Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Yes! OMG. I’m so excited to be able to customize my coaches. And switch between coaching positions during the draft!”
I knew she would be ecstatic about the changes. When she found out she could see everyone’s draft picks, I could literally hear her jumping for joy over the line.
They’d made one more change before rolling out the update, and I turned down the volume on my headset before pointing it out.
“You might want to take a closer look at the player profiles, nerd.”
She was quiet for a moment, then she practically screamed. “They added their college stats! Holy cow! This is going to change everything! I can’t believe it!”
After a little more cheering, she suddenly gasped, “That was my suggestion!”
“Was it?” I asked innocently. The feedback from the betas was supposed to be anonymous, but since I didn’t know who she really was, I hadn’t felt any guilt at making sure her suggestion ended up before the right eyes. It was a good call that would attract a lot of players who preferred a numbers-based strategy.
“I honestly wasn’t sure if my feedback was actually being considered. Dang, that is so cool.”
I grinned, her happiness filling me with warmth.
“Okay, geek, you are going down.”
“You wish, nerd,” I muttered before I could stop myself. I’d been very careful not to take things in a sexual direction since our conversation about my gaming handle. My girl—um, she—had become very important to me, and I didn’t want to risk our friendship. Even when the beta shit was done, and we were technically allowed to know each other’s real identity, I doubted I’d go there with her. She was too important, and I didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.
“Earth to Gage.”
My head whipped up at the sound of a voice, and I found my friend and offensive coordinator, Cole O’Hara, standing in front of me.
I sat on a bench in front of my locker, still in nothing but a towel because I’d just come from the showers after a hard day during training camp.
Gia, one of the head designers for Beaumont Football, had sent me a text to let me know that access to the game had been officially closed since they’d finished the closed beta and were moving on to the final stages.
I’d known Gia for years, as a gamer and a friend because she was married to a college friend of mine. She’d worked on some very successful, prominent games, so when Lennox announced his new venture, I’d suggested he recruit her.
She was the only person who knew about my friendship with AllAboutTheStats, so when she messaged me about game access, she also asked if I wanted her to reach out to my gaming buddy and pass along my contact info.
My first instinct was to tell her hell yeah. But then the doubts plaguing me for months took over, and I’d sat down, lost in thought. I wasn’t delusional. I knew I was being a coward by avoiding meeting AllAboutTheStats. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d grown a vagina with the way I was acting.
“Something on your mind?” Cole asked.
When we were on the field, in practice, or at business-related team functions, he was Coach O’Hara. But outside the “office,” he was my friend, Cole. And I respected him too much to cross that line. We all did.
I shook my head. “Nothing important.” The words tasted bitter, but I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about my nerd.
“If you say so,” he replied with a dubious expression. When I didn’t engage, he sighed. “You did great today. Don’t let whatever is clouding your mind affect you on the field. I’m around if you need to talk about it.”
“Thanks.” I meant it genuinely. And maybe I’d take him up on it. Eventually.
“Yo, Brady!” Ames, one of our offensive linemen, called out to our second-string (the heir apparent to Prentice Wright, our legendary quarterback) quarterback as he walked into the room. “My wife called. She said Talia is in labor and to get your ass to the hospital.”
“Son of a bitch!” Brady shouted as he sprinted to the locker next to mine and yanked it open. He grabbed his wallet, phone, and keys and ran for the door.
Cole stepped in front of him and grabbed his arm. “She’ll still be there after you change into something other than a towel, Brady,” he said, looking pointedly at the quarterback’s lack of attire.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, then spun around and dressed in record time before he was gone.
Ames laughed and shook his head. “At least he put on his shoes. When Dakota had Xavier, I showed up at the hospital in bare feet, all torn up from running across the gravel parking lot. And I still played in the game a couple of days later. But it hurt like a motherfucker.”