Page 1 of Auction Time
Chapter 1
Cole
* * *
This year was goingto be mine.
It absolutely was.
I didn’t mean to be bigheaded…
What was I thinking?
Of course, I meant to be bigheaded in thinking the year was mine and I owned the world too.
Well, maybe not the whole world, but I definitely made my mark on it. Definitely lived up to my name, Coleridge Buchanan. Named after my father, who had been a legend before me. I’d followed in his footsteps.
Just for the first part of my life, however.
This next part was all me. Like him, I played football for the New England Patriots and made a name for myself in the sport. Like him, I was a renowned wide receiver for the team, and like him, I’d joined The L.A. Centaurs in the height of my career. I even planned to become an NFL scout too like him when I eventually retired. Hopefully for either the Patriots or The Centaurs. Dad had scouted for the Patriots for seven years.
His spirit lived on in me, and I truly wish my old man had lived to see me join The L.A. Centaurs too.
There was a lot to admire about him in regards to his legacy and the legend he was. When people made the comparison between us it was definitely a great compliment.
However, there was a big part of me that wanted my own fame. My own legacy, my own name of achievement of all the things I’d done.
That was the part of me that didn’t exactly want to be like my father. It was also the part that wished to stay right the hell away from his less favorable attributes.
This next phase of my life would be all me.
My legacy.
I was definitely more than excited to see how it was all going to play out.
I was traded to The Centaurs three months ago, and the season that was about to start in two weeks was going to be real interesting.
More than interesting, if what the guys were telling me was true.
Matt nodded and gave me a pointed stare. Denver rested his hands on the table and leaned forward with that sly expression on his face. Sly and cunning like a fox, he looked like one too with his bushy eyebrows.
“If you don’t believe us, watch him, look at the way he behaves.” Matt smirked. He was talking about Coach Simpson, who until this morning I’d thought was a real down-to-earth guy.
I’d arrived at the stadium for training late, so I’d missedthe talk.
Then, to add to that, I’d made my first mistake as the new guy by wearing a jersey that had paint stained over my player number.
Coach went crazy asking me why I’d want to jinx my ability to play by putting a mark over my number. Of course, I’d thought he was talking shit, but apparently, he was serious. He wouldn’t allow me to wear my shirt, and the man actually found me one of those standard sized Fruit of the Loom T-shirts that clung to my body so tight my muscles were practically popping out.
No matter how much I thought I owned the world, I knew I’d have to bow to the god that had control on what I did and didn’t do. That god happened to be Coach Simpson, definitely one of the strangest people I’d ever met in my life.
After close to eight hours of training, the guys had brought me here, straight to Tom’s Sports Bar, the usual hang out spot.
I’d been sitting with them in one of the booths on the second floor for well over an hour getting the full rundown of the most bizarre stuff the coach was against.
No sage for the next two weeks, no fast food, we were to have our homes fêng shui-ed and incense burning at all times while we were there, and a whole bunch of shit like that.
The truth of the matter was, Coach Simpson was very superstitious and didn’t mess around with shit or non-believers when it came to preparing for the season. And, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it this year, not when we were hoping for a lucky strike on the Super Bowl.
