Playing for Kicks (Play Makers Book 5) (30 page)

“How? I mean, thanks for saying that. But how
does it help with the negotiations?”

Sean paused to point to a small, flat piece
of polished black stone. “What’s that?”

She laughed as she scooped it up. “It doesn’t
count if
you
find it. But wow.” Turning it over in her
hands, she admired the carefully smoothed edges and still-sharp
point. “I wonder how old it is.”

“At least two hundred years, I’d guess. Keep
your eyes open, babe. They’re everywhere.”

“Is this obsidian?”

“Yeah, but I’ve found lots of variety up
here. Some ancient pieces too. They’re called Clovis points, and I
usually let the authorities know since they can be significant. So
keep looking.”

With her eyes to the path, she thought about
dropping the Noah issue, but Sean kept it alive. “Murf says
Cunningham has really perfected his skill set. So you can bet other
teams noticed. But it’s possible the college scandal kept them from
making inquiries. This smooths that over. Best-case scenario: Murf
gets some nibbles, the Cowboys step up, and the next contract
reflects his contributions. Or at least, that’s the plan.”

“And it doesn’t sound like I’m making excuses
for him?”

“No, babe. I’d tell you for sure. That’s the
last thing the guy needs.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Hey, Tess?”

“Yes?”

“What’s that over there?”

“Oh, my God, Sean! I’m going to
blindfold
you.” She picked up another obsidian point even
more perfect than the first. “Why do I bother?”

“You need to develop an eye for it. Let’s try
over there.” He led her down a narrower side trail. “I’ve never
been here before.”

“Are there snakes?”

“Nah.”

She studied their path intently. “Tell me a
story. But don’t distract me.”

As they meandered, Sean told her the story of
his first date with Rachel. True to form, he raved about her,
insisting she was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on.
And one of the nicest. But sadly, there wasn’t much chemistry. Just
instant friendship.

“Well, as long as she’s beautiful,” Tess
drawled.

“Yeah, wait till you see her.” He winced.
“You’re not jealous, are you? I mean, Rachel of all people? She’s
Bam’s.”

“If I were the jealous type I never would
have made it past Erica.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that.” He led her to
a wide, flat rock. “Have a seat. And look around carefully.”

“You are so dead,” she muttered, but this was
probably her best chance for saving face, so she studied the ground
around them, searching for whatever had caught Sean’s eye.

“You suck at this,” he said with a chuckle.
“Anyway, you told me to think about my so-called crush on Erica. So
I’ve done that.”

“And?”

“And it never
was
a crush. She’s
pretty, right? And she smells amazing, so shoot me if I noticed.
But she was John’s girl. Plus, I needed a miracle, not a
girlfriend. And man did she deliver.” He laughed as though
realizing how that sounded. “My career was basically over. I had
just broken my best friend’s hand, so
that
relationship was
dead. And my friendship with John was rocky since I had tanked our
Super Bowl prospects. So trust me, I needed more than romance.”

“You kicked Bannerman’s hand right after
Thanksgiving, right?”

“Yeah, and we barely made it to the playoffs.
Then out of the blue, Erica appears and fixes everything. Not
slowly over time, but in one amazing night.” He chuckled. “Again,
not sexual. But yeah, I’ve loved the hell out of her ever since. So
has Bannerman. It’s like she’s our guardian angel, no lie.”

“No wonder you guys are so close. Plus, she
actually does smell good.”

“You noticed it too? It’s gotta be perfume,
right?”

“As opposed to what?” She giggled. “Keep it
together, Romeo. You were doing so well— Oh!” She had finally
spotted something in the underbrush and stepped over to pick it up.
Then she smiled sheepishly. “Found it.”

“Actually, I meant this one,” Sean told her,
digging a flat, beautifully shaped piece of iridescent white out of
the weeds, then holding it up to the light.

His artifact was more impressive by a mile,
but Tess admired her not-so-perfect obsidian one just as proudly.
“So I found this on my own? Seriously?”

“Let’s see.” His gaze narrowed. “Looks like a
kid made it.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s authentic. But like a practice piece.
See how it’s not quite symmetrical? It’s cool, Tess. A real piece
of history.”

“I know you’re humoring me, but I love it
anyway,” she insisted. Then she touched his cheek. “Thanks for
telling me about Erica. It makes more sense now. Rachel too.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome.” He stared down at her.
“So are you.”

“So are you.”

His green eyes flickered. “We should check on
that sauce, right?”

“Right.”

Someone had to break eye contact before this
thing went Tantric, so she reminded herself the meatballs were
getting mushy, the sun was getting low in the sky, and there was
probably poison oak in these bushes, so rolling around naked wasn’t
the best idea.

The best idea was to stick with the plan.
Hang out. Take their time. So she stepped back and said wistfully,
“I miss buffer dating already. Is it Tuesday yet?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he said
with a chuckle. “Come on, we’ll plan something epic over
dinner.”

• • •

Sean’s longest recorded NFL field goal was
sixty-two yards during the Super Bowl. It also happened to be the
longest in the NFL to date. Of course, some guy would eventually
break the record. And as he left the locker room on Monday
afternoon, he knew
he
would be that guy.

Because he had launched a beauty today, and
it wasn’t the first time. An even longer one had sailed over the
crossbar in Eugene. Perfect launch, perfect loft, straight and
true, like it wanted to go on forever. And way,
way
longer
than sixty-two yards.

Now it had happened again.

No one had noticed, since Johnny was always
working with the rookie receivers, the coach was always busting
someone’s balls, and Bannerman, who
should
have noticed
since he was right there, was too busy joking around. If the
special-teams coach had been present he might have seen it. But
Tanner was recuperating from surgery, meaning the offensive
coordinator was doing double duty and too harried to notice
anything
.

No problem,
Sean told himself
cheerfully.

Kicking was a solitary endeavor embedded in a
team sport. It had its downside, but at moments like this it was
Sean’s favorite part of the gig. Sure, when he blew a kick it was
all on him. But when the stars aligned?

That was on him, too.

“Hey, Deck,” the OC said from behind him.
“Riga’s looking for you.”

Sean turned, surprised. He rarely spoke to
Coach Riga, although the guy had been cordial—almost
friendly—during their brief exchanges. “Did he say why?”

“Does he ever?” The coordinator shrugged.
“He’s modifying the schedule for training camp so that’s probably
it. Maybe you’ll catch a break and get extra time off.”

Sean caught the subtext—that as a kicker he
didn’t need to see every inch of film or work out quite as
intensively. It would have annoyed him if it weren’t technically
true.

Plus, nothing annoyed him these days. Between
Tess and this hot kicking streak, life was pretty damned great.

Heading to the head coach’s office, he
flashed on the last time he had been summoned there. Not by Riga,
but by their ex-coach Coz Cosner, who had raked him over the
coals—
again
—for the accident with Bannerman, informing him
in nasty detail of his plans to try out a couple of kickers to take
Sean’s place.

An idea worth discussing, but premature at
that point. Especially since Coz was a talentless hack who had
ridden the coattails of the Triple Threat to the playoffs. Who was
he
to lord it over anyone about anything?

So you turn around and sleep with his
wife?
he mocked himself now. Then he winced. He had hooked up
with Kerrie when he thought she was Melody. A single babe on the
prowl. So he hadn’t set out to steal Coz’s wife. Although banging
the guy’s sister-in-law wasn’t cool either.

“Let it go,” he advised himself under his
breath as he reached Riga’s half-open door.

Knocking briskly, he stepped inside as the
huge man looked up from some paperwork. Even seated, Riga inspired
awe, but luckily, he just motioned to the chair in front of the
desk. “Hey, Deck. Have a seat. But first get the door, will
you?”

Sean closed the door then settled into the
chair. “How’s it going, Coach?”

“You tell me.” Riga’s dark eyes sparkled.
“You crushed it out there today.”

Shocked, then amused, Sean nodded. “Some days
it all comes together.”

“Like that beauty down in Eugene?”

Sean cleared his throat, more surprised than
ever. Maybe Riga really
did
have eyes in the back of his
head like Bam kept insisting. “You saw that?”

“It’s my job. Just like it’s my job today to
tell you to cut it out.”

“Huh?”

Riga chuckled. “We’ll get to that in a
minute. For now, let’s talk stats. Your longest on record is
sixty-two, correct?”

“Yep.”

He shuffled some papers, then looked up
again. “Before I took this job, I did what any coach with half a
brain would do. Studied the stats. The film. Figured out exactly
what I was getting. According to my notes, you’re a lock for
anything under forty-eight, maybe fifty yards. Fair to say?”

Sean hesitated, but it was true, wasn’t it?
No brag, just fact. So he gave a quick nod. “I’d say so. Provided
the winds aren’t crazy.”

“And would you say it’s around eighty percent
accuracy between fifty and fifty-five? Assuming no crosswind?
Because that’s what my notes say.”

Confused now, Sean said carefully, “That’s
fair to say.”

Riga gave him a steely glare. Then he slowly,
dramatically ripped his notes in half. Once, then again. Then he
said, “So let’s do this again. You’re automatic under
. . . what? Give me a number. And don’t say fifty.”

“Fifty-two.”

“And eighty percent accurate between that and
. . . ?”

Ordinarily, Sean would have asked for some
breathing room. Time to crunch the numbers. But recent events had
prompted that crunching already, so he admitted, “I’d say we’re in
good shape for another five. No promises,” he added stubbornly.

“Right. Now for the real issue. How often can
you hit sixty? Assuming decent conditions?”

Sean was sorely tempted to say “always,” just
to change things up. Take some wind out of this guy’s sails. But
instead he shrugged. “I’d bet on me, if that’s what you’re
asking.”

“Yeah, I’d bet on you too.” Riga grinned.
“I’d bet on you at sixty-two. Sixty-three. And with the game on the
line?” He hesitated, then hunched forward, dead serious. “No one
else noticed. So let’s keep it that way until I figure out what it
means.”

Almost without thinking, Sean nodded in
assent, even though he wasn’t sure what Riga was getting at. Figure
out what? He could kick it farther these days with reliable
results. And yeah, that was good news.

So he fished for more information. “You don’t
want it getting out? That my range has improved?”

“Your range was already infinite. Every
decent coach in this league has notes just like mine. They know you
can save games when they’re on the line. You did it at least four
times last season. But we’re not talking about
saving
games
anymore.”

“We’re not?”

Riga’s dark eyes blazed. “We’re talking about
elevating
the game. Building you into the game plan from the
start. I can take more risks. Give our QB permission to turn it
loose, even on third down, if he sees an opening. Not because of
your range, but the reliability of it. It’s a mind blower, Sean,
pure and simple.”

He sat back, speechless. They were just
words, weren’t they?

Except they weren’t. Because Riga was telling
him his role had morphed into something completely different.

Building you into the effing game plan.

Plus, Daniel Riga, the effing terminator, had
just called him “Sean” instead of “Deck.” Almost surreal.

Riga visibly relaxed. “So here’s the plan. We
keep this to ourselves. I don’t want it getting out before the
regular season. The first time the world sees it, I want heads to
explode.
Literally.
I want those other coaches playing
effing catch-up for the rest of the season. We’ll tell Tanner
eventually. Thank God he’s in the hospital. And we’ll bring
Spurling in during training camp because he needs to know. But for
now, no one.”

Before Sean could respond, Riga muttered, “I
respect this triad you guys have with Bannerman, but work with me,
okay? We’ll bring him in for sure. Because yeah, he may be a
wise-ass, but he’s a great football player. Do
not
tell him
I said that.”

Sean had a million questions, but no real
reason to ask them. His coach had this, didn’t he? All he wanted
from Sean was to keep quiet and stop launching missiles.

So he settled for saying, “Got it, Coach. And
I agree we need to include John. The sooner the better. But that’s
your call. I’d like to tell my girlfriend, though. Right away.”

Riga stared as though Sean had just spat on
him. “Your girlfriend? Why does
she
need to know? I didn’t
even know you
had
one.” His eyes narrowed. “Is it serious?
Because I need your full concentration on this. We’re talking about
the effing game plan.”

Sean chuckled. “Don’t worry, she’s cool.”