Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Even better. I love football.”
Noah flashed a thumbs-up. “There you go. It will be great, Gavin. Trust me.”
“I won’t forgive you for abandoning me,” I grumbled.
“I can live with that.”
With another cute grin, Noah wandered off to do his actual job—babysitting my schedule and finances, not me while I fumbled interviews.
“Whatever. If I bore the fuck out of you, I apologize in advance.”
Spence raised his hands again. He probably hadn’t had very high expectations in the first place.
We settled in the living room, and I flipped on ESPN before running through the game. When I caught a load of the headline, I recoiled.
“They’re still talking about that ninety-three-yard touchdown,” Spence said. “It was amazing.”
“It wasn’t a real game. They must be out of shit to talk about if they’re discussing a scrimmage.”
“Even so, it was incredible. You were playing against all your own starters on the Barons, not some guys off the street. How did you get that arranged, anyway? Must have been hard during the season when everyone is tired from practice and traveling.”
“Yeah. The Barons tend to be loyal to their family. Sounds like bullshit, but it’s true.” I leaned back in the seat, still studying the screen as an anchor in a bright yellow suit moved on to talk about tonight’s game. “We’re a new team compared to others in the NFL, and a lot of the guys still feel like we have something to prove. And I guess we do, because we don’t have all the history of, like, the Forty-niners and shit. We also get shitted on a lot by other people in the industry.”
“Why do you think that is?”
I shrugged. “People feel threatened by new things, and even though the Barons have been around for a decade, we’re still raw compared to a lot of the old-timers. New and beating teams with coaches who’ve been established for fucking ages.”
“Huh. I guess I didn’t realize the NFL has that kind of politics.”
It suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t supposed to be talking about the NFL. Fuck. Not even a couple of hours in, and I was already blowing it. “All organizations have politics, but I think it’s also about the fans and the media. Not just the NFL.”
“So you think fans are so antagonistic towards you because you’re one of the best tight ends in the country on a new team,” Spence surmised. “I bet you have a point. Could also be why they hate the fact that you don’t play the game.”
“The game?”
“You know,” he said. “Showboating. Celebrating. Being charming or at least entertaining. You just play the game and stalk off the field. Well . . . you started up with Instagram and Twitter.”
Noah was the one who updated my Twitter account, but I didn’t say that.
“What prompted you to get on social media after all this time?”
“Boredom.”
“Boredom is doing you good. The hashtag about Gavin Brawley’s smile trended for two full days. We’re talking millions of likes. For someone who claims to hate promo and marketing, that was solid gold.”
“And it was all Noah,” I said. “The scrimmage was his idea, and he’s the one who took and edited the video. To be honest, I know my reputation could use some work. I know people only look at me a certain way, but for a long time I didn’t give a shit. But when Noah came around, I guess you could say I started thinking about things differently.”
Spence nodded slowly. “How’s that?”
“Think about it, man. This guy who was going to be working for me and living with me was terrified. He thought I was a bully and an asshole. Worried about being here ’cause he worried I was going to antagonize him just because he couldn’t give two shits about football. I guess you could call it a wake-up call to realize a total stranger was wary of being around me due to my reputation and shitty attitude. I had to start thinking about my actions and what came out of my mouth. I don’t want to be a monster.”
Spence glanced over his shoulder as if seeking Noah again, but didn’t find him. “You two seem to get on pretty well now. I gotta say, I never expected to hear Gavin Brawley pleading with his PA not to abandon him with a hundred-and-twenty-pound journalist. It was adorbs. Especially when he all but patted your head in response before walking out without a backward glance.”
“He’s always like that,” I said, unable to resist a fond grin. “If you motherfuckers think I’m irritating on the field, imagine living with me and having to put up with my shit. Whiny and needy and obnoxious as fuck. But he handles it, and he isn’t afraid to put me in my place.”
“You’re saying the best way to get close to you is to call you on your shit?”