Nixon by Samantha Whiskey EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Samantha Whiskey
- Language: English
- Genre: Sports Romance
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Nixon
Sweat dripped down my neck as I scanned left, then right, looking for an
open receiver. There. Hendrix broke free. The guy was a machine.
I drew the ball back and fired it down the field. My heartbeat filled my
ears for the few seconds it was airborne.
He caught it.
I raised my fist in a quick pump as he ran it into the end zone, our own
defense on his heels.
Not bad for the first day of training camp.
Coach called practice for the day, and I ripped off my helmet. North
Carolina in July was fucking brutal in full gear—I probably sweat my weight
in water every day—but it was home. It had been for the last eight years.
Sure, the humidity sucked on days like today, but I was a Raleigh Raptor
through and through. Always had been, and God-and-contract-willing, I
always would be.
I waved to the fans that packed the sidelines behind the rope and started
back toward The Barn—our giant training facility.
“Thoughts?” Roman asked as he tucked his helmet under his arm. Padilla
was the fastest running back in the NFL, and one of my closest friends.
“He thinks I’m a badass,” Hendrix answered, raking his knuckles over
Roman’s head in a noogie with a movie-star grin. Guy had run at least fifty
yards to catch up to us and wasn’t even out of breath.
Shit, I felt old, and I was only thirty.
“Fuck off,” Roman snapped, shoving Hendrix away, but he was smiling.
“Seriously, though. What do you think, Nixon?”
“It’s the first day, and you gotta ruin it by asking Negative-Nixon what he
thinks?” Hendrix groaned.
“Noble!” A woman yelled from the sidelines.
I flashed a smile and waved, because that was part of my job, then turned
back toward my friends. “I think the offensive line is sloppy, the rookies have
more ego than talent, and we have a long way to go before we’re cohesive.”
“Way to crush a guy’s ego.” Roman clutched at his chest.
“Fucking told you,” Hendrix laughed.
“Sloppy?” Baker challenged as he jogged by. “Only because Padilla over
there must have gained twenty in the offseason.” He turned, running
backward, and gestured to the space in front of his stomach with a smirk.
Roman flipped him the bird, and Baker laughed.
“Cut the shit,” I ordered.
Baker’s smirk faded, and he turned back around, jogging toward The
Barn.
“Rick ‘The Dick’ Baker, ladies and gentlemen,” Hendrix called after him,
then turned to Roman. “You haven’t gained any weight.”
“I fucking know,” Roman seethed. “But I’m trying to get along with the
asshole for Teagan’s sake.”
Hendrix whistled. “Damn, I figured that wouldn’t last once they moved in
together. What’s it been? Six months?”
“A year,” Roman muttered. “I know that girl better than anyone on the
planet, and I still can’t figure out what the fuck she sees in that douchebag.”
He shook his head.
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