Page 5 of Gridlocked on the Gridiron

“How’re you feeling?”

Like shit. “Fine. A little banged up, but that’s nothing new.”

Turner nodded. “We’re going to have to push o-line a little harder at practice this week. Their performance was subpar at best.”

“Coach, it was just as much my fault. I struggled in the pocket and couldn’t seem to connect, even when they did a good job.” His performance had been laughable at best, and he couldn’t put any blame on the men who blocked for him.

Turner was already shaking his head. “You were certainly not at your best, but I won’t let you take the brunt of the shitshow in that martyr way of yours. The whole team needs to get it together this week.”

Colton nodded, not sure what else his coach wanted to hear.

“Look, I didn’t call you in to shit on you or cut your time. I know how good you are, and I know you have it in you. I’ve seen you at your best. Hell, you helped me turn this team around. I don’t know what’s been going on, but you’re still my best quarterback, and I’m not going to give up on you just yet.”

He looked at Colton expectantly.

“I appreciate that, Coach, I really do. I promise I’ll work harder this week. I’ll do whatever you think I need to do to get my numbers up and get us a win.”

He knew how important the next few games were for the Sabers, but especially for him. Colton lived and breathed football. It was the only way he could be valuable to others, and winning was a huge part of that. If he stopped winning, people stopped caring about him, and then who was he? What did he have?

That seemed to be the right answer. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. We’ve hired an analyst to come in and work with you directly. She’s going to do general analytics during games, but you’ll also be working with her one-on-one to figure out what your next steps should be. Hopefully, she can help you discern how best to pick up your game.”

Colton was already nodding. He trusted all of the analysts he’d ever met. They were wizards, if just a little nerdy for his taste. He’d show up to every meeting with her with a winning attitude, and he’d get his numbers up by the time the season started in September.

“Absolutely. That’s a great next step. When does she start?”

“She’ll be here Wednesday before practice to meet you. She’ll watch practice, and then you’ll start working with her right after. She can gauge how often she needs to see you, how many sessions a week, all that.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Good. Now get the hell out of my office.”

Chapter three

Lucia

Lucia was reluctant to admit that she liked anything about her new situation, but even she could agree that Charleston was beautiful. Where Richmond embraced industrial vibes, Charleston exuded coastal relaxation with moss-draped charm. An overzealous intern led her from Sabertooths Walk, a long, tree-lined pathway with twin sabertooth sculptures at the end of it, to Sabertooths Plaza, a large square in front of the entrance to the stadium. He spoke rapidly about the game day atmosphere, the smells of local food vendors who would set up shop in the plaza, and the sounds of the great stadium. It made her miss Vipers game days.

Adjacent to the stadium were the practice fields, surrounded by the training facility and offices, a perk that the Vipers did not share. She hated to concede that she liked the idea of her office being so close to the stadium.

She’d been told to come in before Wednesday’s practice to meet the staff and Colton, and to watch him in action before coming up with a plan. As if she hadn’t already watched his film from the past two games of the season—and, god, were they rough. She hadn’t mentioned that she’d met him a couple of times in college, and not one interaction had been pretty. She was sure they hadn’t mentioned her by name to Colton, and even more positive that, if they had, he would’ve refused to work with her.

The collar of her blazer dug into her neck, and she readjusted, cursing herself for even wearing one when the August sun was still beating down in South Carolina. Her button-down was likely already showing sweat stains, so she couldn’t even take the damned thing off. At least her skirt, though tight, allowed for a breeze to cool her lower half. People were turning to watch as her heels clacked on the concrete, so she stopped adjusting and plastered a smile on her face.

The air that hit her as she entered the first floor of the training facility cooled her in an instant. The man at the desk that faced the tall entrance doors stood as Lucia took in the trophies and display jerseys encased in glass before her. When he saw the intern, he waved them through to the elevators.

“You’ll be meeting the team on the seventh floor, Ms. Moretti.”

“Thank you both,” she murmured, pressing the button and watching the intern and receptionist disappear behind tall, metal elevator doors. The back wall of the elevator was a pane of glass that looked out over the facility, and she took a moment to glance over the meticulously maintained fields.

When the doors opened, she followed the loud voices coming from a large room to the right. Shouting quieted at the sound of her heels, and she wondered if she’d ever get used to walking into a room full of men. She was a woman—albeit a woman uniquely qualified to rectify their quarterback’s slump—in a male-dominated industry. An unforgiving industry that only considered a woman successful if she accomplished more than men in the same position.

A smile curved her mouth. She didn’t have to like Colton Beaumont—and all signs pointed to the fact that she wouldn’t, not after the hell he’d made her life in Los Angeles—but she would work with him. Her success in this industry depended upon it. And he needed her as badly as she needed him—or rather, this job.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the now-quiet boardroom, noting that she was, unsurprisingly, the only woman. The eyes of the Charleston coaches and analysts rested on her and her alone. She was proud of the achievements that had gotten her to this point, her head held high, confident.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

And there was the thorn in her side, standing in the middle of them all. His dark hair was styled better than it had been in college, though that signature scowl hadn’t changed. His olive skin was a little lighter without the Los Angeles sun, and his face was clean-shaven. He’d always been handsome, but she’d remembered him as a college boy, and now, he was clearly a man. A green Sabers t-shirt clung to a well-muscled chest, and she averted her eyes at the sight of him in glorious gray sweatpants.

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