Page 69 of Racing Heat
“I’m happy to teach you. I hope you’re feeling adventurous.” He picks up an oyster. “Okay, so what you’re going to do is take the little fork and use it to loosen it.” He shows me which one to use and runs it along the sides of the oyster. “Then you bring the shell to your lips and drink it down. Make sure you get all the juices—or liquor, as some call it. That’s the best part and will give it its flavor.”
He winks at me before dipping his head back and taking the oyster in. I suddenly wish that was me he was slurping down. My thighs clench again. I clear my throat and pick up the oyster, then eat it just the way he showed me to.
“Well, what do you think?” he asks.
“It’s pretty good,” I tell him.
He laughs. “If you don’t like them, you don’t have to keep on eating.”
“No, I want to.”
He just nods and we eat in silence for a bit. I’m the first one to break it.
“Did August bring you right from Manchester?” I ask him. “How did he find you?”
“My agent actually reached out to me. The Cromwell’s must have found me through him,” he explains.
I gasp. “You have an agent?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I do. It’s kind of how I stay employed.”
I laugh along with him. “I just didn’t realize.”
He nods. “Well, we kind of view football a bit differently than you do over here.”
“Ah, across the pond, eh?” I fail horribly at impersonating him.
“That was really bad.” He winks at me. “But yeah, we have agents over there and some of your players do too. Who negotiated your deal for you?”
I lean back in my seat. “Would you judge me if I said I just trusted the Cromwell’s and Coach Watts? They were talking to my college coach at the time. No one really represented me. I know that’s not the way it went with others. Hendrix had her brother, but Amelia, Mac and I just trusted them.”
He smiles warmly at me. “I love that. I love that you were that trusting of them. It shows more about you than you think it does.”
“Yeah, that I’m an idiot.”
“No, you believed in this team, and you believed in your shot. I think they did right by you.”
“I think so too.”
I sip on my wine, staring at him. I love how relaxed he looks, leaning back in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I decide to take my shot and ask him a few things.
“What made you decide that this was right for you? Why leave Manchester for our brand-new team?”
“I really liked what the Cromwell’s said and what they stood for. I also liked that we were building a team from nothing. I got to see some footage of the goalies, and believe it or not, Hendrix was my top pick.”
“She is really awesome. Does she know that?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, let’s not give her an ego.”
“So, they pitched the team to you and let you pick your people? That was all it took to get you to leave Manchester?”
“Pretty much,” he replies. He’s smiling but it’s off. It’s not meeting his eyes and isn’t as easygoing as it was moments ago.
“I call bullshit, Ford. What else was happening then?”
“There’s no drama” is all he says in return.
“Not buying it. No one talks about their family the way you did and then leaves them to move to a different continent and coach a team in a state where no one thinks we need a second one. What was the real reason?”
