Page 82 of Best Year Ever
“Yeah, that’s great,” I said. “Princeton’s team is one of the best in the country.”
“It just sucks. You and Rawls are out here, making it at the highest levels in football, and I’m getting cut,” he says. “It feels like I failed the Battle name.”
Nah, let me put a stop to that. “Oh hell no, Connor. Don’t go there. First of all, you’re trying to make a much smaller roster for a single national team. Completely different. Football, we have dozens of teams even at the pro level, with 53 man rosters.”
He grunts through the phone in acknowledgement.
“Second of all, you’re going to an Ivy League school, no doubt you will crush your classes, get a degree, and play D1 soccer. You’re a role model, kid. So no more talk like that.”
“Okay,” he says, a little more even-toned. “I just… I just want to play professionally in Europe after school, you know? I don’t know if I’m good enough.”
My mind starts whirling with an idea.
“You absolutely should still fight for that dream, Connor. But I’ve got a thought. Take a minute to process everything. After that, would you be open to talking to a buddy of mine who played college soccer?”
“Sure, yeah,” Connor responds, a little uncertainty in his voice since I’m being deliberately vague.
“K, kid. Good.”
“Thanks, Landon.”
Promising to text more when I get out of practice, we hang up and I leave the office, off to find the guy who just might be the best person to talk to Connor.
So, my favorite part of today?
That involves my girl, begging me to take care of her.
“Landon, pleaseeeee,” Rori says as I edge her again with my stubble between her thighs.
“Oh, this is torture,” she pants out as I give her a little lick then pull back my head.
Yeah, for me too, baby.
But I love it.
Later, once we finally collapse for the night, I hold her extra tight.
Only two more nights until training camp, and then it will be another chunk of time away from each other.
And there’s nothing to do about it, except make every moment count while I can.
CHAPTER 29
Rori
“Hi, sweetheart, I’ve got news,” my dad says as soon as I pick up his call.
I’m on my way to Pinnacle for the day, and I put him on speaker once I hit a red light.
“Morning, is it about the house?” I ask with a little dread creeping in, knowing that showings have been hot and heavy. With Wimbledon over, he’d finally taken the step to put it on the market.
“Yes,” he responds. “We had an offer come in five figures over asking price, all cash.”
“Okay, sheesh!”
“Yes, so I took it,” Dad continues. “Thirty days to close, but there shouldn’t be any issues with a cash offer.”
I stay quiet. I knew this was on the horizon, but the fact that Dad took the offer without talking to me first stings.
