myself. Even here, where I’m relatively alone, I can’t afford to show weakness.
“Cole,” a voice says suddenly, nearly making me jump.
I look down the hall again and he’s striding toward me. Everyone stares after him as he comes.
Atlas Gage.
He’s young, in his late twenties. He’s wearing a suit, light gray, slim fitting. His tie is a bright mélange of flower blues and yellows. His hair is cut short, pushed back to one side. His eyes are green and brown swirls.
He’s the youngest owner in NFL history, and one of the youngest billionaires in the world.
He’s also one of the strangest people I’ve ever met.
“Coach Cole,” he says, coming up to me. He doesn’t smile as he shakes my hand. “How’s my team?”
“Going good,” I say, stepping aside. He drifts into my office. “Very good. You did a great job, pulling this together.”
He grunts, nods his head. He’s about an inch shorter than me, although he’s muscular, well built. I never would guess that he made his money in tech.
When I think of tech billionaires, I think of little nerdy boys in glasses and sweatshirts. That’s not Atlas Gage, not at all.
He doesn’t sit down when I offer him a chair, so I’m forced to lean against my desk for support.
“It was a lot of work,” he allows. “Building this stadium alone set us back a couple years.”
“But here it is.” I grin at him. “It’s amazing.”
“Maybe,” he allows.
It is amazing, though. Fargo, North Dakota, was just another sleepy Midwest town that didn’t care at all about having a major sports team. But Atlas is from here, and he was adamant about bringing it to this city.
He built the stadium. He found the staff. He paid for the players. He’s paying for everything, actually. I don’t know how he managed to talk the NFL into allowing this, but here we are, a brand-new modern stadium and a brand new NFL team in the middle of a tiny North Dakota city.
All because of this very strange man.
“I wanted to ask you about your staff,” he says. “I hear there are some shortages?”
I shrug. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
He eyes me warily. “We can’t afford to project weakness, Coach Wood.”
I grin at him. If only he knew how much I understood. “We aren’t. We’re missing some minor coaching staff, some minor training roles, but we’re running just fine. For a new team, we’re in good shape.”
He grunts at that and nods. “Okay then. I’ll take your word for it. There’s a reason I brought you on here.”
I know that reason. I took Monray College, a tiny little team that lost every game for five years straight, and turned them into a powerhouse. We went from last place to first place in two seasons. We didn’t lose a single title when I was coaching there.
I resurrected that team. Hell, I birthed that team. I hear they’re still doing pretty good. I bet they’ll always be a contender, all because of the work I did there.
Now I have to do it again, but on a bigger scale.
“Have you gotten the tour yet?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Come with me.” I steer Atlas from my office. It’s odd, having the owner show up like this, asking about minor team roles. I’m guessing there’s something else going on.
I give him the quick version. I show him the offices, the locker room, the equipment rooms. I introduce him to some of the players.